The other day I was going through a storage box that fell out of my closet. It was one of those incidents where I was meant to go through that box, because it narrowly missed my head as it came crashing to the floor. I found an essay I had written about Papi, my Dad. The essay narrated the story of how my dad came to the US in the early 60's. I would like to share that story with you.
Jesus Tirado was born to a very poor family, to an illiterate father, Eustaquio Giraud, who worked the land in order to survive. His mother, Carmen Salas, died while he was still a child, and so he was forced to fend for himself at a very young age. Forced to leave Puerto Rico by his abusive father, Chuito, as he was lovingly called by his mother, saved his money for a plane ticket by shining shoes and catching & selling crabs in Luquillo, PR. The young adolescent arrived at New York City with just a few dollars in his pocket, naively thinking that he was coming to a town as small as the one he just left. Finding his sister would just be a matter of asking the first person he encountered when he arrived at the airport. Instead, he was swallowed by cement and skyscrapers, walking aimlessly through the city in the dead of winter, searching for his sister for two whole weeks. He did not find his sister, but did manage to catch a double pneumonia, with no thanks to his thin shirt and trousers that offered no protection against the cold weather. Sori Cardona, now married and with five children of her own, found her little brother. It was a miracle, really, and the story is still told at the table during family get-togethers. A friend happened to be listening to a radio station that aired out of New York City, as the announcer was listing names of people who were searching for loved ones. He announced in Spanish, "Jesus Tirado is looking for his sister. If anyone knows his sister, please inform her that he is being kept at..." and he named the hospital where Papi was staying. The friend immediately called Titi Sori (that's what I call her!), and she found her "hermanito" recuperating from the pneumonia that almost claimed his young life.
Papi did not speak English, and he had just a few dollars to his name. He immediately was enrolled in school and managed to learn enough English to get by. He got his certificate as a heating and air conditioner repairman. He came to know Christ, and fell in love with the message of salvation that offered him hope in such a cruel world. He met my mother at church, and together they started a Christian family based on the principles of love, respect, and hard work. Though we did not have much money, my father provided his family with enough to satisfy our needs plus a little more. He was faithful to his Lord and church, and God blessed us because of it. Papi sacrificed to put me through seven years of piano lessons, just so he could have someone accompany him on the piano when he sang. He has a beautiful baritone voice, and even now when I hear him sing, my heart swells with love and admiration. Why do I think my father is the person who has influenced my life the most? Because he has worked hard to provide his family with a nurturing atmosphere, unlike the one he had when he was a child. Because he did the best he could to educate himself, reading countless books, studying music theory so he could lead out in song service. Because he taught us to work hard for what we wanted; he taught us that nothing in life is given to you, but earned. And, because he taught us that the giving of ourselves to others is more important than what we own and possess. I am blessed to have had such a strong male figure throughout my life, especially in this day and age where having a full-time devoted father is scarce.
Papi has had some of his dreams come true. His children grew up and serve the community well. Jay and I went to college and now have families of our own. He has helped and organized four Hispanic Seventh-day Adventist congregations in the Central Florida area, devoting countless of hours preparing music, programming, sermons, giving Bible studies, raising funds, and visiting the sick and elderly every week. Papi still works hard, but is now enjoying the fruits of his labor. After working a grueling day at the air conditioning plant where he has been employed for the last 19 years, he comes home to water and take care of his trees, plants, shrubs, and flowers. Every year, his small quarter acre of land produces oranges, grapefruit, beans, pineapples, papayas, peppers, herbs, yucca, malanga, sugarcane, and more! I hope I one day grow up to be a third of the person my father is. When people tell me that I am so much like Papi, my heart once again swells with love and pride. The world is a better place because of Papi, and I hope I can leave as deep a mark as he has.
