Category: Hugo Torres

Perfect Imperfection

There are quiet morning moments when I look about my house and pout. I see the half-way finished projects, or the older carpets, the clothes the kids didn’t put away, the drought affected front yard or the dilapidated garage door. I despair a little. Then I walk a few feet, turn a corner and see the notches measuring how tall my ramblers are getting. I see dogs basking in the sun in spots where other past dog-friends made their own. I see the hand-chosen colour on the walls that she made me apply alone because the paint smell made her sick. As I move across the hallway I remember that fun night Nic and I (oh that’s a post for a different day).
There are perfect stories woven into the four corners of this imperfect home. It’s why we work so hard to keep it.

Disco Hugo

Along my career there were a few that didn’t appreciate my special talents and for one reason or another we couldn’t work together anymore. 
At first I was afraid. Heck I was even petrified. 
Just to think of not toiling with them side by side. 
Then I spend a lot of time thinking of how they were wrong. 
And I grew strong…somehow learned again to go get along. 
Now thinking back about that hectic pace. 
I remember coming home a lot with a foochi-grumpy face. 
Perhaps I had a mental block that wouldn’t allow me to be free 
but there were bills to pay and quitting just ain’t me! 
But then I went, stepped out the door. 
Never looked back now ’cause sorrow is a chore. 
So many good people and I had a few beers & a cry. 
Sure I had a tumble but I would not let myself just lie. 
Oh no not I……

Shell Shocked

Somewhere just off the sea my father would walk along the sands and hunt for interesting rocks and shells. He’d then put his collection in a bucket and we’d haul them back to our home in Boyle Heights. I paid him no mind. 
Today I tripped on a pail my youngest has in the garage. There are so many keepsakes from beach trips that I had a hard time counting them. 
Across time & space these two share that common bond. Just had to stub my toe to realize it.

Truth in Short

Stocky is the word that comes to mind when I see photos of my self as a 10 year old. I was a blocky looking kid with long curly hair, chubby cheeks and lacking in height.
I would lean out in the later years but never reached 6 feet like I wanted to.
That’s why it’s a marvel to look at my gazelle like boy running about the home. He’s got that strong swimmers back and lean long legs that in time will lead his line of sight centimeters past mine. One day I’ll have to look up to my son because that’s what the genes seem to dictate.

Ain’t life funny?

Righteous Indignation

Even from the farthest and most opposite side of the house (with the laundry machine on) there’s a certain tone of voice that tells THIS dad that an ensuing argument is manifesting. With righteous indignation I stomp towards their room ready and prepared to hand out swift justice. On the approach I hear my oldest tell my youngest that “you don’t always get what you want but if you play nice you may get what you need.” 
Stunned I wait and then the game commences again quietly. I step back and away slowly from their door…they did the work for me and I have nothing to add.