Author: HTorres

Like that Old Time Rock and Roll

We found each other having a moment in the evening that belonged to us. 
The kids had been summoned to their beds and the HBO queue played an episode of Girls. At one point Oasis’ Wonderwall played in the soundtrack and my bride and I reminisced about the Cornell death and all the young talent recently passed on. Just about the point when the song sound swelled loudest my oldest manifested from the shadows. Our loud rock and/or roll music was keeping him up and he did not much appreciate it. 
Once scolded we turn the music down and apologized. Soon after he hit the hay we realized we were the adults in the house.

Master Linguist

I’ve developed a bit of a bad habit as of late.
 Whenever I’ve caught one of the Torres children using an idiom I find myself inquiring on whether they really know its meaning. 
I don’t want them to play things by ear. Saying random things not knowing their meaning is for the birds. So I rather hear it from the horse’s mouth if they really know the meaning. It’s my goal that before I kick the bucket to teach them the fun and wonder of language. So as a parent I am taking the bull by the horns by quizzing and teaching. One may even said I’m taking care of two birds with one stone.

The Belt that Binds

My old man used to promise me “the belt” from time to time. 
It was one of his most priced possessions and one day he’d pass it on to me. I could not care less of it. It represented how it bound him to the house that I wanted to leave desperately so I could go hang out with friends like other teens. In time I moved out permanently at what happened to the belt I do no know. I only thought of it today as I shopped for one so I could keep my most used tools near now that I’m working on home projects left and right. They aren’t chores and I have fun doing them.
 I suppose I have fallen in love with Casa Torres. My children might say I’m bound to it.

Grad Information Nite

So here I sit. 
Among a throng of about 30 other shell-shocked parents about to discuss the last 30 days of Elementary school life for our children. How fast a half dozen years went by! How common did these school grounds become! How invested did we get in the daily ebb and flow of PTA and more. How familiar are we with many of the faces in the room. 
I find myself in awe of the family we have become as time has passed by. I also now realize that we are due more shell-shock in a few months

Parental Itinerary

Because we are the curators of their life for now, my wife and I choose to schedule the kid’s adventures in accordance to our likes. 
They do have a voice in matters but on occasion an executive decision is made and since we have the car keys we plot the course. So their weekends are often busy with trips to the beach, museums, festivals, bike rides and more with mom and dad. 
A day is soon coming when they’ll earn a little autonomy and they might choose to hang with friends, drive to the mall, or head into Tosche station to pick up some power converters. I suppose my better-half and I will find ourselves all on our own again checking in on them via texts.

Field of Dreams?

I took my son to a Doyer game. We went and joined his school crowd. At one point bought some hot dogs and lots of unhealthy snacks and then it made sense why I ain’t getting my figure back.
We both stayed past our bedtime and just before I went to sleep I felt some guilt of having consume 10s of hundreds of calories so late in the evening. Finally at one point I headed off to dreamland.
It was much later in the evening, I think, I returned back to Dodger Stadium. The crowd was much bigger than I remember and now I stood on the actual field with busy people zipping around me, the flood lights starting to kick on and a clock counting down to something. Then a pretty young Latina woman came at me with a microphone in her hand. My instinct to turn on a smile and face the camera towed behind her sparked. I couldn’t understand her words but somehow I understood that a big honor was being bestowed upon me and then she handed me a pristine white ball with red stitching all around me.
Time passed and now I was on the pitcher’s mound. The crowd was roaring me on and I psyched myself and body to toss that first pitch as hard as possible.
All a sudden one person in the crowd of thousands started to snicker. Then another and then a few dozen. The dozen laughs caused a reaction and now hundreds of people we laughing and pointing. They were pointing at me.
The night had turned cold and I looked down at my outfit and I now stood in my just underwear in front of thousands of people. My skinny legs were showing the big screens at the stadium and it dawned on me there were to somewhere in Television sets around the country. All over the world people laughing at me. I could hear them.

My body jolted and I woke up in a sweat. My heart was still beating hard and it took me a second to get my bearings. Once the panicked subsided I took a second to go check in on my still sleeping boy. 
He seemed called and happy in dreamland. Or was he?

Death is Taxing

When I was much younger but not yet 20 I wondered about my death often. 
It came about when I would hear my parents fight viciously behind closed doors. A desire for it happened when I discovered that my first love had cheated and had no need for me. As other high school kids began to receive their college admission letters and I was left without a pull towards the end also came. Though all these moments’ discomfort was temporary..in those minutes the saddest of thoughts seemed too overwhelming. 
Over the last 20 years I have come to respect life and yearn for it. I wish the man I am now could have reached out to the teen I was then and tell him that things do get better. Time machines do not exist alas but I hope to be a pillar of aid to my children when those angst ridden and hormonal days soon come.

Dad Aid

So there I was this morning trying hard to ignore the unusual cacophony coming from other rooms in my house and trying to stay on schedule. Just as I was drafting one of a series of important emails to a client and was thinking of the words I’d say to the next one I heard the cautious footsteps of my youngest approaching my desk. 
She then preceded to tell me that her brother had cut himself in the leg. I braced for what was next. Sure enough when I found him in a ballerina pose there we blood at midway up his tibia in two distinct places and I winced. 
My job as a dad though is to clean, treat, scold and hug. I did all those and as I placed the last Band Aid on the kid and asked them to be more careful I had a flashback of me as a boy with a gash on my leg after some street-football on Eastman Ave in East LA.

Battle of the Bulge

I’ve gotten soft about the belly. I work out, I try to eat right, I most certainly attempt to lay off the wine but this hasn’t made much a difference to my waist line. I realize this most when I make the effort to fit into my old fitted shirts and the buttons struggle to maintain their position in the outlined slots. Therefore, like my father before me, I will transfer some of my older clothes post haste to my son’s closet. 
My only hope is that my fashions will still be in fashion when he’s ready to look dapper in them.