Of course, I don’t remember it but those who were there tell me that when I was born in Midwest City hospital, my dad was struttin’ proud. He spent the entire night after I was born in the room with Mom and me. In fact, he sat in a “comfy” chair, holding me all the time except when I was being fed or when the nurses were checking me out.
Dad had to leave the next morning to shower and go to work. On his way home from the hospital, and even from his workplace, he called Mom several times in tears, “How’s my boy? I miss him!” Needless to say, he waste the entire day at work and returned to the hospital by early afternoon just to prove to himself that it was not a dream, that he indeed had a son. He also had to make sure all my needs were being met, like any good dad would.
My dad has not changed. I always know his is not too far away if I have a need. Oh, I love my Mom, she is wonderful. However, there are times when I need to have “man-to-man” talk with my dad. My dad has been there before, he knows what it is to be a little guy trying to fit into a grown-up world!
My dad, Joe Garcia, is an OBU graduate and attended school on a baseball scholarship. It’s no wonder that when I’m playing baseball, Dad is nearby watching my every move and giving me instruction on how to play the game. He doesn’t hesitate to point out what I’m doing, right or wrong. As I step up to the plate, I can hear him saying, “Sergio, hit a long, hard drive! You can do it!” Many times he’s called out for me to pay attention to what’s going on in the game. Dad is merely passing on to me what he has learned.
Whether it’s my school work, or in the game of baseball, football, basketball, soccer or golf—I’ve tried them all—or if it’s just trying to learn the basics of growing up, my dad just wants my little brother, Diego, and me to be successful. Dad is not afraid to give us a high-five when we have really tried or to encourage us to try a little harder to do better when we give less than our best.
A couple of years ago, our house flooded and it was awful. Almost everything was ruined, including the furnishings. The house was considered a total loss. Our family could not stay in the house and our parents didn’t even let us see inside on that first day. When the water had receded quite a bit, we went inside and could not believe what we were seeing or smelling.
Water and mud had been halfway up the walls, the carpet was literally soaked and was still slushy. It had to be yanked up and dragged outside to be carried away. The odor, a combination of mold, broken water and sewer lines and various other filth, was unbearable.
Our hearts were so sad to see all of our toys, most of our clothing, baby pictures, school stuff and other things covered with mud—impossible to recover.
Dad didn’t let his real feelings show too much. He assured my brother and me—and our mom, too— that one day thing would be OK. One day would have our home back, the house we had lived in and loved. He promised us the house would be even better than before the flood!
Dad kept his promise! He worked at his full-time job, so did mom. However, things were in such disarray that they both had to take the first few days off to get the family settled in temporary living quarters. There were decisions to make regarding reconstruction. They wanted to make changes in the design of the home when they rebuilt.
We knew our dad got so tired sometimes. He became frustrated when it seemed it was taking too long for a particular project to be completed—it was slowing down progress. Our parents didn’t want my brother me to see the house every day because we didn’t have the vision of a completed house as they did, especially Dad. Day by day, we couldn’t see the progress. It was never going to happen, we thought. Especially during those last few weeks.
Dad kept us in mind, he kept on going! He tried his best to keep our family in a state of normality. Oh, what an exciting day it was for all of us when we were able to return home a few months later! We knew it was worth the wait.
When I was only a few months old, my great-grandmother, Marie Weehunt, gave my dad an electric train as a Christmas gift. The gift was meant to be to my dad from me. In the package she enclosed a poem she had written to him from me. My mom framed the poem, it serves as a reminder to my dad that my brother, Diego, and I will always be walking behind him, thankful to be his sons!
I’m 8 now and I’m still learning. Dad gives the instructions and sets the examples with lots of love. At times you might hear me calling out to my dad, “Slow down, Dad! I’m trying to catch up!” Diego and I are so happy to have Joe Garcia as our dad. We want to make him proud...whatever we do!
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Of course, I don’t remember it but those who were there tell me that when I was born in Midwest City hospital, my dad was struttin’ proud. He spent the entire night after I was born in the room with Mom and me. In fact, he sat in a “comfy” chair, holding me all the time except when I was being fed or when the nurses were checking me out.
Dad had to leave the next morning to shower and go to work. On his way home from the hospital, and even from his workplace, he called Mom several times in tears, “How’s my boy? I miss him!” Needless to say, he waste the entire day at work and returned to the hospital by early afternoon just to prove to himself that it was not a dream, that he indeed had a son. He also had to make sure all my needs were being met, like any good dad would.
My dad has not changed. I always know his is not too far away if I have a need. Oh, I love my Mom, she is wonderful. However, there are times when I need to have “man-to-man” talk with my dad. My dad has been there before, he knows what it is to be a little guy trying to fit into a grown-up world!
My dad, Joe Garcia, is an OBU graduate and attended school on a baseball scholarship. It’s no wonder that when I’m playing baseball, Dad is nearby watching my every move and giving me instruction on how to play the game. He doesn’t hesitate to point out what I’m doing, right or wrong. As I step up to the plate, I can hear him saying, “Sergio, hit a long, hard drive! You can do it!” Many times he’s called out for me to pay attention to what’s going on in the game. Dad is merely passing on to me what he has learned.
Whether it’s my school work, or in the game of baseball, football, basketball, soccer or golf—I’ve tried them all—or if it’s just trying to learn the basics of growing up, my dad just wants my little brother, Diego, and me to be successful. Dad is not afraid to give us a high-five when we have really tried or to encourage us to try a little harder to do better when we give less than our best.
A couple of years ago, our house flooded and it was awful. Almost everything was ruined, including the furnishings. The house was considered a total loss. Our family could not stay in the house and our parents didn’t even let us see inside on that first day. When the water had receded quite a bit, we went inside and could not believe what we were seeing or smelling.
Water and mud had been halfway up the walls, the carpet was literally soaked and was still slushy. It had to be yanked up and dragged outside to be carried away. The odor, a combination of mold, broken water and sewer lines and various other filth, was unbearable.
Our hearts were so sad to see all of our toys, most of our clothing, baby pictures, school stuff and other things covered with mud—impossible to recover.
Dad didn’t let his real feelings show too much. He assured my brother and me—and our mom, too— that one day thing would be OK. One day would have our home back, the house we had lived in and loved. He promised us the house would be even better than before the flood!
Dad kept his promise! He worked at his full-time job, so did mom. However, things were in such disarray that they both had to take the first few days off to get the family settled in temporary living quarters. There were decisions to make regarding reconstruction. They wanted to make changes in the design of the home when they rebuilt.
We knew our dad got so tired sometimes. He became frustrated when it seemed it was taking too long for a particular project to be completed—it was slowing down progress. Our parents didn’t want my brother me to see the house every day because we didn’t have the vision of a completed house as they did, especially Dad. Day by day, we couldn’t see the progress. It was never going to happen, we thought. Especially during those last few weeks.
Dad kept us in mind, he kept on going! He tried his best to keep our family in a state of normality. Oh, what an exciting day it was for all of us when we were able to return home a few months later! We knew it was worth the wait.
When I was only a few months old, my great-grandmother, Marie Weehunt, gave my dad an electric train as a Christmas gift. The gift was meant to be to my dad from me. In the package she enclosed a poem she had written to him from me. My mom framed the poem, it serves as a reminder to my dad that my brother, Diego, and I will always be walking behind him, thankful to be his sons!
I’m 8 now and I’m still learning. Dad gives the instructions and sets the examples with lots of love. At times you might hear me calling out to my dad, “Slow down, Dad! I’m trying to catch up!” Diego and I are so happy to have Joe Garcia as our dad. We want to make him proud...whatever we do!
