Remarkable Tuesday

The day I opened my acceptance letter to college was, to say the least, an unforgettable day. My father's marble eyes filled with pride as he smiled at the news. My grandmother's cries of joy were heard all the way from Argentina, more than 5,000 miles away, well, through the telephone. Emotions rushed through my body like fresh water charging in after a flush, and like a running faucet, tears poured out of my eyes with no intention of stopping. I was amazed at how the right combination of letters in what seemed to be Times New Roman font size 12, could bring out such reactions. The letter now sits framed at my bedside as a reward for my accomplishment, a reminder of the joy it brought me and my family and as proof that anything is possible. I never thought that anything could match that day, but today, thankfully, I was proved wrong. In what at first seemed to be a flashback, I watched my brother open a similarly formatted letter congratulating him on his own acceptance. Cliche as may be, there are no words to describe the feeling that took over me. But it wasn't a feeling of excitement nor pride, I was just genuinely happy for him. I was happy to see my father's eyes glisten as he smiled at the news and I was happy to hear my grandmother's screams from the room next door. More than anything, I was happy to share tears with my brother as we hugged tighter and longer than usual. That night I made a simple toast at the dinner table, pausing frequently to control my emotions. From remembering my own acceptance to witnessing my brother's own, today was most definitely a remarkable Tuesday.

Special Thursday

My father was born 12:00 pm on a Sunday, 48 years ago. "Feliz cumpleaños Pa," I said as I leaned in to give him a kiss. His face was rough like the spiky half of a Velcro strip and I was glad to see that he relieved himself from shaving duties. I worked until 9:00 pm because even though I wanted to stay home, I knew he would prefer if I fulfilled my responsibility. By the time I got home dinner was ready, so I freshened up and we began to eat. Being the Dollar Store's number one shopper, my father set the table with colorful plastic plates, cups and utensils. Before I began eating the appetizer, I picked up a piece of the pepperoni bread and wondered how it was made so that each slice looked like a bulls-eye target. The main course consisted of chicken cutlet, breaded to perfection, fusilli the size of AAA batteries covered with a red sauce, and a fresh garden salad. Bread was scattered throughout the table like stars in the sky. I love food, but as much as I enjoy eating, a simple conversation stole the spotlight from the meal. In an innocent question, my brother asked how he felt about being 48.

"Throughout the years," he began, "the number 3 has proven itself to be significant in my life."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, 3, it's simple. Off the top of my head, the bible makes 3 important references to the number 3: The holy trinity, Jesus was denied 3 times, and Jesus resurrected on the 3rd day. We're in the year '12, 1+2=3. Today I turned 48, 4+8=12, 1+2=3."

My father is an accountant, so numbers, second to us, are his life. His words are like the air I breath. When he speaks, I inhale them as deeply as possible as my lungs trap the knowledge inside. I love listening to his thoughts, his theories, and specially his subconscious lectures.

"The importance of 3 to me, however, is summed up in 3 special events. Each one of your births, the 3 happiest days of my life."

Although today is birthday, the beautiful thing about today is that we didn't celebrate my father's age, but rather we celebrated another day of being together. Technically, everyday together is a celebration, but for some unexplainable reason, today felt like a special Thursday.

Lovely Wednesday

My father, my brother and I attended my baby brother's winter concert tonight, he's fourteen. Recently it feels as thought the more social events I go to, the more I begin to hate them. Envious eyes spot you, fake smiles greet you and artificial questions break the uneasy silence that floods the room. People sat emotionless in the seats of the auditorium as their eyes scanned the stage for their child. Tonight marked his first high school concert and the difference from the middle school band was evident when the first note was played. Four beautiful songs later, the director blessed us with a much needed intermission. On the way back to my seat, I noticed my brother standing up straight, in front of the stage, behind a polished black music stand. A solo? Yes, a solo. With twice as many eyes on him as people in the room, he absorbed the energy and brought the music to life with his every breath of air, of soul, of love. His saxophone silenced the room until his last note gave way to a tsunami of claps. I stared at him hoping that if our eyes met, I could send him a short message saying “I love you.” The show carried on, lovely as before. Wanting to ask my father what he had thought of the solo, I turned to my left, only to find him scraping out the last tear which made its way to his upper lip. I squeezed his hand. As he squeezed mine back, he smiled, and then we faced forward to enjoy the rest of the show. After the concert, no words needed to be spoken as we walked to the car . We simply absorbed the love present within us, between us. A lovely Wednesday, no?