Full Tank of Gas

This past weekend Novalí came to visit to celebrate Heather's birthday. I did my typical morning routine when she leaves, I washed her car, filled the tank, and got her McDonald's breakfast and coke for the drive home. 

As a parent you always feel like you aren't doing enough or the right things. I often felt torn between work and kids, community and children, and balancing all of life's expectations for becoming successful, being a leader and being a good dad. Parenting I think is the worlds biggest challenge. Don't be too strict, don't be too easy, can't do it for them, can't left them completely fail, want to offer options and opportunities, but let them follow their passion. It's a lot, and all along the way you feel like you have no idea what you are doing, half the time making it up as you go along, and then thinking... man how did my parents figure this all out? 

Then you realize... your parents did what you are doing. They did their best, they loved you, and tried to be the best parents they could. And they were. I bet of all the things they actually taught me, I never realized they taught me... but I remember the moments of care, of celebrating wins, consoling loses, buying cake and putting on bandaids. The unspoken ways that you say you love them unconditionally. 

I hope my kids know when I push them it is because I know they can. I hope they know when I step back it isn't because I think they can't, but because I want it to be their thing. I hope they know that I tried to give them a step ahead in life, like my parents gave me. I hope they just turn out to be better than me. I hope they know I love them no matter what. 

It was a nice weekend. We got big desserts for Heather's Bday, I took N and C to the Clemson game, and I was reminded how lucky I am to have these great kids in my life. When I feel like I am failing as a parent, I need to just hangout with them for a bit and get reminded how great they have turned out. One really no longer needs me, one thinks he is stronger than me, and my youngest probably thinks she doesn't need me... but its nice to feel needed, to feel like what you did was the right thing and they know you love them. 

So how do I show that love? I'll be honest, I am not good at it, but for me it looks like a car wash, full tank of gas and a sausage egg mcmuffin. 

5,500 RPM

There is a fine line between pushing too hard, and not pushing enough. The space between leaving too much on the table and risking too much and losing it all. The line between where you were, where you are, and where you want to be... in that space you can find peace and happiness. 

In my Z that line is 5,500 RPM in fifth gear. 

Lesson learned in life, in my Z, as a parent, and at work all point often to the same conclusion. I was reminded on this on my recent track night and the ride heading up to Gingerman Raceway in South Haven. 

On the highway, in 5th gear, when I am humming at 5,500 RPM it just feels perfect. The peace that exists when I am pushing her hard, and feeling that she is giving it her all right back, perfect balance. I am on that line, and I recognized in the Z, why can't I recognize that in real life though?

Their is a balance in knowing I could push a little harder, and she could try more; but would it be too far and is this enough? Maybe she can, maybe she can’t, maybe I save that last little umph for when I need it, save it for the track… 

At the track it’s a little bit of a dance. She has a yellow line at 6,000 but she redlines at 6,500 RPM. On several shifts on the track I get her close to the redline… well past that 5,500 that I know she likes. I push her hard, she does her best, I try not to ask too much, and we both leave it all on the track. 

She doesn’t want to break, I don’t want to make a serious mistake, and we want to be able to ride home together (and not on a tow truck). That night I spun out twice bad, luckily both times I kept her on the track and not off in the "fun" zones (that ruined my previous front spoiler on an off track excursion). 

We had fun, she got hot and dirty, lots of bugs on the windshield, brake dust caked on the wheels, race rubber sling stuck all over, I pop the hood to check the oil, top her off, and pack the car for the ride home. 

Then I get her into 5th gear and wind her up to 5500 RPM. It’s dark out, headlights on, we cruise. She purrs at 5,500. I smile, we make it home, close the garage door and turn out the lights. 

The perfect night, at 5,500 RPM. There were days when she didn't run and I couldn't fix her, and there will be days when we will go faster. The beautiful balance of walking the line of pushing hard, pushing just enough, getting all you can, leaving it all out there, and not crashing the car. The same in life between letting the past go, not letting dreams unrealized ruin the beauty that is around us today. There can be peace and happiness right where I am, I just have to let it be, to see it, to feel.... 

At 5,500 RPM, the line between where it was, were it could be... Thanks Z for teaching me to love where I am... 

Cooking with Grandma

On our recent trip to Florida... Mari didn't pack her iPad. When I realized it, I asked her why she forgot it. She replied, "I didn't forget it, I won't need it in Florida, grandma and I will be busy cooking". 

What? She doesn't go anywhere without it... so I asked, what are you going to be cooking? They had Facetimed a few days before to plan activities for the week and I had suggested they cook or bake. Well Mari proceeded to list all of her favorite things... pie, cake, desserts, pancakes, cupcakes, french toast... whew... man they were going to have a busy time! 

I took the three kids and our trip was just a short four day stop. Lots of great things happened during the week. Like fishing with grandpa, N and C went to Universal together without parents, playing chess, arts and crafts, swimming (of course!) and puzzles, Wii, Hot Wheels.... you name it. This blog though, will be about Cooking with Grandma. 

As a kid, I always remember cooking with my mom. I founding remember, weekends, I used to be a paperboy and that meant Saturday and Sunday up at 5:30AM to pick up papers and get them delivered. Usually I did it on my own, but on big paper days one of my parents would help drive to pick up the huge papers (Sundays or Holidays). Usually after my mom and I would make breakfast. 

I grew up more a mamas boy I think. We would cook, she would teach me how she made hash browns, why she puts milk in scrambled eggs, how hot to cook things, and how to prep and cook some of my favorite things like freshly caught fish or other family favorites. It all served me well when I moved off to college and had to fend for myself. 

If you know Mari, you know she loves snacks and desserts. She is patient and learns things quickly (especially if related to things she likes, like dessert). Her and grandma daily, if not twice a day while in FL cooked or baked. Mari also likes to pretend she is running a restaurant, so she would take orders, set the table, and bring out orders for her customers. It was nice being waited on by Mari, usually the other way around back home. 

They cooked some favorites, a cake, cupcakes, waffles, french toast, scrambled eggs... but they also did a few new things grandma taught her. They made a jello pie, which she ended up not liking, so maybe we try that one or similar again and see. They also did some learning, measuring, cutting, etc. I also loved watching Mari learn how to use a hand mixer... ancient technology, that honestly works better than modern ones. 

Well here are a few photos of my Mom and Mari cooking is up in Florida. I wished they lived closer, but the distance does mean the days we spend together are more precious and fun filled. We packed each day full to the top with things to do and the kids returned tired from that vacation. So it was well spent, and we will be back again soon, hopefully once again not needing iPads. 

American Grown. Bolivian Roots.

My mom got me the shirt, I wore it when they visited two weeks ago. I have been a lot more reflective lately, on how I grew up, things that have shaped who I am, shaped who I am not, and the motivation to be and do certain things. As a mixed kid, kinda immigrant, but born American, kinda poor, but had enough, and since by and large most would say that I "turned out okay" I usually hide the struggles of the past like it didn't help shape me. 

Bolivian Roots
During my time at La Casa de Amistad for sure I spent more time reflecting on where I was "from" when people ask most Latino's or immigrants about their background. Yeah I was born there, yeah it was my first language, yeah my license plate frame says Bolivian on it... 

American Grown
I grew up most of my life not feeling Latino enough, or not fitting into the group that ethnically and socio-economically matched me best. I wanted to be American, but didn't really fit into that ideal, we were the kinda traditional low income immigrant family, dad made less cause of his language skills, mom struggled to work cause she was busy raising 4 crazy kids. 

So where am I going with all this? I don't even know, usually my blogs start with an idea, a point I want to get across, something I want to prove (to myself or others), or just something to get off my chest. I am just here kinda writing cause its been a while and I should I guess. 

In my old age, I feel like I am more honest with my parents, and I think they are most honest with me. On this trip my mom mentioned more about how hard of times we had as kids. My dad working multiple hard jobs (morning paper route, day time roofer) cause without English he could only do hard labor low paying jobs. My mom was running a home daycare cause with her health challenges and four kids it was hard to do anything else, but they had to make ends meet. If it had not been for my mom's parents, not sure how we would of made it. 

I was never thankful enough. Not sure I was actually thankful for their sacrifice until I realized how hard parenting is... and I have it easy. During the trip, on one of our adventures, the kids both took their scooters. My mom commented on a memory, of when Andres and I both really wanted scooters... and our birthdays are close together, and so they got us one to share. We shared a room, most of our clothes and toys, and so it was just one more thing we shared. We didn't know any other way, not that we didn't like it, but I am sure we made it known to my parents that we each wanted one... 

So as my kids both scooted around Notre Dame, my mom shared that memory. I thanked her for the scooter, and apologized if I wasn't grateful back then... today, both my kids have scooters, my oldest has a car, all things I can buy without flinching. Interestingly, I think my kids are probably as grateful (or ungrateful) for those things as I was for my shared scooter... not sure how I will teach them how hard their parents, work for them to have things. Maybe it doesn't matter right now that they get it. 

American Grown. Bolivian Roots. 
I grew up weird. The weird white kid in the ELL classes in 1st grade surrounded by brown faces that I am sure wondered why I was there... Then the poor immigrant kid in the honors AP classes in high school that didn't go on fancy spring break trips or fit in with the kids from the "good" neighborhood. 

Today I am the token Latino who sits in important board rooms, and feels the weight of the pressure to represent his family, his culture (both of them), and still somehow fit in. I am in places because of my background, both of them, serving in both a traditional American role (white male leader), and the "other" often tokenized role at the same time. Often out of place, never without internal conflict, but expected to perform regardless. 

Maybe it is why I am a good negotiator, a great middle man, my life was a constant compromise, a skill I learned through osmosis. A skill I am uberly thankful for, and thankful to my parents for, for their compromise on what they wanted in life, to ensure their kids got what they needed. Those sacrifices, or compromises, provided me with nearly limitless opportunity. 

This second photo is also from the trip, my three kids in the last row there, my sister Raquel in the background, my nephew Javier in the foreground, and my parents. We all gather for my niece Valerie's high school graduation, some of the rare reasons we all can get together. 

We had a great couple days, which get harder and harder as kids grow up, people move, and I am so glad we had the time together. It gave me chances to share with my kids about my roots and my challenges as a kid, and to enjoy their grandparents for more than just extra candy treats, legos building, brownie baking, football games and holiday cards... but for what they provided to me, which has made their lives better. 

It could have been easier, but I wouldn't want it any other way. So to my Bolivian Roots ahead of Father's Day... gracias pop para todo, siempre fue todo que nesesitábamos, y mas. For my American Grown, as I look back... I am grateful for it all, it was perfect. Especially morning breakfasts after my paper route, I think about those mornings all the time. Thanks mom and dad. 

Cocoa Bombs, Cartwheels, and Cartoons

My favorite thing so far in 2022 is that I am home nearly every day when the kids get home from school. This year neither of their schools had programming afterwards so they are taking the bus home. The bus drops them off on our block which is nice, and while the kids can get in on their own, I love being here with them. 

On winter days we made hot cocoa bombs and read a little before watching Ninjago (or other cartoons). These nice spring days they get to play outside before dinner. I often have the time free to hangout, which is fun. Other days I am on Zoom calls keeping tabs on them, saying "Yes/No" to requests for snacks and candy, and reminding them of chores and dishes. 

I love asking them how their day went, even though the answer 99% of the time is "boring" or "the same", it is great greeting them. I come up with new questions to ask to try and get more details from their day. I help them keep their schedule, piano lessons on Wednesdays, Cruz has tutoring at 4PM, Mari doing her reading log, basketball, gymnastics. etc... 

So what's this blog about? What is so special about cocoa bombs and Ninjago? 

For too many years I missed those times... for my oldest she lived with her mom, so I missed the daily lunch horror stories, checking recess injuries, signing school forms... for C and M, aside from during the pandemic, I worked events many nights and I missed most those convos.  The pandemic, and working from home, made me realize how much I was missing out on with the kids. 

Today they did cartwheels while I was on a zoom call. What I get for taking away iPads, but they always get creative, sometimes together, sometimes separately, but we mix it up and break up the week with fun and activities. 

My kids will only be young once, and someday won't want to make cocoa bombs or watch cartoons with their old man... Someday I wont be able to do cartwheels with them... So I am loving this year, and will work to keep my schedule like this as often as possible. 

Now as the weather gets warmer, it might be less cocoa bombs or Ninjago... and while redundant, I just can't wait for the daily interviews on how was lunch, how was your day, and the dreaded, what do you want for dinner conversation... 

Choosing Your Shoes

Shoes. They can make or break your day. They set you up for success or trip you up. I reflected on choosing my shoes... and no not over what matches or is "stylish" enough as Mari would say... but about how hard choosing your shoes often is... 

In the past few days I made a few hard shoe choices. Over the weekend I put on my black dress shoes. Since pandemic started I rarely wear dress shoes, and honestly can’t remember when I put these on last. I had a funeral. I dusted them on Friday. I was off to a viewing a good friend and community leader. 

Saturday morning at the memorial mass I looked down at my shoes. I thought about Greg as a veteran and his black boots. I thought about why we wear black to mourn when we should wear colors to celebrate a beautiful vibrant life. I thought about how much I dreaded putting on those shoes, and walking into mass. 

Monday afternoon I planned a “short” run. I thought I would try maybe a mile or more. I was anxious about it all day and putting the shoes on made me nervous. Usually lacing up my running shoes was empowering, but not since I hurt my knee. In the interim putting them on to run 1/4 mile felt like a boondoggle during rehab… so I held off on using my running shoes until I really started running. 

I planned to run one mile.
Would of been my longest yet… at 1.2 miles the knee felt great and I said let’s do 2.
So I did. BOOM.

Shoes are often times the last thing we put on. However it can be a thought long before, of pain or anxiousness or excitement. They can be empowering or debilitating. 

Since pandemic I think a lot on the little things, like choosing your shoes. Kinda like choosing your attitude, one small thing, you shoes, makes a big difference. 

It was hard slipping on and lacing both my black dress shoes, and my running shoes the past few days. Hoping I won't put those black dress shoes on for a while, and I am planning to lace up those running shoes today... 

Here is to getting to choose shoes more often that make me look forward to activities, that empower me. 

My Friend Greg

When you read his obituary, what you think is was he a real person? It reads like a fictional character in a book, from migrant farmer to nuclear weapons tech in the Air Force, from father to olympic torch bearer, from neighborhood volunteer to reciting the pledge of allegiance for a US President, from driving HS students to field trips to being inducted into the SB Hall of Fame, from opening a small business to help run the bilingual department in our schools, from going door to door to register voters to getting a Sagamore of the Wabash award from the Governor... he did it all. 

When you read his obituary, what you think is wow, what a life! Big family, big dreams, big impact in the community. His family has spread all over the country, he is well respected, he lived a long life, saw a lot, and he will rest in peace and power. 

When you read his obituary, what you won't see the details of the type of mentor he was, the advice he gave, the great coffee conversations at Bill's, the way he hustled for his family, his strong voice on community issues, and his passion for voter registration. You also won't see how much he loved his culture, and how much that guy loved mariachi... 

When you read his obituary, what you won't see is all the little things he did. Like when he came and edged the lawn at La Casa, or painted the curb blue for the handicap spot, or stop at the office to give a $20 donation for a fundraiser we had going on. You won't see that even when doctors told him not to, he did it, cause he had an internal obligation to do it. 

When you read his obituary, what you won't see was the type of friend he was... and that's what I will miss the most. His calls to check, him swinging by the office to say hello, his dedication to doing the right thing, and supporting the things that matter to him, those things I will miss, they reminded me to work harder, be better, and follow a plan to achieve a goal. 

Thank you Greg, your friendship meant the world to me, and so many. Que dios te bendiga. 

Read his Obituary here: SJFH

Read past blogs about Greg: Hall of Fame Chavez (11/17/14), LULAC Trip (7/15/2016), And We Marched (10/8/13)

A few of my favorite memories of Greg below. Click to enlarge. 

The Empty Corner

We usually take the tree down after Jan 6th (Three Kings Day) which was a tradition growing up. We have yet to rearrange other furniture and get things back to pre-holiday arrangement. So there is an empty corner where holiday cheer used to be in the house. 

This year was an interesting year for traditions. By interesting I mean, everything changed. Maybe cause of pandemic, maybe cause of timing and life in general, or maybe cause it's time?

I never posted photos of the tree going up. I did a few shots from the same spot, of the tree getting built. Then ribbon and lights, then ornaments, then the skirt and eventually gifts. Usually it was a process with all three kids, hot chocolate, music and setting up the mantle. This year we couldn't work out time for Novalí to be here to help, uncertainty around holiday travel, and all the life changes... it didn't feel the same, and I ended up not posting any photos of the process. It was my first hinkling of, and why was I hesitant to post, my thoughts around the desire for perfection, and cause it wasn't perfect (Perfect Picture Blog)? 

Now I am just posting a picture of an empty corner, so whats up with that? Well I guess I will include some pictures of the tree as well when it was up. (Enjoy this GIF I made)

I don't know where I am going with this, except the notion of not what is missing from that corner, but what the possibilities are for the corner. Maybe it goes back to be the area for kids art and school supplies. Maybe it stays empty, or I move my coat tree there, or maybe we paint that room and then rearrange it all... who knows. 

I guess in general I have always been an optimist, always looked at the positive, always knew there was light at the end of the tunnel. I think pandemic, career change, family, stress... everything is trying to make me see an empty corner. Trying to make me focus on what isn't perfect about it, what I wish it could be, or even just on what used to be there... 

As someone who generally tries to create change through my work, I find it interesting that now I am personally resistant to change. So it's also a lesson right back at me about how and why change is so hard. 

I see you empty corner, and I raise you unlimited options, and/or just the option to stay the same, and that everything is going to be alright. 

Less Perfect Pictures

I realized, that like everyone else on social media, I always want to post the perfect picture. I think it is why I posted so little this year. After my knee injury I stopped running, so no more running pictures. I changed jobs and honestly not sure what pictures to post of my work from home non-profit start up job. Kids don't really like posing for pictures as much. I didn't want more pity posts about my knee, or things that weren't going "perfect". Lately people were asking why I wasn't posting like I used to... 

Over the holiday break, I posted more, the kids at a game, going bowling, decorating, making cookies, ice skating, giving presents, Facetiming with my family, cooking Bolivian food, etc. All the picture perfect things of a holiday break. So I posted a lot. 

Then break ended, and I didn't post. Cause its not perfect anymore, no one wanted to go back to school, honestly I didn't want to go back to work, and it was all just hard. Personally, professionally, with my family... nothing felt perfect enough to post. 

Reflecting on New Years, looking at the camera roll on my phone, I realized so many non-perfect pictures that I could share. Why do I feel the need to always just put the perfect picture forward? What filter do I need on my life to make it worth sharing? Ha... well I laugh, but it's true. 

Man 2021 was a hard year, coming off 2020 which despite the pandemic was maybe one of my best years. Not a good year despite the circumstances, but a great year. My oldest was home from college for nearly a whole year, I spent more time home with my kids in one year than maybe in the previous ten. I did house projects I had put off for years. I got my Datsun back on the track. So really 2020, was a great year. Is it maybe what made 2021, and the non-perfect things, worse? I don't know. 

What I do know, is that I, and we all, need to just start being more real. I think we will all feel more real. We can be real about how we feel, what we want, where we are going, where we aren't going... Ah. 

So I cruised my camera roll and I thought I would share the two pictures here on this post. The first... chores... yeah the glory is in building the Lego cars, its not in the cleaning the heat registers in the toy area looking for missing pieces (we vacuumed up 3 lego men, several nerf bullets, lots of random toys, but of course not the one we were looking for). The second picture is my maybe 10th attempt to customize a Hot Wheels Datsun 510 Wagon... I been waiting for it to be finished, to look perfect, and let's just say at this point it is a foregone conclusion that perfection will not be reached. 

So what is the point of this blog? Is it just another excuse about why I am not posting enough? Ha... well maybe, cause you know I couldn't think of the perfect thing to write. I never make NYE Resolutions, and I am not now either, but I am saying that in 2022, I will have much less focus on finding perfect pictures. I will try to spend more time enjoying the process, call my mom more often, pass the time with things I enjoy, and trying to lose less Legos.