Fountain of Magic

When I was a kid, my dad was the epitome of magic. I thought he could fix anything. He would jump into any water, no matter how cold. He would wear shorts and socks EVERY DAY of the year, even though the winter. He would snow blow the whole block barefoot. He even slept in the snow once just to prove that he could. I remember running down stairs in the morning to see if he was indeed REALLY still out there. He knew magic tricks and would always pull money out of ears. He would greet everyone he knew in Spanish (which he didn't speak) by saying "Como esta to ombligo?" "How is your belly button?" He never lost at cards, chess, pig or any other game. He tied a rope swing in our front yard that barely missed the cars wizzing by, which we loved and cars hated. He loved pranks, like setting up a water-balloon launcher that was targeted to land on the front porch from the back porch and inviting our friends over just to soak them. Once he sprinkled change all over the front walkway to watch my brother and I scramble all over each other trying to get it. Another time he took us to Pharmor and gave us each $100 to spend (a fortune at the time). He gave us unusual gifts, like one year both my brother and I got new unicycles, though to this day neither of us really know how to ride one.

My Dad had a liver transplant when I was in 9th grade. I don't think that at that age I truly understood the significance of what he was up against, the enormous obstacle his body posed. I never truly understood that he was on the brink of death. I can't even imagine what the previous 15 years would have been like without him. I surely wouldn't be the same person I am today. My confidence most surely flows from the fountain of magic my dad provided. I can just see the look on his face when I had a new idea I wanted to go with. Like in 6th grade, for the robotics competition, I wanted to make a house-keeper robot that would sweep the floor. We tried all kinds of contraptions to get the robot to sweep on its own, and some of them worked, but MHR (which stood for Most Helpful Robot) seemed most effective when you stood behind her (plywood woman cutout with apron tied on) and pulled strings attached to her arms. I won the competition for the record, one of a gazillion times my dad's confidence in me spurred my own internal confidence. I am so glad my dad has been around and I am so glad that my dad is part of Makili's life and can share his magic with him.