A Most Unexpected Event

The last time I saw my father was 2003. It’s been 20 years. Those sentences are easy to write, but there’s so much that happened in between. What took seconds for me to write and for you to read, holds so much.

We’ve kept in touch on and off over the last two decades. I left Cuba at the age of 11 without both of my parents, and I was able to sponsor and bring my mom over to the U.S. 12 years later. She’s been in Miami ever since. My dad and his new family stayed behind. I attempted to bring him to the United States in 2017, but that failed. That failure, which was completely out of my hands, caused a rift in our already fractured relationship.

Only recently did we once again re-establish communications, not unlike the relationship between Cuba and the U.S., sometimes cold, sometimes warm, but always shifting.

His other two sons, my half-brothers, eventually made their way to Mexico and from there made the arduous trek across the border. They’ve been in Miami since that failed attempt to bring my dad over in 2017. For multiple reasons that are too personal and painful to get into now, we don’t really talk much. (I’m much closer to my other half-brother, from my mom’s side)

But something monumental happened.

Less than a month ago, my dad made it to the US. He’s in Miami now. I haven’t seen him seen him yet. Frankly, I can’t afford to travel so see him at the moment, even though I wish I could.

The most important thing is that he’s in this country now. That’s a big deal. Going to Cuba is no easy feat, even for Cuban citizens, but my dad is in Miami now. Even writing that sentence is strange. My dad is in Miami now. That seemed impossible, but it happened.

We’ve talked multiple times since his arrival, but there’s still so much unsaid, so much to repair. I know those conversations won’t be easy, but I do know they’re necessary. Those are better had in person, though.

For so long part of my identity was “the kid whose parents were in Cuba.” Then my mom was able to leave, and I was “the guy whose dad is still in Cuba.” Obviously, that’s still part of my story, but the story is not over and it keeps morphing as new chapters are being written. Both of my parents are in the United States now. That is still something that I’m getting used to. And I feel a bit like doubting Thomas at the moment; until I see my dad face to face, I won’t truly believe that he’s here in the continental US.

Father Figures

Over the years, I had two other father figures in my life. One was my grandfather and another my uncle (by marriage). Both men are completely different in every way imaginable. My grandfather drank often (not so much anymore), would sing Mexican mariachi songs, and mainly kept to his room, like a modern day hermit. In my 39 years of life, I don’t think I ever had a deep or meaningful conversation with my grandfather, despite living together for a big part of my life. He’s a man of very few words. But thanks to him, I can easily relate to any person of Mexican descent, despite never having spent time in that country.

My uncle, on the other hand, was someone that I would spend a lot of time talking to. We would spend hours talking about Cuba, literature, women, life, and Cuba again. He’s a writer, a thinker and an intellectual. Most of our conversations took place late at night in our backyard, when he used to smoke cigarettes, and would easily go on for hours. Most of our talks happened during my formative years. He’s definitely the closest to a true father figure that I ever had.

What would my life had been like had I been raised by my father? I don’t know. My two brothers had that chance. Their mom and my dad stayed together, even now both of them immigrating together.

Where We Are

It seems that a lot of my writing lately hinges on this question of whether or not our environment dictates the trajectory of our lives. According to recent studies, it does, but so does our DNA, at least when it comes to certain mental and other health conditions. But what about the intangibles? What about things like hope, optimism, and sheer willpower? Those traits or virtues are strongly influenced by our environment; by the people around us.

I’ve definitely been influenced and impacted by the men around me, sometimes for better, and other times for worse. But like I wrote last week, I’m unpacking certain things and identifying what’s truly mine and what I want to keep. The rest, I’m working on discarding.

I’m not sure when I will see my dad in person, but I’m glad that he’s out of Cuba and is finally in this country.

Thanks for reading.

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Don’t leave just yet! Here are some other essays that I have written these past two years that either relate to Cuba or my time there:

-The Special Period
-On Writing a Memoir
-The Root of it All
-Failure as Defiance
-The Weight of it All

If you find value in Constantly Curious, I hope you might consider becoming a paid subscriber and supporting my work as I try to build a career as an independent writer. I’m glad you’re here.

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