I woke up this morning with a cold. Stuffy nose, headache, cough, sore throat. The works. Not a good scene at all.
Normally, this wouldn’t really affect me. I tend to do the stereotypical guy thing and say “A cold? Eh who cares” and continue onto my day. Especially on a Saturday; yardwork, house chores, washing my truck, cleaning my garage, etc…
But today I had a different reaction: “No, not today! Please no…”
You see, today I had a plan. A plan that would see me driving for about 8.5 hours round trip. A trip to Roma and back. Not for a visit. Not for leisure. Not by choice definitely. It was an obligation that, due to my current condition, I wouldn’t be able to meet.
The plan was to attend a mass. Only for an hour. After which I would be on my way back to San Antonio; hence the travel time.
The reason for the mass? A remembrance of an event that took place a decade ago. One which still feels new. One which is still filled with pain, devastation, regret, and disbelief. One that I have never recovered from. One that I have trouble typing at this very moment: The sudden passing of my father Miguel Mascorro.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel any guilt not being able to attend this mass. My sister and Mother both assured me that it’s ok; after all, traveling for 8 hours in a day by yourself while sick isn’t a great idea. I know my dad would understand. He was a very understanding person after all.
So, regrettably, I’ll stay home and thus end up missing this mass.
But I came up with a new plan. A small one; hopefully heartfelt and endearing to my father. And here it is: I will spend time with my children, barbecue, drink some Miller Lite, watch some videos of my father and celebrate his life that was filled with these very same moments. (All this contingent on my well being of course; mixing dayquil and miller lite might not be a good idea lol)
But let’s not forget you, the reader. You are also part of this. How so you may ask? it’s simple; I’m going to list some of my favorite things/memories/ moments about my father. Feel free to take the small journey with me. By reading this, you too will be able to feel what I feel, to a certain extent of course. Which is this: my father was a special man. A great man. A dedicated and loving father. A person who was by no means perfect, but honest with both himself and others. And most importantly, himself to the very end.
*A role model*
I remember as a kid watching a number of TV shows and movies where the father is always someone who is bigger than life. A hero. An example of strength. Someone who you’d look up to in real life. And I always thought to myself, “Hey that’s just like Dad”.
My dad was bigger than life, my hero. My example. My protector. My idol. I wanted to be him when I grew up. For example, for the longest, I wanted to be a cop. Just like he was.
Until of course, he convinced me to be a teacher due to the stress of policing. Naturally, I listened to him; why wouldn’t I? This is Miguel Mascorro we’re talking about. This guy was always right in my mind. Knew everything. And I trusted him to always look out for my best interests. As a father should. He always checked all the boxes. And I always listened to him. Because he was not only my father but my role model.
*The life of the party*
Growing up in a small town, you tend to have massive get-togethers with other family members. But mine felt different. Our get-togethers felt like the entire world would stop and nothing would happen outside my house.
Random Saturdays in my adolescence would turn into parties that would have 15, 20, 30 people at a time. But these weren’t random people. No. It was always family. The Mascorro clan was massive and extremely close in my youth. And these family events were ones that would leave me a treasure trove of happy memories that I still hold close to my heart today. And, without being too presumptuous, if not for my father, these parties wouldn’t have been as special. He was always the life force of these reunions. Always trying to get people to dance. To smile. To enjoy themselves. Asking if anyone wanted or needed anything; was always the people pleaser my dad. He was the dude you wanted to party with.
It’s because of him that I have these beautiful memories. Memories that I can freely go to when I’m down. Memories that nobody can ever take away. Memories that I will take to my final days.
*A man true to himself and others*
My father was not a perfect man. He would be the first to admit it. But he was also not blinded by his own pride and wants. A man who would end up making mistakes and choosing to use them as examples for teachable moments to my sister and me. Always the teacher my father.
A man who would end up working a number of jobs throughout his entire life; some more prestigious than others. But a man who would try to become the best at these jobs because he knew no other way. It was this constant will of excellence that I will always admire and try to emulate. Whether it was a police officer, a teacher, a water plant operator, an auto shop manager, etc…He was, at least in my eyes, excellent at everything he did. Yet, it wasn’t incentive-based or because of a chance of a higher pay of sorts. It was just who he was. A man who believed that you could always learn new skills and that being the best at what you do was a natural decision. I try my best to embody this as a father…
*Ultimately, a man who left us too soon…*
I was 26 when my father passed. Lorena and I had just been married. And it was all so sudden and unexpected.
It must’ve been at least 6 months from his passing when I finally realized what had happened. He was gone and I would never see him again. And this, more than anything, brings up my most painful realization: he would never be able to see the birth of my 1st boy. Or my 2nd. Or my 3rd. And that is devastating to me.
On a weekly basis, I think about that with such a level of pain…its’s hard to put into words.
When I was a kid, I remember he’d tell me stories of my Guelo always telling him to have as many children as possible; this request being passed down to me. My father would tell me: “Mike, when you grow up, have as many children as possible! No, as many BOYS as possible! It’s important you keep the bloodline of Mascorros going!”
Now, of course, this wasn’t a demand. Or was it a request that would lead to disappointment or resentment if I had a whole bunch of girls; After all, his first child was a girl: my sister Alex. What an amazing person she is. Another role model that I’ve been lucky to look up to. Someone who my dad was always proud of and bragged to his friends about. Someone that I still call my best friend today.
Yet, even as I child I knew the joy that would be bestowed upon my father if I had a boy. And the fact that I have 3 healthy boys? Man, what that would have done for my father.
I often dream of my boys being born again and presenting Mason, Angelo, and Michael to my father. In my dream, he's holding all three as babies with the biggest smile on his face. And he looks healthy. He looks determined to live into his 90s. Focused to be the best grandfather ever. He looks like dad…but of course, I wake up. And it’s just a dream.
You see, he left us too soon. He had so much to give. So much love and happiness to bring to the world. So much unfinished business.
But if his passing taught me anything, it’s that we aren’t here for too long. That things can be taken from us suddenly and without warning. And it’s this painful lesson, this horrible event, this anniversary of the worst thing that has ever happened to my family, that I’ve learned to be present with my loved ones as much as possible.
The days that I don’t spend enough time with my boys are ones that end in shame and regret; that I wasn’t able to be with them as much as possible. The same feeling I have today. A feeling of pain and emptiness that I wasn’t able to spend more time with my father. A pain that is impossible to shed. But a pain that also serves a lesson, the toughest lesson I’ve ever learned. One that has made my life’s mission clear: that I have to be the best father I can be to my children. To be the best husband to my wife. To be the best man I can be.
Because after all, my father was all three of things.
He was the best person I knew.
The best father I knew.
The best role model I knew.
The best man I knew.
A decade later, his passing is still very real to me. Yet as devastating as it is, it is also that much of a reminder of how lucky I was to able to call Miguel Mascorro my father…