Happy Birthday, Dad

July 3, 2008

Today is my father’s birthday; he would have been 85 years old. Since arriving in Italy I have thought a lot about my parents—their lives, our relationship, what they would think of this journey.

My father was very much a self made man. He was orphaned at a young age and grew up in California being cared for by aunts and uncles. He knew the hard labor of the asparagus fields and when he had an opportunity to join the navy to serve in WWII, he did. While in the Navy, he showed strength in the field of electronics and was trained as an electronics technician. I know very little about his time in the Navy; he like many vets would not speak of his experiences. I know that he saw many friends die and that he probably had very painful memories from his losses.

After the Navy, he married my mom and they went to Los Alamos, New Mexico where he stayed for the rest of his life. He got a job with the Los Alamos National Laboratory and remained in his same division for the entire length of his career. While at the labs, he served at Bikini Atoll, was at Jack Ass Flats in Nevada and did “testing” at his work site. All of those experiences exposed him to radiation and who knows what else. Because of his exposure, our family qualified for a settlement through the Department of Labor.

Growing up, dad supplemented the family income by doing television repair work. In those days there were tubes in the televisions and I used to be fascinated by the assortment of tubes that were in his carrying case. He would go to people’s homes to do the repairs but also had a basement work room (which I also found totally fascinating). Now, I have to add that this basement office/work place wasn’t originally a part of our house. He dug it out from under the foundation with a shovel and pick. I have memories of watching him and certainly didn’t understand the implications of such an enormous project. But that was my dad; he could fix just about anything and did. People often came to him seeking his help and advice about one project or another. I used to watch him make repairs on the car and still regret to this day that he wouldn’t really teach me about what he was doing—it was a role thing. I do think that he also grew into the same regret when he saw me as an adult attempting to tune my own car, do electrical work around the house and whatever project. I would call him and double check that the “red wire goes…”? There are many parts of me that make up my father’s influences and I often hear myself saying, “I am the daughter of an engineer”.

Our relationship over the years took many twists and turns. For many years we fought and argued; ours was a family of frustration and discord. My parent’s relationship was a mixture of loving one another, trying to raise seven children, losing two children, trying to convince one another of their point of view. One time during an argument I let my father know that if he and mom weren’t arguing, they weren’t speaking.

Once I hit my 40’s and had my own experiences with parenting, I began to view my parents in a totally different light. I began to see that my father did the best he could given the life skills he’d acquired. He’d been traumatized since an early age and ALWAYS had to pull his own weight. I consciously decided that I didn’t want to be angry anymore AND I didn’t want to have any regrets toward him in my future. So, I began to “chill” and he met me more than half way. I also was better able to view each of my parent’s points of view and got to a point where I didn’t want to judge either of them. Life is a challenge at best and being a daughter doesn’t qualify me to judge too harshly. He never laid a hand on me, he always told me that he loved me; I always felt supported by both of my parents in their own way.

In January 2000, he was diagnosed with kidney and lung cancer. (Five years earlier he’d had and been treated for colon cancer). Five months later, he died. During those five months my sisters' and I rallied to provide care; he died in a hospital in Santa Fe during the fire evacuation from the Cerro Grande Forest Fire.
So today at 6PM while the Alessandria church bells were ringing, Kim and I stopped by a church and I lit a candle and thought of him. He would laugh about the “candles” now. You drop a coin into the offering box and poof, an electrical candle lights up. (He could easily have wired the new candle set up). I think that he would have approved of my Italian journey; he would have shaken his head at first but in time he’d been on board.

So here’s to my father, Manuel (Manny) B. Diaz. Happy birthday and thanks for giving me life and for making this sojourn possible. I am lucky and proud to be the daughter of an engineer.