The Greatest Job, being a Daddy to my Children

Having five children for the last twenty eight years, three adults, and two teenagers; it’s a known fact that not one of our children are alike. Not one. I am amazed. Even with the eldest, twin girls, sharing the same embryonic-sac real-estate-fluid for nine months, nothing. They’re day and night. They’re so different from one another in so many obvious ways, that sometimes my wife and I look at each other with a wistful look, hoping that the other younger three siblings would be somewhat similar in character and disposition. No such luck. THEY’RE ALL DIFFERENT! One, Jasmine, is a professional wedding photographer in the big OC, and her twin, Bianca, having received her Masters Degree, is now a huge integrant part of our church youth-ministries. As I write, Bianca is accompanying her mother to women retreat in Philadelphia, PA., speaking for the Womens Retreat, Calvary Chapel Old Bridge, New Jersey.

My Alexandria, the ‘middle-child,’ is doing great at the Art of Institute of California-Orange County, she’ll be graduating with a Bachelors degree this coming December.

Sebastian, our 17 year old is still stretching. His grades are excellent, and has made the Varsity Basketball team.

San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, Mexico is beautiful,man. I still have scheduled dates with all of my kids, including Jasmine, with her husband’s permission, of course. Jasmine is the second to the last of my children visiting my birth-place. She was shocked by the beauty and bright colors. Just as I told her, the population is about 10% (correction) American-expatriates, mostly writers, photographers, painters, artists, eclectics and wannabe art connoisseurs and the like; Jasmine was also so overwhelmed by the innocent and pristine beauty of the Mexican-people from this central-region parts. Unlike Tijuana or Juarez, border-cites known for it gritty and pathetic ambiance, here there is nothing but tranquility and serenity. No one is in a rush. Not one!

According to World 66 .com—San Miguel de Allende is a quiet town that is remarkably comfortable to the traveler and expatriate, one that is calm, quiet, and has a rhythm of its own. Its rhythm isn't of the Samba, or the Mexican hat dance. It’s the beat of a quiet gentle drum marked by relaxing days in the town, and then a nighttime stroll before the pink granite church made in delicate and almost bizarre churrigueresque (Spanish Baroque style of elaborate sculptural architectural ornament) elements.

I am on daddy-call for the entire weekend. Our fourteen year-old, Zoe, graduated today from junior high. I volunteered to be her taxi driver for her and her three amigas, Kayla, Jasmine and Anita. After eating a scrumptious lunch at Rafael’s in Montebello, we headed to Huntington Beach for a swim. On our way back we stopped for some exotic Vietnamese Pho, near Little Saigon. Aaaaaah. I am bushed and wearied. I can hear hilarious laughter emanating from the den. It's going to be a long night.

1975 was a good year for me. Why? Christ came into my life. I never thought it would be this good to be a father...ahem, I mean, a daddy.