Marty and his Dad

Posted on December 10, 2012 by


When I was in the 6th grade at my elementary/middle school, there was an overweight, light-skinned Mexican kid with thick, combed hair named Marty.

The only thing I knew about Marty:  after the school day ended and we were in the school yard, I saw him run to and hug his dad with such a genuine joy and lightness.  It was the fastest I’d seen him run;  it was like he was 5 years old or something.  I don’t know if he rarely saw his dad;  he seemed like he was coming from work, dressed in a shirt and tie.

There was something beautiful, genuine, untainted about the way they did this.

I never imagined myself doing that with my dad.

Then one day, over the PA, there was an announcement.  I had not seen Marty in a while.

Over the PA, the principal announced that Marty’s father had died.

I instantly thought about those fleeting moments when I’d see someone who really loved his dad, lose that person.  It didn’t seem to be fair.  It’s a especially a shame because I used to be embarrassed about being seen with my parents at the mall.

I’ve never had a conversation with Marty;  I hope he’s doing well today.

But this memory is I am grateful everyday for what I have, and an excuse to take big chances and opportunities.  “Having dreams is what makes life tolerable.”  Taking them I will continue to do, doing right by my folks, working and improving all the time.

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