When the person dies, the story dies with them.
I recently was given the opportunity to attend a Writers' League of Texas author workshop with famed authors Kathleen Kent and Jeramey Kraatz. I learned a lot that day and even got to speak with them each personally, snap a few photos, and exchange books. But Kathleen said something that stuck.
"When a person dies, the story dies with them."
Kathleen was referring to her family history of witches and how she based one of her books off of that research. But of course, it made me think of my family. Family has always been important to me. First and foremost, before anything. It's how I was raised, and how I'm trying to raise my children.
My father died two years ago and he had many stories. Today I would just like to tell a little about him.
Salvador Cerros was born in Mexico to my grandmother, Teresa Medina and my long lost grandfather Elicio Cerros. At some point she fled Mexico with him, for reasons unknown, and got married to my step-grandfather Frank Marquez. They lived in California as a blended family. Teresa's kids and Frank's kids, and the kids they had together.
Way later, as a young man, my dad became very into cars. Especially the old Lowrider ones. The older, the better. He had one of his own. It was a 48 Chevy Fleetline. I remember riding in it as a kid. It was white and had no seat belts. It was a treat to ride in it. He liked cars so much, that he worked for General Motors in Van Nuys, California and retired from there.
My dad also liked rock music, a lot. He'd always be playing it in his car. He'd ask me, "do you know this song? It's by the Beatles" or "Pink Floyd" or "The Rolling Stones" along with various other old rockers. I didn't know the songs then. I know them now. Two of my favorite songs that make me feel connected to him are "House Of The Rising Sun" by The Animals and "Paint It Black" by The Rolling Stones. He played guitar in a band as a young man.
My dad loved to eat. I think this is where I got it from. He'd always take me to the places with the best pizza, or seafood, or pastrami sandwiches.
He loved to laugh and tell stories. He was famous for trying to spook us with haunted tales. He also loved The Simpsons (his Krusty the clown impression was spot on) and reading comics, because he was a big kid at heart.
He liked to be alone, maybe a little too much. I get this from him as well. My step-mom would force him into taking me places. My favorite was to go on walks with him, with our dog, Lucky. (I'm going to write another blog post about the significance of this later.) I could always find him outside reading the paper, all by himself. Although he also loved to read books. Some days he'd walk alone to the book store. He'd read there for hours, then walk all the way back home.
He was an adventurous man. An outdoorsy man. A man who cared about our planet. Every summer he'd take me somewhere new. Camping, to Catalina Island, The California Redwoods, and beaches where there were pebbles instead of sand. Or just down to the creek in Palmdale (via a hole in the fence). While on these outings, if he saw trash, he'd pick it up and dispose of it properly. Nothing irked him more than pollution.
He was all these things and so much more. He took good care of me and my step-brother, Phillip, and my little sister, Molly. He kept us safe, he took us on adventures, he taught us about life and how to be humble. My dad was never married to my mom and when we moved to Texas, I'd still go visit him every summer. I have so many lasting memories and I hope that I never lose them. My dad and my step-mom eventually separated, and he moved in with my grandma. They took care of each other. They're both gone now, but they live in my heart and memories forever.
He's the reason I became an author. My depression over the fact that he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, is what drove me into writing like never before. I hope I never start to forget like he did. But if I do, I hope I at least get a chance to write it down first.
Thanks for reading.
Until next time,
Kathey
