We had a great celebration in our family this week; my dad turned 100. One hundred years of a life well lived, difficult at times, but full of love and happiness.
My dad was the oldest of seven brothers and sisters, born to a poor family in Cuba. He lived through the Great Depression, worked for an American company at the Guantanamo Bay military base during WWII, and owned several businesses. At age 54, he, my mom, and I fled Cuba to the United State so I would not be raise in communist country.
My father is also a writer of poetry, a man that had very little formal education, but loves to read and write. Last year he announced that he was writing a book about his life; we all can’t wait to read it. I am blessed to have both my parents living. My mom is ninety years old; they have been married for sixty-two years. Both my parents live alone, with little help, in the same house they purchased forty years ago.
We had over ninety family members and friends gather at a local restaurant today to celebrate dad’s birthday; he loved the party and the Mariachi Band that came to sing happy birthday.
Happy Birthday Dad.
My Father’s Garden
My father is also an avid gardener; he is the person responsible for my gardening genes. At 100 he still works in his garden. Every morning he goes out into the garden to pull weeds, rake leaves, and tend to his plants. I believe that this love of plants and nature has kept his mind sharp and has given him a healthy body.