My dude!

The dance was over at 10:30pm and more than half of the attendees had left.
Arturo had returned to our table and asked Jennifer to dance. They were grinding against each other for the rest of the night.
Rafa had gotten up to dance with his childhood crush at 10:45pm. The bride's mom had come over to the table to ask my mom and Mague to dance in a circle of middle-aged women at 10:50pm. Jose had left with his wife at 10:55pm. The only ones left at my table were Dad, Arturo's dad, and me. I had rearranged myself to sit next to my dad, in Jose's spot. I couldn't stand the thought of sitting alone.
I stared at the various circles of dancing people on the dance floor when Daddy reached his right arm around my shoulder and squeezed me.
"You're beautiful, Mija," he said. "You're so incredibly beautiful."
I bit my bottom lip and turned to my right--away from him.
It doesn't help when you're the only one who sees it, Dad.  

I had been doing a good job at keeping the tears in, but his words made me weak. A tear rolled down my right cheek and I fought to keep any more from leaking out. I looked to the ceiling and wiped at my right eye with my left thumb, then my left index finger after realizing my thumb had been bleeding all night.

My dad was not very present in my childhood, he spent most of his time working his heart out in order to get us out of the ghetto.
My short stories rarely mention Dad, he's not much of a star player. Most of the time, I'm just asking him for permission... or dealing with his machismo's effect in my life.
That tiny excerpt is from the only story where he's the "hero" so to speak. And it's a true story.

I had cut my thumb that morning as I clumsily shaved my legs at six in the morning, in preparation for a wedding where I'd get to see my crush. At the wedding, I realize the dude had a new, super trashy girlfriend (no, seriously... she was SUPER trashy).
As a way to keep from crying, I proceeded to spend the night rubbing my cut thumb on the tiny glass beads decorating the the table cloths. The physical pain would make me forget about my shitty feelings-- the self-mutilators defense.
Daddy was the only one to be nice to me that night.
The story was my professor's least favorite, because "it's good as usual... but it's your saddest one yet :(" (The man didn't like seeing me sad-- my adoptive granddad. I guess he gets a shout-out today as well, because he's dope like that)

So, though Papiringo drives me INSANE quite often... and I argue with him on a regular basis... I adore him. He's Mi Papi!
He may believe things like washing dishes, cooking, and doing laundry is strictly "women's work," but he has the softest little lamb heart in the universe (so much so, it gets taken advantage of by EVERYONE).
He has this psychic ability to detect when I'm miserable as fuck, and he takes immediate action to cheer me up (obviously my favorite is when he doodles for me, like I've mentioned before. His doodles brighten my LIFE. That little cutie).
He may not let me drink in his presence... but he lets me travel to any destination I please, for as long as I please, blank check. I mean... I'd be the stupidest cunt in history to complain about that.
In a time when so many people don't have the luck to have a father in their lives, I am lucky enough to have my pops snooping around my life and cracking me up the whole way.
Take the good with the bad, and of course, the good always outweighs the bad.

I love that man... mi papi, papirrin, papiringo, Pops, Dad.