A Frugal Romantic
My dad is a romantic. Always has been. These days, his romanticizing usually occurs out in the front lawn.
“Let me just tell joo something,” he says to the 76-year Korean woman walking her dog in front of the house.
“Joor eyes, what color are dey? Is like de shine of a beautiful diamond, meexed with de color of an olive. Who blessed joo with dees eyes?”
After some flirtatious back and forth, the reality of his marital status hits him and he abruptly retreats to more disgust-inducing/sexual tension eliminating subjects like the epidemic of dog’s crapping on lawns in the neighborhood, or the upcoming presidential election between Donald Trump and Joe Biden where he’ll argue “man, can joo beleeb...’greatest kontry in de worl’, and two old farts running for presidente?!”
But back in the day, my dad was Mr. Latin Ladies Man. His chest hair bursting out of his silk button up shirt, paired with his perfectly manicured afro, aviator sunglasses, and his war stories told with a fused accent mixing Peruvian, Italian and Argentine dialects (two of the three being fabricated).
But it wasn't just the way he looked or sounded, it was in his thoughtful acts. I would see it constantly, when he’d bring my mom little gifts and beautiful bouquets, shouting a poetic phrase in Spanish as he burst through the door. But it wasn't until recently, thanks to my sister's insights, that I discovered these thoughtful gestures concealed shocking backstories.
One instance that my sister experienced first hand happened about 20 years ago, while my dad was still working at KLCS, the children’s education TV network.
Dad: “Hey, doze flowars, dey look barry nize!”
Dad’s coworker: “Oh yeah, my boyfriend sent them to me for my birthday. Isn’t he sweet?”
Dad: “Barry sweet. Joo going on vacation dees Friday, no? Cancun? So sad, de flowers weel surely die while joo in Cancun...”
Dad’s coworker: “Oh...haven’t thought of that...maybe my mom would...”
Dad: “I WEEL CAN TAKE CARE OF DEM FOR JOO! JES!!! DO NOT WORRY!!”
Dad’s coworker: “oh, ok...”
When Friday came around, my dad waited until everyone left his office then dumped the brown flower water in the sink, wrapped the flowers in some newspaper, and left. He drove straight to my sister’s house, with flowers in tow, picking some roses from her neighbor’s rose bush on the way to the front door to ensure the bouquet looked fresh.
“Happy berdai, honey! Beyoooteeful flowers for a beyoooooteeful lady on her berdai!”
My sister was thrilled to get the used flowers. He spent the next 30 minutes talking about each plant within the bouquet, and how most men nowadays don’t even get their loved ones flowers anymore. Then, it was time for him to go home.
Dad: “Honey, I have to leave now. Go enjoy de flowers!”
Sister: “I will, dad. Thank you so much.”
My dad waited by the flowers, awkwardly staring at my sister.
Dad: “Ahhh shoooot, aren’t joo leaving to San Diego tomorrow?”
Sister: “Yes...why...”
Dad: “Joo know...deez flowers, dey need love and attention. I can...take dem with me...joor mother in law, she can watch after them...joo know...”
Sister: “Oh my God...”
He grabbed the flowers from the vase, asked my sister for some newspaper, then was on his way.
About 20 minutes later, he arrived home, picked some red roses off our neighbor’s rose bush, then rang the doorbell.
“For joo, honey. Beyoooteeful flowers for a beyooooteeful lady!”
My mom loved the flowers. But when Monday came around, he left home nice and early, with flowers in tow. He picked some fresh red roses from the neighbor’s rose bush, replacing the droopy ones from the bouquet. When he got to work, he placed them back on his coworkers desk.
“Beyooteeful flowers,” he whispered.