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Dante was born on a sunny November 5th in 1987. It was a momentous occasion for me. I had been a good-time dude and now I had a child to raise.

Since my memory is fading, I can't recall him as an infant with the exception of a photo when he can't be more than one and we were at the beach. He is standing in his speedo with the same existentialist gaze he carries to this very day.

As a child, he loved to claw through the dirt in search of bugs and worms for hours. I taught him to play all the sports, but he was a self-absorbed child who never required anyone to entertain him. With his mother and soon-to-follow little brother, we spent many idyllic evenings at Gio's Pizza Parlor. There was never a dearth of conversation and laughter. 

I can only remember spanking Dante on one occasion. I had to whack Diego on the ass a half-dozen times. He had this horrible habit of darting out of the car without looking and I had no other choice but to physically discipline him; he was risking his life and my sanity.

The sole time I took Dante out behind the woodshed, Diego, to nobody's surprise, was partly responsible. They were five and three and entered a liquor store with me. I was paying at the counter when I heard bottles crashing to the floor. The two were horsing around and knocked over a pyramid display of wine bottles. I tanned their little butts, not so much to discipline them as demonstrate to the clerk that I was a stern father with the hope that he wouldn't charge me for the damage. He didn't.

It goes without saying that no relationship is perfect and we have faced personal and emotional challenges, but a good father and a good son find their way back to each other. There aren't many occasions that compare to spending time with him.

Friday night we went to La Pampa which has replaced Gio's. The latter evokes a time that fills us with a painful nostalgia. We both share a weakness for sentimentality. It was the two of us. We ate and drank well. There was no lack of conversation and laughter.

Nothing brings parents peace like their children's happiness. Dante is in a good place right now. At 33 years of age--the same age Christ was crucified I reminded him--he has his college education, has taught among a variety of other occupations, is living out the blue-collar blues as a Culligan Man and is pursuing his Master's in a computer specialty.

Handsome and intelligent, two qualities he inherited from his mother, he will always be my oldest son. I give thanks daily that the fates were kind when they bestowed me with such a loving and kind person. Dante Carlos Murphy, half Mexican-American and half Anglo-American, embraces his roots. On his birthday, I embrace him.

Un abrazo, mi hijo!    

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