Dad’s life was hard from the start. My Grandfather—Baltazar Bolado, I—was killed in the line of duty when Dad was just ten years old. Having to learn quickly, my father—the oldest in the family—helped Grandma raise my uncles.
Providing for the family became priority. Working long, hard hours became a norm early on in his life, and my father did not avoid his obligations.
By the time his own family came along, my father was accustomed to hard work.
Although life left him scarred, my father’s childlike spirit never died. To his last breath, he lived to the fullest and provided his children with the same energy.
I can remember when I was a kid, how Dad always made Christmas such a big event.
Dad was a big kid. Because he never truly had a childhood, he lived childhood through us, his children.
To get an idea what Christmas was like for me as a kid, think the super bowl.
The super bowl has taken on a life of its own in our culture. At times, the activities surrounding the super bowl are bigger and better than the actual game.
That’s the way Christmas was for me growing up as a child. The only difference was that the events leading up to Christmas and the actual day of Christmas were equal in quality, perfectly balanced between the anticipation and the experience of it.
Dad was great—he’d even leave the cookie crumbs and a few drinks of the milk so I could imagine Santa having a snack after dropping off my gifts.
Every kid should have a Dad like mine.
Every Christmas should be like the ones I experienced as a kid.
Merry Christmas, Dad.
I bet you have great Christmas mornings in heaven.
Give Mrs. Santa Claus a kiss and hug for me.