It must've been almost at the tail end of our stay in The Shack when I got to meet my father for the first time. It may have been in December 1974. As I remember, it went like this:
We used to go to Villa Grillasca's softball field almost every Friday. The games were terrific and with many fans in attendance in support of their favorite teams. I rooted for the team whose name sounded closer to Ponce's professional baseball team: Los Leones. Failing that, I looked for something we had in common and rooted for those instead. Sometimes I supported the underdogs just because they were the underdogs.
One such Friday night Mom introduced me to a man I'd never seen before. That man proceeded to hug me and kiss me and smile at me. I would've felt creeped-out otherwise, but I sense this connection. I couldn't explain it then and I can't explain it now. I had a great time.
The man never gave me his name nor stated his relationship to me.
Upon returning to The Shack Mom was very quiet, thoughtful. I bombarded her with the questions. "Who was that good man?" and "Will he help us?" To the second question she answered "Maybe" but she held off on the first question. I nagged her, insisting on knowing the man's identity. Relenting, she said él es tu papá ("he is your Dad").
I absorbed the revelation and cried, a little. I cried because I thought it was the proper emotion. But I also cried because she gave me no sign of any future meeting. I thought I would not see him again any time soon.
The next day we visited some friends of Mom a block from our home - not The Shack, but on the same street as the Rivera's. I don't remember their names, but their surname was Santiago. Míster Santiago had been a colleague of Dad's in 65th Infantry Division and it was in his home where we met. The picture below captures that first meeting.
...and then we all lived happily ever after...Not.
I felt torn. I had directed all my filial love toward Papi. Though Mom had damaged that love with her incessant blaming game, she hadn't erased it from me. I felt I was being disloyal to him, that my love for them was a zero-sum game. No one took the time to explain to me that love wasn’t a zero-sum game. No one told me that just because I loved one I had to love the other less, or not at all.
Then, I had to "parse" the meaning of love in respect to my father. I didn't know how to love my father. Feeling such a love is natural for many, but I didn’t know how to love him. All I saw was his wallet. I thought he owe me and owe me big. How do I relate to him?
It's not that Mom made it easy. Now that I've met him, she felt free to add him to the long list of people she kept who had hurt her. She now felt free to add barbs against him to her growing repertoire of grudges in my hearing. She felt free to sabotage my new relationship with Dad.
One early example: Dad sent us the form I needed to shop at military exchange stores and commissaries. Mom sat on it. When I asked her why, she replied “It’s incomplete. It’s missing something.” I directed my anger at Dad for his negligence.
But Mom was lying. I know because throughout my military career I’d seen and completed this form many times. Mom lied to nip in the bud any admiration or attachment I would develop for Dad and any good gesture on his part.
I would not be able to separate and distinguish my own feelings from Mom's hatred toward Daduntil I came of age. True communication between Dad and I only took off in earnest after Mercie wrote to him.
But that's a story for later.