My Dad.

Gilberto Hernandez.

My Dad is the best man I know. He resides within a matriarch. I feel how he worries about me. But I think he knows, being a woman coming from a strong family, that I will be just fine.

I remember trips to Mireles. Bags of Chinese candies that we would share. How he worked at Bud's in Loma Park. How we would go there, and the concrete floor was so cold and comforting on my bare feet. How the smell of meat market, I thought to be coined there.

I remember waking up at 5 am 5 days a week, him laying me across his shoulder, covering me with a blanket, and walking 2 houses down to my little cot at my aunt's. His work cologne lingering until I feel back asleep.

I remember him getting BEST EMPLOYEE, and HARDEST WORKER type awards at work. My Dad is always on time, except when we're with him.

I know how he still wakes up for 7 a.m. mass at Our Lady of Guadalupe Church. I know I feel like a child when he tells me that I "need to go to church."

My Dad may have unknowingly taught me the fine balance between retention and conformity, with pride on my shoulder and a suspicious awareness of those that may threaten my cultural existence.

My Dad saw my photography for the first time this weekend. He said "how do you do that....." and kissed me on my head.

I hope to one day get THE BEST DAUGHTER award, just for him.