“My Dad: Living with Another “Ricky Ricardo”

         I don’t know about you, but my all time favorite comedy show remains being the “I Love Lucy.” show. What a bunch of hilarious characters!  Well, I have lived with my own set of “characters” as I’m sure you could say the same about your family, right?

   Rolando Agustin Avila is the closest thing to living with a typical Ricky Ricardo. If you know anything about astrology, ne is a May baby, a total Taurus! Born on May 4, 1940. “Spring-chicken”, some have said. {rolling my eyes}. What’s that axiom, “it’s not how old you are but how young you feel”? I’m sorry but, that’s absolutely delusional. He still thinks he is that rooster and that can be a “problema”!  Parents: Juana and Andres Avila. Second son, first son was Andres (Andy) and last child,  Birthplace: Cienfuegos, Cuba.  Interesting name “Cienfugos,” (cien, “one hundred”, fuegos,

“fires”). My “papi” was definitely born with a hundred or more passions (fires) burning deep within him! 

One of those passions/fires is music. A natural and good  singer! A natural born dancer, percussionist, guitar and piano player; has the gift of writer and poet, and let’s not forget, a natural born girl-watcher, too.

A passionate reader, a seeker of truth. A friendly personality , affectionate and with a good sense of humor. A man of duty and 100% patriot! (you can imagine what he thinks about Obama! Yikes!)

Dad has the extraordinary gift of teacher and speaker which he continues developing . His love for electronics has yet to dim since he was sixteen. However, he’s still a man, with “guy-things”. Example , his best way to fix something is banging it a couple times, just like Ricky Ricardo would do. Funny, sometimes that really works. :)

  He self-taught himself the in’s and out’s of one of his passions, architect. Is passionate in gardening, a handyman in just about everything we women think of when we hear that word.

   I honestly can’t remember a time when my dad wasn’t  with his guitar and a song coming through his windpipes. He practically crooned my mom into falling into that thing called “amor.” He’d take her out on walks before the wedding bells chimed down the long avenues of Brooklyn, New York, murmuring about the stars and moon, all the while singing in her ear the very romantic songs by Johnny Mathis, melodies every seventeen, naive, young girl dreams of having sung to her. Her favorite Mathis song was  “A Handful of Stars.” Ironic since he would use the astros as a theme for making the girls swoon.

He was also what I call, a “sly dog.” Here, you be the judge.. He’d walk Adria (mom) home before her curfew hour, slap  a quick peck of a kiss and say, “Honey, I’m going straight home.”  (That’s be a red flag for me but then again , I’m cynical) Now, from where Mom lived to where he lived, it was probably over twenty blocks radius. Can you smell a sneak?  Well, this 5 ft. 9”, 120 lbs peep-squeak, slightly cocky, cute, thin mustache and dressy guy would set off then and go into every dance club! Excuse me!? Didn’t he just say, “I’m going straight home”?  From midnight to two or three in the morning you’d find him dancing the jitterbug, the cha-cha-cha,  every style of Cuban dance ever invented and, mind you, not just with one girl but with all  the girls in that room! 

He definitely wasn’t dumb! He had his security at home in her bed like a good little girl, (my dreamy-eyed mom) a few blocks away while he danced the night away. Mom would find it odd that at every dance room they’d go to Friday nights  everyone knew the Cuban dance machine “Ronnie”. (le just call him Ricky Ricardo, rolling those r’s!) All the curvy gals, starting from the red hair Irish to the blond blue eye “gringas” would wave him over, calling out his name as a good ol’ friends do. Mom would just smile and pretend she had no idea but she was catching up to his “innocent smile.” Maybe it’s just me, but I’d have clobbered him exactly like “Lucy Ricardo” did many times!

At seventy-one (yes, I’m actually younger than him, by the way he talks it’s as if I gave him birth!) Sixty years hasn’t changed him, he’s been caught rocking out with rap music!.  (Talk about embarrassing!) Shocked? No, I’d be stunned into an early grave if he hadn’t tried it!  Scary, huh!?  That’s my Rrrrrricky Rrrrrrricarrrrdo. Now you make the call, “sly dog” or not?

   I nevertheless need to give him credit for many of my loves. Music, dance, reading and writing, all bloomed from watching dad practicing a new song, reading for hours whether it was some new electronic manual or philosophy book, it was his example to know for himself that inspired me to prove many theories and possibilities for myself. 

Of course, he was a genius at seven!  (That’s what all Cubanos say about their children, and which he said about himself ! Spare me!) Humility exudes!

   As a “father,” I can only speak for myself.  I was never “Daddy’s little girl.” My relationship was based (and still is) on deep respect, honor and obedience. He never had a reason to get cross with me, but that magical bond fathers have and build with their daughters was never emphasized.  No one’s to blame, circumstances dictated much of it, however, he has been a good father and I am very thankful and blessed to have had him, and is as of yet by my side. No one could ever really take the place of a father

   Accepting this lifelong condition (as I viewed it) has never been something he easily accepted. At times, I think he’s still adapting since this condition degenerates the body gradually and therefore, bringing its changes.  He has had the facility of detaching emotionally from us and things but, it shouldn’t be confused with not caring rather it is more as a defense mechanism. I often wonder how I’d have reacted [as a man/father] after being told his seven year old had Muscular Dystrophy and would last the maximum of fourteen.  Nevertheless, this set other wheels turning. His natural propensity to finding the “true church” became his looming search, almost an obsession.  We three, mom, Tanya and myself were dragged to every church, cult, sect, “hallelujah healers” that he felt necessary, always seeking the peace he couldn’t feel , both spiritual and intellectual confirmation he believed was vital if he was to make commitments and raise his children in.

    The key question that kept churning and was never answered satisfactorily was, “Where did you receive the authority to officiate as minister and speak in God’s name?” This stumped every pastor, bishop, healer, etc. We’d sisters of 6 (Tanya) and I (7 ½) would exhale a collective sigh of relief.  After visiting church after church, going to healers and being exposed to some of the biggest nuts I’ve ever met, it was a nice breather to hear him tell Mom, “No, they don’t have the answers.”  Three long years of this search was enough for my little rebellious soul!

    The summer of 1970 had somewhat calmed his religion-seeking drive until he was secretly made to meet the missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons) one June evening. It was plotted between my grandma and mother to have these “greenie”  (brand new) missionaries to show up Wednesday night and share their message.  Punctually at seven o’clock there was a soft knock on the door.  Mom let them in, they presented themselves to my dad. (I only remember Elder Cruz).  The conversation started and ended three hours after.

Five visits followed the initiatiory one. He made it a Bible class for those missionaries , sending them off with homework before the next visit. These two skinny, scared nineteen year old boys. learned more from dad’s inquiries than they were prepared for!  But, as a Mexican comedian would say” “No contaban con mi astucia!” [“you forgot to count my astuteness”]. They did their homework and answered every question intelligently. Then, after being grinded Elder Cruz, stood up, solemn, firm and looking straight into my dad’s hazel eyes spoke, “So, are you ready to be baptized and commit to God, Brother Avila?”  “No, I’m still smoking.” The young but determined Elder said, “Ask God to take this urge away, He will answer!”  Remembering back to those days, I saw my dad lose that addictive urge from one day to the next!  Awesome!, I ask you, “Does God answer prayers?” You think about it. (I leave you with that as homework).

  Becoming members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints has shaped my Dad as well as my entire family’s life for the last 40 years. 

   Religion, with all it’s values, standards, morals, viewpoints always creates an environment in the home.  I’m grateful Dad has always had that indomitable seeking desire to understand God, to become a better person, to enjoy life and find some good in most tough situations. To give you a picture of this, there comes to mind a poignant incident in which my sister Tanya asked him “Daddy, why do you think we’re all sick?” innocent as a child of eleven or so. Wisdom poured forth from dad’s lips to babes ears, “You and your sisters purpose is to bring glory to God! "You three need to make sure you live everyday as an example of this.” He kissed his “woo-loo-loo” (Tanya-- he has nicknames for each of us. I can’t stand this! ) I felt a deep burning, what I now recognize as a deep testimony, assurance, that this was the truth and still know to be true after thirty years.