When Mom and Dad Become People

I stared at this AI picture of me hugging five-year-old Javier for a long time.  There's something strange about seeing the child you once were frozen in time, and then standing next to him as the adult you've become.  You start asking questions:  What would I tell him, what would he think of me, and how did we get from there to here?  
That reflection sent me down a rabbit hole to another tunnel.  When I was a kid, I only ever saw my mom and dad as Ma and Pa.  Full Stop!  They weren't people with ambitions, fears or private dreams; they were parental fixtures.  Like the dining room table, they were there, stable, dependable, and, if I'm being honest, occasionally annoying.  Their jobs were to make sure I ate, that I didn't destroy the living room, that I did my home work, and that my shoes matched.  I rarely stopped to consider that they had interior worlds, longings, disappointment, hobbies, and burdens that existed apart from me.  Now as a parent, the curtain has been pulled back.  And Yooooo, let me tell you:  It's a heavy curtain.

It's a disorienting experience when you realize that your children see you as you once saw your own parents.  They don't perceive my daily struggles, The financial worries, the unfinished projects, the hope of going back to school.  To them, I'm simply Papi: The one who makes the farina, forgets stuff, lends money, and seemingly has everything under control.  The reality, however, is that some mornings I'm still figuring out how to be a good husband, father, and a decent human being all before 11:00AM.
This gap between how children perceive their parents and the reality of parental improvisation is both hilarious and sacred.  
Kids believe that you're invincible; Parents know they're winging it.

Now, as as adult, my relationship with my parents has shifted.  We've moved from the land of "Did you clean your room?" To "Viejos, How are you really doing?" We're in a new season where I can ask about their dreams, the sacrifices they made, the fears that they carried silently while making it all look so effortless.  
I hear my mom recount the emotional journey of leaving her family in the small town of Jutiapa in the southern part of Guatemala to go to the Capital City and embark on a new and uncertain chapter.  And then after more than a decade there, pick up the life she and dad built to head over to yet another foreign land here in the States.  I hear my dad talk about opportunities he didn't seize, paths he chose not to take, and lingering thoughts of things he sometimes wishes he had done differently.  Those moments of vulnerability are illuminating and their stories paint a vivid picture of courage and resilience.  And I realize:  Ma and Pa weren't superheroes my childhood imagination had crafted.  They were, and are human beings - complex, flawed, and yet possessing an extraordinary courage that allowed them to confront uncertainties with unwavering resolve.  Their strength wasn't in their lack of fear, but in their ability to act despite that fear.
 
AND THAT, IS WHAT MADE THEM HEROIC!

Gracias, Viejos for those often unseen acts of selflessness that paved the way for my own opportunities.

Behind every Mom stands a woman with an intricate tapestry of untold stories.  A woman who existed long before she became a mother.  A woman who was filled with her own dreams, her own struggles, her triumphs, and heartbreaks.  She faced unique challenges, hid private aspirations, and navigated a world that shaped her into the person she is now, far beyond the confines of her maternal role.

Behind every Dad stands a man who was once a five-year-old version of himself brimming with an innocent wonder at the world, and also grappling with the tender insecurities that define childhood.  He, too, has walked a complex path, experiencing failures and successes, love and loss, ALL of which contribute to the intricate layers of his identity before he ever held the title of "Dad."

Mom and Dad are vital roles, serving to anchor in our development, but they are merely facets of a much larger, more complex person.  And to truly understand and appreciate our parents, we must look beyond those roles.  Only then can we begin to grasp the full measure of their lives, and the profound impact they have had, not just as parents, but as individuals navigating their own multifaceted journeys.

I look at my own kids now and I know the cycle will repeat.  Right now I'm lucky if I get "Papi" - It's usually more like Bruh to them.  They're not wondering about my late-night prayers, the times I wrestle with my calling, or the profound weight I feel in leading our home as Christ has called me to.  Those are the quiet battles I fight, the unseen burdens I carry.  For them, in their world, the biggest question of the moment is simply whether we're going out for dinner after church.  It's a question born of simple desires and immediate gratification, a beautiful contrast to the complex landscape I navigate daily.
AND THAT'S OK.  THAT'S OK, JAVIER

They don't need to know the full script right now, the plot twists, or the deeper meaning behind every scene.  What they need is the unwavering security of believing that Bruh got it under control, a steady hand that's guiding their world.  The same way I needed that comforting assurance from my viejos when I was their age.

But there will come a day when the questions shift, when their understanding of the world expands, and their curiosity dives deeper than the immediate and the tangible.  A day when my children will no longer be content with simple answers, and begin to ask about my fears, the very anxieties that keep me up at night.  They will ask about my dreams,  and the aspirations that fuel my spirit.  They'll ask about my regrets, and choices I wish I could have made differently.  

And my deepest hope, my most fervent prayer is that by then I would have lived a life that was authentic, with integrity and with unwavering faith.  That they don't just see me as their father, the one who provided and protected.  My hope is that they see me as a fellow traveler on this journey we call life, a human being who, like them grappled with doubts and celebrated triumphs, and who, through it all, trusted God implicitly.  

That AI picture of little me hugging grown up me; maybe that's what family really is.  A lifelong hug across generations.  My parents carried me through seasons when I couldn't see their humanity.  Now, I have the privilege of carrying them, not as idealized figures, but as real people whose stories continue to shape mine.
And one day, my children will carry me in the same way.
Until then, I'll keep making farina, fumbling through fatherhood and forgetting my keys and wallet.  I'll remind myself that just as I whispered to five-year-old Javier, God whispers to me now: It's all going to be okay.  You are going to be brave, you are going to be strong, and you are going to figure it out.

Because the truth is, none of us ever really stop being that five-year-old kid!  We just grow into new titles.