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Greetings and have a blessed week, everyone. After a few days away from posting, I think it's only fair to write one about parents, as our dear
tells us.
Those who have read my previous posts know that whenever I refer to love, I always express what I experienced with my biological father and my foster father.
I don't like to say stepfather; for me, he is either a father or a mother. But in my previous post, I had the pleasure of telling you how I met my real father. It brought me more disappointment than pleasure, but coming from a family with many values and principles,
my mother taught me who he was and took me to see him from a young age. I remember as if it were today walking close to the houses until I reached his, and it wasn't because I was afraid of the street, it was because I really didn't want my steps to go in that direction.
He was a typical Cuban country man, very closed off, who told me clearly and honestly, “I told your mother that I didn't like children. I didn't want to have you.” However, throughout my life, I saw how he laughed with my male cousins and contributed to my female cousins' birthdays, but they continued to go because my mom told me, “
You wanted to knock on that door, and now you see.” I was obsessed with wanting him to accept me. Years passed, and only in his old age did he ask me for help, and I gave it to him until I closed his eyes. I don't know if I did right or wrong.
But my true love, my real dad, the one who raised me, always told me to do what my heart felt because he had an obligation to be there for me. When I left my dad's house hurt, he was always waiting for me,
crouched down with his arms open. He would just pick me up, hold me tight, and we wouldn't say a word. We would walk and start talking about anything.
I don't have any photos with my dad, but I do have some with my father, the one who danced at my quinceañera, who went to school, who taught me that family goes beyond blood ties, and who, to my misfortune, I wasn't there when he passed away.
Today I am a mother, and not all women are lucky enough to raise their children with their father, but I believe that children always deserve to know the truth, because it helps you want to take better care of what you have and, above all, never speak ill of them, because everyone has their reasons.
My heart has always been proud of the father I had, but I don't know why I can never untangle that pride and pleasure from the pain on the other side of the coin. I hope
emiliorios can explain it to me jjjj.
I only know that mothers like to say that anyone can be a father, because children belong to their mothers. That's a mistake.
Children need both of us to achieve stability in the home with both figures, but the life of a child these days goes beyond mom and dad. It's about love, wherever it comes from, along with care and protection. achieving stability in the home with both figures,
but a child's life these days goes beyond mom and dad. It's about love, wherever it comes from, whoever gives it, along with care and protection, and sometimes we get lost in that detail.
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