The man that loves my mother
A Father's Day tribute to my father

If memory serves well, Pedro Iván Espina Pontón was born in October 18, 1940 in Santurce, Puerto Rico. He was the firstborn of the fourth generation of a tobacco farming dynasty. The family had settled in the small mountain town of Comerio, Puerto Rico after fleeing from Asturias, Spain near the end of the 1800's. Piván (a nickname given to him by one of his ants) was the son of Pedro Espina Sariego and Eva Pontón Carmona, and the grandson of Pedro Espina Rivera & Josefa Sariego Garset and Sixto Pontón & María Cristina Carmona. He lived the privileged life that the tobacco farm afforded even through the tough war economy. Eventually, he was sent to San Juan to study under the tutoring of Jesuit priests at the best school in the Island - San Ignacio. 

Land reform chattered any possibility for him to carrying-on the family tobacco farming tradition and with the little money that the government paid for the farm, the family moved to Hato Rey. He enrolled in the University of Puerto Rico, Río Piedras Campus, which was a few miles away from the house, and chose chemistry as his major. His poppy love, Ruth Lillian Arroyo Betancourt (better known as Cuqui) jointed him two years latter, choosing Chemistry as her major, more out of a desire to spend time with him than out of a deep-rooted interest in the subject. Upon graduation, Piván entertained a job offer as a chemist for the Puerto Rico Police Department. They had just lost their chemist to an explosion after the poor soul attempted to obtain a sample from a bomb using a metal spatula. The impression that the facial tissue of his predecessor hanging from the ceiling of the lab left on Piván made him reconsider his employment choice and instead he accepted a position as a chemist at the power plant of Palo Seco, just outside of San Juan. 

He married Cuqui, and nine months latter, Dr. Iván Piregrina helped my mother to deliver me. My birth was to change Piván life in ways that none of us could even imagine at the time. As most people, I recall very few events of my early childhood, however some of my memories should help describe the father that Piván turned out to be. Early on, we saw Dad at strange hours. In those days, he was one of the young chemists at the power plant and he was expected to cover the graveyard shift on many occasions. The overtime helped the family afford a nice little house in Levittown, which was a few miles downwind from the power plant smokestacks. 

Unknown to us at the time, the raw emissions from the power plant and cigarette smoking by both of my parents led me to my first asthma attack when I was less than one year old. At that time, little was know about asthma and the condition was mostly treated with the miracle drug of the time - Prednisone. Mom and Dad quitted smoking immediately, but for the next 11 years they spend long and lonely nights in hospitals watching me lay inside oxygen tents. They sought help from every crook selling snake oil in town. At times we were fortunate enough to find an honorable man of medicine who tried to mitigate our suffering, but many times our money and hope were stolen by unscrupulous men selling false hopes in the form of painful allergy detection treatments. 

On those days, Mom spend most of the time with me, but Dad spent some very dark nights by my side while Mom took care of my brothers at home. It is funny the things that I remember from those days, but I have never forgotten how Dad used to stroke my hair while he would tell me - "I would give anything to switch places with you so you do not have to feel so bad anymore." Most of the time I was too asphyxiated to talk, but Dad would always make me feel better by letting be wear his magnificent digital wristwatch - a total novelty at the time. 

When I was not sick, Dad would load us in one of the many Oldsmobiles and take us on picnics to parks or beaches throughout the Island. His faithful Voigtländer recorded every event in Kodachrome and Ektachrome and that is how today I am able to provide you with the visual evidence of my childhood (I guess that I inherited the photo gene from Dad). On weekdays, Dad was the enforcer of law and order at a house that increased in population almost every year. I recall many afternoons when Dad would sit me in the kitchen counter and demanded that I apologize to my mother for something that I had done that day (when you are the smallest kid in your class and yet you have the biggest mouth, you get in lots of trouble). 

Mom taught me how to ride a bike, but it was Dad who taught me how to fix them. Dad is mechanically gifted and he has always been a good handyman if only out of necessity. With three little kids and a newborn, Mom convinced Dad that they could afford a house in an upper middle class neighborhood. No accountant in their right mind would have suggested the purchase but Mom played with the various allocations to enable us to have our new house. Dad loss much sleep worrying about how to pay for the house in those days. 

During the end of that school year, I continue to attend first grade at a school near the Levittown house. Every day, Dad would pick me up for lunch in his British green Volkswagen Beetle. He would buy a Cuban sandwich and a bag of peanuts. I was too small and weak to chew the hard bread, so towards the end of every lunch, Dad would open the sandwich, feed me the ham and cheese before throwing away the bread. 

It is my recollection (even if erroneous) that money was always tight. This prevented Mom and Dad from agreeing to every toy trend, but Dad would always managed to help us obtain our hearts content with his ingenuity. I remember how he purchased aluminum strips, trimmed them with a hand saw, and filed them into beautiful skateboards for us. He would fix and modify numerous generations of bikes and bee-bee guns, and every once in a while, he would take on more overtime that he should so that he could afford something especial for us in Christmas. 

Eventually there were five kids in the house and it was impossible for Mom and Dad to keep their sanity during the hot Puertorican summers. One good day, Dad accepted and invitation of a friend to go camping. His friend had a small 13-footer trailer, and we made use of a loan tent. The effect on the family was magic and a few weeks later we had purchased an old and rotten 15-ft trailer. Dad went immediately to work on the rotted wood and rusted frame, while Mom fabricated curtains and cushions for it. In a matter of weeks, they had transformed the pile of junk into the envy of the campground and we were ready to take it on the road. With the help of a boat towing rig and a wakie-takie taped to the window post, Dad's Volkswagen carried the family of seven and our trailer up the mountains to the Natural Preserve of Río Abajo, Utuado. The place was mystical and that trip initiated the happiest period of our childhood. From that moment on, we always had a trailer (every few years a bit larger) in which we spent our weekends and summers. The great thing about it was that Mom and Dad could relax while letting us run wild in the outdoors. Camping, I learned to fish, scuba dive, surf, built fires, shoot firearms, ride horses, love girls, and many other things that have helped me ever since. 

Eventually we became teenagers and we were more interested in spending our weekends in San Juan attending school dances than going camping. The last of the camping trailers was sold and a trendier beach apartment was purchased. This was a turbulent time in my relationship with Dad. I was becoming a man and Dad was trying to maintain some level of law and order in the house. The fighting that took place led to a void between us that took years to close. Eventually, I went to college at the other side of the Island, which put more distant between the family and me. This all changed in my last year of college when the long-arm of justice caught up with my fraternity brothers and I after all the no-good that we had done during our college years. 

By any measure, I was a gifted mechanical engineering student, ranked #2 in my class. In my first year of college, my roommates and I took "some liberties" with college property and four years later, college authorities had figured out who the creeps were. At that time, I had been invited to job interview with Hughes Aircraft, in El Segundo, CA. My roommates phoned to let me know that everybody had been arrested and that the police were looking for me. Suddenly, the invisible man that knew everything better than anyone else was in deep trouble and the only thing left to do was to call Good Old Dad. I immediately returned to Puerto Rico where Dad was waiting with the best law team that money could buy. Eighteen months and thousands of dollars later, I was cleared from all charges but not before Dad had aged a decade in very short time - something that I have always regretted. 

As painful of an experience as it was, I am grateful that it happened for two reasons: first it tough me the meaning of authority and my place in the pecking order of life, but more important, it reminded me of the love that my father feels for me. Mom was equally stoic, but in my mind there was no doubt regarding her support. Yet, not once did Dad ask me if I was in any way guilty of the charges leveled against me. His faith in me was blind and his devotion knew no limit. I did not expect this from him and that changed our relation forever. 

Some years ago, Dad retired from the Power Company and he currently runs a home based engineering sales business on his spare time (that is, when he is not attending to his grandchildren with the same devotion that he gave us years ago). Whenever I am in trouble Dad never fails to come to my aid. I 1995, when I felt ill to Crohn's Disease, Dad boarded a plane to come sit next to me at hospital, less than a week after he had had a hernia operation. My surgeon could not believe that he could stand the pain. Today, even though we live far from each other, I feel as close to Dad as ever in my life. We speak often and we see each other at least once a year. 

Regardless of all the great things that he has done as a father, his biggest gift to his children has been the profound love that he has given to our Mother. My father is a compassionate intelligent man who raised five productive members of society and who seldom has an ill word for anyone. That is more than most good men can claim. So Papi, in this father's day, I hope that you have a very happy day in the company of the family and I thank you for helping me become that man that I am today. I can only hope to be such a father one day. 

With all my love, Puva 

Pedro I. Espina^© 2000