by Marvin Ramírez
When I write, when I publish El Reportero, and you, my readers, see it, read it, savor the articles we present in the newspaper, know that all of this requires talent, feeling, and inspiration. But, above all, it was all born—yes—from an inspiration.
And that inspiration was my father, journalist José Santos Ramírez Calero. Since I was a child, I clearly remember walking hand in hand with him through the streets and seeing how people admired him. That quiet, yet deeply respected figure, shaped my life without saying many words.
My grandmother, Juana María Calero Espinoza, used to tell me that at ten years old, my father was already playing at being a journalist. With a toy printing press she gave him, he would print his friends’ jokes in a homemade newsletter. Of course, his friends sometimes got so angry they wanted to hit him, but he kept printing. And thus, his vocation was born.
Years later, he worked at the newspaper La Noticia—one of the most credible newspapers in Nicaragua’s history—where he worked as an editor for 45 years. At the same time, he founded El Nuevo Demócrata, an independent, critical, and courageous newspaper with a format similar to that of this very Reportero.
In 1945, he emigrated to the United States and, without abandoning his vocation, continued publishing his newspaper in San Francisco, selling it on the famous Market Street for just 10 cents. Today I still have copies of those editions, true treasures that bear witness to his legacy.
Yes, I can say that journalism runs in my blood. My father’s father, José Santos Ramírez Estrada, was also a journalist. He founded the magazine El Field, through which he promoted the professionalization of baseball in Nicaragua. Thanks to his idea of closing open fields and charging admission, the first professional league was organized between the Boer and the US Marines during the American occupation of the 1920s. This event was recorded in La Prensa Literaria, and I have a copy of the article that confirms it.
The day my father went to the bosom of the Lord was one of the hardest of my life. Seeing him in his coffin was like facing true loss. I had never wept so deeply as I did in that funeral home, nor felt so empty as when I saw him descend to his final resting place.
He didn’t speak much, but when he did, he did so with the wisdom of someone who knows that words are not wasted. His short sentences were profound, and many of them continue to guide me today. He was a man who loved with his actions, who inspired with his example, and whose legacy drives me every day I write these pages. This Father’s Day, beyond the usual gifts, barbecues, or hugs, I invite you to celebrate it with history. Because Father’s Day isn’t just a commercial holiday: it’s an opportunity to recognize that man who left his mark on us, for better or worse.
The celebration of Father’s Day in the U.S. has its roots in 1910, when Sonora Smart Dodd, the daughter of a Civil War veteran raising her six children alone, proposed dedicating a special day to fathers. In 1972, President Richard Nixon officially made it a national holiday.
In Latin America, Father’s Day was slowly adopted, with variations depending on the country. In Mexico, for example, it is celebrated on the third Sunday of June, as in the U.S., while in other countries like Nicaragua and Honduras, it is celebrated on June 23. Although the dates differ, the purpose is the same: to honor the father, the one who was there, the one who tried, the one who perhaps failed, but who can be transformed with love.
Because we all have a story with our father. Some of gratitude, others of pain, others of redemption. Not all fathers are perfect. There are absent fathers, harsh fathers, fathers who didn’t know how to love. But there are also fathers who learned, who grew with us, who shaped their character over time. And if anything can change a man, it’s the love of his children.
That’s why I say: all fathers deserve love. Because love is a transformative force. And it’s by loving those who least deserve it that it is sown most deeply in the soul. No father is impossible to redeem when he is looked upon with compassion.
Today I want to honor mine. But I also invite you, the reader, to think about your father. Write your story. And if you can, share it. Perhaps, as happened to me, that story will become your greatest inspiration.
