by Martín Ramírez
June arrives with mixed feelings. For many, it is the month of family celebrations and happy memories brought by Father’s Day. For me it is also that, but something deeper. It is the month when I return to the memory of my father, José Santos Ramírez Calero, whose passing came on June 12, 2004. Each June, the presence of a man who still lives inside me returns, through the blood we shared and through the lessons, vision, and love he planted in my life.
Memories of a father are often made of simple details. They are not always the great events that remain, but the small moments that time turns into treasures. I remember when he took me to a shoe store and bought me shoes I liked very much. I was about 3 or 4 years old. With his humor, he told me they were so strong I could break stones with them. I believed him. I tested that claim, and what broke was the tip of the sole. Today I smile because behind it was a father’s joy with his son.
I also remember when he took me to religious processions. I was small, and when tired, he lifted me onto his shoulders. When I came down, he told me, “you are heavy.” From up there, the world seemed wider and safer. Years later I understood that safety did not come from height, but from the trust a child places in his father.
My father also taught with simple words. He told me not to criticize others, to do my own work without worrying about what others did. When he saw that I could take the wrong path, he reminded me that I was not that kind of person. They were brief pieces of advice, but they stayed engraved in my conscience. With time, I understood they were principles.
For years I did not understand how deeply he had influenced my destiny. Later, when I attended university and chose journalism, I discovered something important. My father had given me a way of observing the world, a lasting curiosity, and a vocation to understand reality. He planted a vision. Many decisions I made later were born from seeds he had planted long before.
That is why his absence has never been complete. He is buried at Holy Cross Cemetery in Colma, but his presence still accompanies me. I remember him, and the way he died still hurts. He suffered from kidney cancer, a test too harsh for a person who had worked, struggled, and given so much. As a son, I felt he did not deserve that death. Some pains time softens, but never fully removes.
Perhaps that is why, when Father’s Day arrives, I also think of those who still have their fathers alive. Too often we take their presence for granted. We believe there will always be another conversation, another visit, another chance to say thank you. But one day memories replace the voice, and nostalgia takes the place of company. Then we understand what those gestures meant.
Fathers are not perfect. No human being is. They have virtues and defects, successes and mistakes, moments of greatness and weakness. Life, hardship, worries, and suffering can cause a person not always to act correctly. That is why I believe there must be room for forgiveness and understanding. Remembering does not mean idealizing. It means to understand those who did their best.
In this special month, I congratulate those who can still embrace their fathers. Use the time. Listen to their stories. Ask about their past. Tell them you love them while they can still hear it. And to those who no longer have them, may they find comfort in memories left behind. Even when there were wounds, it is worth trying to understand before judging.
As Saint Francis of Assisi said in his prayer, let us seek first to understand before being understood. Perhaps there lies one of life’s deepest lessons, and one of the best ways to honor our fathers: to understand their humanity, thank them for their love, and keep their memory alive.
