Nicolas has that Ramos-esque personality — he can be very independent, at times quiet, but always vigilant. He’s also a rebel, but just enough to get along well in life. And, like any father and son, we have had our differences. That’s how we grow. Once, I was telling my mother about a disagreement we were having. Her response: “And have you already forgotten what you were like at his age?” I laughed and hugged her.
Once a week or so, Nicolas makes it a point to call or text so that we can have dinner together, just the two of us. It’s become a ritual. We usually go to a Mexican restaurant and share queso fundido with chorizo and flour tortillas. He orders guacamole tacos and can eat very spicy salsa, spicier than I can handle. I order anything that reminds me of my childhood, and lemonade with cilantro.
In my office, I have a picture of Nicolas as a child, wearing one of my T-shirts. It’s huge on him, and he looks happy. The picture reminds me of a great moment in my life. But the best gift I’ve ever received is a digital photo of Nicolas with a recording of him laughing. Every time I push a button, I can hear this kid, only a few months old, happily laughing. I push the button a few times a month, and I’m constantly afraid that one day it’ll stop working and I’ll lose Nico’s laughter.
I feel that same fear now that he is about to leave for college. I know he’ll be fine, but I’m sure that I myself will feel somewhat displaced — for so long I’ve been there, right next to him, or nearby.
