Every day, Dad.
You touch my life in so many ways.
Ways I may not even acknowledge,
But it’s there.
It’s in the stories I tell,
in the references I make,
and in the way a road, a restaurant
or a recollection
will sneak up on me and remind me of you.
I wish you were with us now.
So you can play with your grandchildren
and taste my attempts at adobo
and be proud of the fact that I’ve finally manifested
that innate Soriente sense of style
I’m sure you silently despaired I’d never find.
I love you, Dad.