Sometimes a reflection of the past can tell us more about ourselves than any experience we can live. Many times we take for granted the life we have, a life that would have not been possible if our parents would have never taken a leap of faith and left their homes, their lives and their families behind in the search for a better tomorrow for themselves or for their children. The Exile Experience is a quest for self identity and self assurance of who one really is. This installment of the series will explore the reflection of the knowledge instilled in me passed on from my father, in honor of Father's day. This is The Exile Experience: The Hands of my Father.

My hands are smooth, they lack calluses, they lack scars, a total opposite of the hands of my father. Everyone views their parents in different ways, but I view my father as a sage. Growing up my father was the smartest man I knew, any innocent question that I had would be answered in the most complex of ways. My dad didn't believe in watered down knowledge, he explained it exactly how it was. I remember asking him how a nuclear weapon worked and he explained it as an atom that would be split and that would cause a chain reaction that created a explosion that would level a city, I was 7 years old when I asked my dad this.

My father is a Cuban Exile driven from his home by a regime that he did not agree with, forcing to flee in fear of death. He left behind a family with children, I can't imagine what was running through his mind. I sometimes feel a coward because I'm worried to leave my environment and start anew, and yet my father traveled across a sea to find prosperity. My Dad was studying to be a doctor, he made it only to the second year of medical school before he had to leave Cuba. He traded in his stethoscope for a wash rag as he landed in New Jersey to clean dishes to maintain his family.

When I grew up my father was a taxi driver and I loved that car, it was a Crown Victoria with the number 22 on the side, that car helped feed me and keep a roof over my head. In 18 years of living I never saw my dad take a day off, he worked Monday through Sunday from 7:00 AM to 5:00 PM. Our parents have taught us more through their sacrifices than through their pep talks. As a second generation exile who's planting roots in this country, I will most likely never have to flee in persecution to another nation. My dad did the hard part already, he gave up his youth to work so I can give my kids the world, so his grandkids can be whatever they want; and as long as we try to better ourselves their sacrifices will never have been in vain.

I wrote this on Father's Day, reflecting my experience as an exile and though there are several questions in finding my identity on who I am in this nation, or what I represent, I know my father and mother answered one question for me.

We are made from a material that is not easily bent or thrown away, we are made with steel in our spine and we will overcome any obstacle; not because it's what is expected from us, but it is because that is what we were breed to do, to never give up and always prosper. Thank you, Papi.