When I was in 3rd grade in elementary school the class was given a writing assignment. This was a big assignment for a group of 8-year-olds. We had to write a paragraph about who our hero was. It could be anyone we wanted to write about. My classmate next to me chose Superman, which I found a little lame. Superman wasn’t real. He didn’t save people in real life or fly.
I had some trouble picking a subject so I naturally chose my dad. I felt like that was the most reasonable choice. I don’t exactly remember what I wrote but I believe that it was the first time I used the word “responsible” in a sentence. It was something about how he took care of us and worked hard.
A few days later I was called up to my dad’s office upstairs. This usually meant that we were in trouble. As I approached his office table he held the brown rectangular paper with the paragraph that I wrote. He asked me if I wrote it. I said yes, a little confused about what I did wrong. He pulled me close to him and hugged me tight. I did not know how to respond as he was not typically affectionate with me. He was funny, jovial, and talked a lot. He was not a cruel man but he could be stern at times. Years later he would be much more affectionate with his family, but he was still a young man at this time.
I realized that he was truly touched by what I wrote. On his wooden office table, he had a glass table top where you could put important documents underneath to see. My brown rectangular piece of paper was slid underneath, at first with no other papers. It was the centerpiece of his office table. It stayed there for years I believe. Eventually, the edges frayed. An important number related to work was written in the corner. It must have been a few years later that it tore and I never saw it again. It is my plan to write something that he would enjoy. Something worthy of the office table.
I still contend that my father is my hero. It is difficult to talk about your parents. Especially if your parents are as close to you as I am to them. It is easier at times to refer to him as my hero because all good fathers are heroes to their sons.
Like many origin stories, my hero had humble beginnings. A boy was born in Aquascalientes, Mexico on September 19th, 1950. His birth mother gave him away because she could not raise the boy. He was rescued by love. The most loving woman in the world, Luz Palacios. adopted the boy. Luz and her husband, Jose Romo took the boy up to Tijuana, 1,500 miles away from Aguascalientes so that the birth parents could never find them in case they changed their minds. Jose and Luz raised the boy they named Armando as their own child. This was a good thing.
When my hero turned 5 he moved to the United States and lived in East Los Angeles. He was raised amongst his cousins and grew to be a typical Mexican-American boy. When my hero turned 17, Luz and Jose adopted a 3-year-old girl from a broken home in Tijuana. This girl is my Tia Elva, who idolized her brother Armando. They remained close siblings despite their age difference and she had a loving, although at times antagonistic relationship with him. It was a wonderful thing.
If my father had a love before my mother, it was music. He picked up the tenor saxophone in high school and played in various groups around East Los Angeles. It was at one of these gigs that Armando’s friend, Salvadore Esparza introduced him to his little sister, Teresa. My father took a shine to Teresa and offered to buy her dinner. She ordered a pastrami sandwich but was too shy to eat it in front of Armando. This incensed Armando because the thing cost a whole $2.50 and this girl would not eat it. It was a beautiful thing.
Armando and Teresa got married and had three children. Eric, Lisa, and me, Phil. All names with four letters. This is because Armando was an inconvenient name to pronounce and spell and he wanted us to have an easier time with our own names. My name can be elongated to Philip but people only call me that when they are upset with me. We moved into a beautiful home in Hacienda Heights, CA. It was a lucky thing.
I had an idyllic childhood. Summer vacations, trips to Disneyland, fun adventures in the backyard. So many beautiful memories. My first memory is sitting on a high chair and eating with my grandmother. When I was a very young child I believed that my grandmother, Luz who we called “Isa” was my mother. My actual parents were the very nice people who lived with me and greeted me when they got home from work they also bought me things, which was nice. When I was six years old she passed away. It was the first time I saw my hero cry. This was a bittersweet thing.
Armando’s adopted father, Jose had died before I was born. I never knew him but by all accounts, he was a stern, hardworking man. He instilled a strong work ethic within Armando. This work ethic was a model we all lived with. When we got in trouble, we went up to the office to get a lecture. This is when we were instructed on how we should live our lives. Sitting across from the wooden desk like in a job interview with your father. I was not a fan at the time but these lectures taught me countless lessons. Lessons I am grateful I learned and that not everyone I knew ever got to learn. This was a marvelous thing.
Our troubles started after my parent’s 25th wedding anniversary. It was a great party at our house. I will always remember it as the last great event when all of our family was still together. Our family lost Eric a few years later in December 2003. My father never recovered from the loss of his firstborn son. This is something he carried for the rest of his life. His tattoo over his heart says “Eric 2-2-0” which means “Eric, 2nd to none”. This was a sad thing.
I left my parents to pursue my dream of becoming a professional musician. There was trouble in my house so I ran away. My hero’s ringtone for me was Jimi Hendrix’s “Stone Free”. He thought it described my independent nature well. After I left, my father and I got along well. The less we had to see each other the more we got to appreciate the time we had together. This is when my hero became my friend as well. He was the person I called first when I was in trouble. My “emergency contact” as it were. If I had any trouble from a car battery dying to how to change a tire, he was there in a cinch. If I called he would pick up, if he didn’t pick up he would call back right away. He was always there if I needed him. I could not fail because he was a security net underneath me always there to catch me if I fell. I am so grateful for every conversation I got to have with my hero. It was a fortunate thing.
After I got married and started a family of my own, my relationship with my hero blossomed. He was very impressed with how I was raising my own children and the things we got to do together. I told him that I learned from the best. in 2018 I started gigging in Monrovia and played jazz standards in a combo. My parents would often be in the audience. I urged my dad to join us and pick up his tenor sax again. He was reluctant at first but eventually, he started practicing again. My hero never took half-measures on things he wanted to do. Once he got the playing bug again he went full in. He took over my combo and transformed it. It was now his project. That band dissolved and Ace Plata was born. Armando always went by the moniker “Ace” and the “Plata” was a nod to Ron Swanson from the show Parks and Recreation. Ron Swanson was a Conservative Libertarian by day but at night secretly moonlighted as “Duke Silver” a cool sax-playing jazz cat in a trench coat and hat. Plata is silver in Spanish, in case you were wondering.
I will always be very proud that I helped get my dad back into music in the last few years of his life. He was becoming a bit of a curmudgeon in his late 60’s and I believe full-heartedly that getting him back into music prolonged his life. In this way, I helped to save my father which is what every hero from Luke Skywalker to Pinocchio has tried to do. I am very proud of it. It is a sublime thing.
I hope you got the chance to hear him play. He had the best tone of any saxophone player I ever knew. I wish that you could hear it. It was the best sound I ever heard and I lament to know that I will never hear it again. It is a tragic loss to the world that his sound is now silenced. It is a tragic thing.
In an affront to justice and fairness in the world, my hero got diagnosed with cancer. I see it as an example of the cruel, arbitrary nature of existence. We share this world with some ghoulish people but my sweet, loving father had to fall ill with terminal cancer. In his 73 years, he lived a wonderful life. His dying wish is that his wife, my mother be taken care of after he passes. We agreed that she will be. He was at peace once this was settled. He has moved beyond us where we can only remember him in pictures and memories but I will carry him with me wherever I go.
My hero gave me armor. I have met with scoundrels in my life. I have had to deal with grifters, con artists, narcissists, vapid mean-spirited manipulators, and bottom feeders. I have never suffered their abuses for very long. I never let them keep me under their thumb. I have a high sense of self-worth and that was given to me by my father, himself a man of character who never suffered fools.
My hero, everything that I am is because of you. If I did good, it was because I was modeling you. If I did something right, I was only trying to do what you told me to do. You say you are proud of me, but I am only a mirror. As the moon reflects the light of the sun, I am a satellite reflecting your light. My son, Ethan loves to look at the moon at night. He loves the moon in its light and fullness but don’t be fooled, son. That brightness comes from another source. Without the light, the moon is only a dark spot in the sky. I am only a reflection, I need only keep my mirror clean.
Armando Romo, you are my hero. I love you more than words can describe and I will see you in my dreams. I carry you with me forever in my heart.
Good
Wonderful
Beautiful
Lucky
Bittersweet
Marvelous
Sad
Fortunate
Sublime
Tragic
All of it I owe to you. My full range of experience and my entire life. I owe everything to you. I will miss you oh so terribly.