LESSON - MR. MAYA "TO BREATHE"
Mr. Felipe Maya was one of the kindest, gentlest and warmest men I will ever meet in my life.
I met Mr. Maya via his son and daughter in college. We belonged to the same engineering group despite me not being an engineer.
Felipe Maya was not a big man, not in physicality but his presence was a smile, was a laugh and a warmth that said everything was good. He had copper-colored skin, big eyes and very stylish black hair that was touched by gray over the years I knew him. He raised amazing kids, loved his wife beautifully and treated his children's friends like we were his own. Coming from humble beginnings, Maya was the kind of man that appreciated everything and reminded you of the same - to appreciate everything, especially those close to you.
He also taught me an important lesson - how to breathe during family functions.
"Breathe during family functions?" I know you're thinking that and now you're thinking what the Devil does that mean? Well, let Mr. Maya and myself explain it.
A Maya family function usually meant the swarming of the Maya household by about three times the amount of family members than the domicile could actually hold. I am sure, on several occasions, while kids swung at piñatas, our very presence was violating several fire department occupancy codes.
But it was okay because we had piñatas.
So, during this swarm, this onslaught of family, there would inevitably arise a barrage of requests, needs and wants.
"We're out of this, go get more!"
"We're out of that, is there anymore left?"
"I'm cold!"
"I'm hot!"
And so on and so forth, one would be beaten down by the needs of those in attendance.
And any man, any father, made of steel or titanium, would be crushed by the ceaseless wave of familial demands.
And Mr. Maya knew this. And he knew that breathing in such an environment would be impossible.
So, he had a survival technique so ingenious, so subtle that it was not only marvelous, it was almost insidious.
Mr. Maya would have forgotten some small yet important item of fiesta-breaking importance. Perhaps it was a pack of flatware or a sought-after tonnage of napkins. Whatever it was, it was not a large enough omission that the party could not have started but it was enough that, while the show did not stop, it slowed.
I have no proof that Mr. Maya forgot things on purpose. If he did, he was a genius. If he did not, he was lucky beyond belief - he was a rabbit's foot full of four leaf clovers with grandmother blessings and the Spear of Destiny in his back pocket.
His wife would fuss and send him on an errand. And I watched with a mix of wonder and envy - how was he able to leave this clutching, reaching, wanting collection of family whose desire for fulfillment was nigh zombie horde proportions?
And he would smile and give a boyish shrug and off Mr. Felipe Maya would go.
And out he would stay.
His wife would swell with a blend of worry and frustration at her husband's eternal absence. She would call his cell-phone with fervor - ready to perform the first digital decapitation. And as his phone rang, the kitchen table would vibrate. Mr. Maya would leave his cell-phone at the house.
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Years ago, we lost Mr. Maya after an illness.
I think the only thing larger than the man that passed away was the love that he left.
Like I've said before, when becoming a father, a man either learns from presence or absence. Mr. Felipe Maya, with his warmth and strength and his wisdom of breathing, was a teachable presence.