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Tuesday, November 10, 2015

My Dad: Gregory Alvarez (1921 – 2015)


by Barbara U. Alvarez, guest contributor

1921.  That is the year my father, Gregory Alvarez, was born.  As a high school teacher of American literature, I reveled in sharing this fact with my students, marveling to know someone who had seen firsthand so much of what for me and them is just American history:  the Roaring 20s, the Great Depression, World War II, the Sixties, and – for them still – the dawn of the 21stCentury.

My father passed away this year and my living record of history is no more.
The author with her father Gregory Alvarez in 1962.

A native of Chicago, I have come to appreciate the vigil rituals of Texas funerals I’ve experienced in my 20 years here; after scheduled prayers, mourners are offered the opportunity to give a eulogy – a few words celebrating the life of the passing loved one.  Dad’s funeral rites happened in Chicago and - as I expected - no opportunity was afforded for giving a eulogy.  So here is mine, what I would have said given the chance…a written tribute to my dad.

His lessons were many.  I did not recognize which ones stayed with me until recently.

I was bothered by panic attacks in my 20s, going so far one night as believing myself to be having a heart attack, making my mom and roommate drive me to the emergency room.  By the time I arrived there, the attack had begun to subside, my heart no longer raced, and - but for the gracious doctor who assured me it was “always better to check these things out” - I would have felt completely idiotic, wondering why I had given in to such anxieties.  Dad said, “Get out of your head.  Stop thinking so much about yourself.  Focus on something else.”  Simple.  No psychologist, just the wise man who knew his daughter.  I never had another panic attack to that degree, and have always, always been able to talk myself out of any anxiety I experience by recalling Dad’s words, and focusing on something else.

My father often rode as passenger to my driving.  Young drivers, trying to impress or look competent, change lanes a lot, seeking the advantage, looking to be first.  Either because I lane-changed too often or because he saw others doing it, Dad said this:  “Pick a lane and stay there.  Move only to avoid an obstacle.  You won’t get where you’re going any faster, and it is safer just to stay in a lane.”  Studies prove that those who drive aggressively, weaving in and out of traffic, gain only a two second advantage over other drivers.  They are still stopped by the same red light that stops me, only they got there sooner and spent a lot of gas in getting there.  Dad was right.

When I consider them, the lessons are the same.  Be patient.  Stay focused.  Consistency in temperament, in approach to life, is more effective than erratic changes looking for the advantage.  Dad lived these principles himself, faithfully, facing challenges we today would find daunting:  six kids, Catholic education for all, college for all, one income, one wife (for 63 years).  Who today would not panic and seek a different path in the face of such responsibilities?  Yet for the years I knew him, he worked for the State of Illinois, which he touted proudly, in the department of unemployment compensation.  It is the position from which he retired.  And to subsidize, he sold furniture part time at District Furniture Store, Monday and Thursday nights and all day Saturday.  For years.  Without tiring.  Calm - and staying in the lane.

After retiring, he and Mom bought the house next door to mine, moving to San Antonio, Texas, being my neighbors.  A lane change – but having made it, staying there until he passed.

Was he perfect?  No.  He liked his martini and a couple of beers each night, which I feel made him somewhat short-tempered with me in my youth when added to his exhaustion at day’s end.  He didn’t trust workmen – even those called to service my house had to endure his scrutiny of their work – his words were not always kind.  But now that he is gone, I know that his influence on me was immense.  I am the person I am because of him.  I too, stay in the lane – married to the same man, working at the same profession, faithful to my religion and parish – because I saw him do it first.  Most consistent was his love, which he did not so much convey with words, but which I felt in important moments.  When I moved into a flat in Chicago’s Little Village, searching out who I wanted to be, I was overwhelmed with the presence of roaches in the flat and the amount of work I would have to do to clean it.  Not wanting to admit defeat – I had been so adamant about wanting to live in this seemingly notorious area – I did ask him, through tears, if I could move back home if I found I had made a mistake.  His reply was an emphatic “yes” – it proved to be the support I needed to continue on, persevering to clean the flat and chase away the bugs.  Those were the happiest three years of living on my own that I had, because I knew my dad had my back.

Now teaching my 17 year old daughter how to drive, I found myself giving her the same lesson.  Abuelo taught me, ‘Pick a lane and stay there.  Move only to avoid an obstacle.  You won’t get where you’re going any faster, and it is safer just to stay in a lane.’”


“Ok, Mom,” she responded with attitude, dismissing me in the manner of teenagers.  But I know the lesson will stick, at least for driving.  I do believe that she will one day quote the same lesson to her children, and her grandfather, my dad, Gregory Alvarez, will continue to live through that lesson.

Author's Bio:
Barbara U. Alvarez lives with her husband Jeff and their daughter in San Antonio, Texas, teaching eleventh and twelfth grade English (and doing most anything else the school needs) at Providence Catholic School.  She is the oldest child of the six children of Gregory and Lupe Alvarez, oldest sister of Dr. René Luís Alvarez, one-half of The Mexican Intellectual team.

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