Garcia's
💍
In March 1992, Jason left his apartment at BYU and traveled north to meet my dad at Garcia’s Mexican restaurant - the halfway point between Provo and Ogden, Utah.
They were seated.
Jason was nervous.
He got chatty.
Commented on the menu design.
Asked about every one of my siblings.
Avoided talking about the real reason he had set up the appointment in the first place: Me.
He ordered a quesadilla and asked them to cut it up for him. He wanted to look independent in spite of not being able to use his hands.
🌮The food came.
You know how the server sometimes tell you that the plate is hot?
The heat melted the cheese together.
Jason picked up the first bite with his fork and the entire quesadilla came with it.
He had to ask my dad to reach over and cut up his food.
Awkward.
And not too independent.
Finally, Jason brought up the real topic of the meeting.
“I love your daughter and I would like to marry her.”
My dad responded with, “Aren’t you worried about her homemaking skills?”
Dad! What the heck?🤷🏻♀️
I totally had adequate homemaking skills!😂
Dad gave his blessing and Jason went for his wallet to pay the check.
He had left it at home.🤦🏻♂️
Dad cut his food.
He picked up the check.
And as Jason got ready to leave, he took one last drink of water and the glass fell from his hands and into his lap.
Jason sighed and laughed, “Are you sure you want me to marry your daughter??”
But he did.
Not only did my dad have faith in this quadriplegic young man and his supposed-lack-of-homemaking-skills daughter, but he even performed the wedding ceremony for us.
Happy Father’s Day to our dads.
The dads who believed in their kids.
The dads who knew we would face a life of physical obstacles.
The dads who never voiced concerns and just showed support.
The dads who are still believing in us. ✊🏻💙
Our parents. The ones who believe in us still.