I remember the first day I went with my father to camp in the forest, that day I woke up very early, "only the men of the house will go," he said that Sunday morning, he expressed it with a funny tone winking at mom and my two sisters while we had breakfast. I always knew that I was his favorite and this made my sisters jealous, whenever I fought with them he'd hug me and tell me I was his champion.
I loved my Dad more than anyone, even more than my mom, and that to God himself, he was everything to me, he'd always come to my room at night when he came back from work, he would lie on the floor, and there he'd play with me and my toys. My father was almost two meters tall and his body was very robust, he was like a giant to me; There were days when he'd come back home at midnight, he would come into my room and if I had my back turned he would cover my eyes with one of his huge hands and he would say to me: "Guess, guess, who am I?" Then I would take his hand and part of his hairy arm and scream, "Dad!" I obviously knew it was him, but I was always excited just the same.
That morning we prepared everything to leave, we would go in my grandfather's old 1940 Ford Pickup, but not before verifying that we had everything we needed for camping. We were going to spend the whole day and night in the forest, it was going to be a great adventure.
When we got to the forest, Dad chose the best place to camp, he looked for a zone where there weren't many trees. "How do you like this place, Tom?" He asked me while I looked out the window of the vehicle at the green of the grass and the multiple colors of the leaves of the trees. "This place seems wonderful to me," I answered almost immediately. Then we got the things out of the truck and proceeded to set up the tent.
"Tom, pay attention to how a camping tent is set up, everything must be done carefully, in order and with patience," my father said, explaining each step. While we were setting up the store, my father began to sing the song The Lion Sleeps Tonight and I accompanied him with laughter and jokes.
Dad put two chairs on the ground and in front of them he placed a small table and to one side the cooler from where he got a beer and a soda, "Sit next to me, son. Let's rest a little,” he said, lifting the can of soda in his hand, then he took out some sandwiches and we began to eat.
After eating we walked inside the forest, he taught me about how to differentiate various types of trees and how their age was calculated by counting the inner rings of their trunk; some wild animals came out of the bushes and he identified them almost immediately, the funny thing was that he named them and said that they were his friends, the mind of a child is something special because I knew that my father was making up these things, but my mind wanted me to believe that everything was true and I enjoyed it excitedly, it was like living in a fantasy world where everything was possible thanks to Dad.
"Look, Tom, that's Harry the raccoon, that's Lucia the squirrel, and that's mmmmm... I forgot the name."
"It's a rabbit."
"Oh, yeah, I remember, it's Tom the rabbit."
"His name is like mine, Dad!"
"Yes, son, it is because he is a very intelligent rabbit."
After cutting some firewood from a dry tree we returned to the tent, Dad took out some fishing rods and went to a small lake, there I caught my first fish, it was a small fish, but Dad caught three giant fish.
"Son, this lake is called Blue Lake."
"It's beautiful, Dad, but it's hot," I said, wiping the sweat with my flannel.
"Well, then, let's go swimming," said Dad, quickly taking off his clothes except for his boxers and jumping into the water, then I did the same and we swam for a long time in the clear and fresh waters of Blue Lake.
When we returned to the tent, Dad taught me to cut and prepare the fish, then we made a bonfire and with its fire we roasted the fish, while we ate the temperature of the environment changed and the birds started to sing, the Sun hid among the trees of the forest.
At night, while we roasted marshmallows on the campfire, Dad asked me about the things I liked and how I was doing at school, then the conversation focused on wishes, I remember that Dad changed his tone, he seemed to speak to me as if I were an adult, then something happened that I will never forget and that became one of my most precious memories, he got up and took a sheet of paper and a pencil and asked me:
"Tom, do you believe in wishes?"
"Yes, Dad, I do believe in wishes."
"Then write your dearest wish on this sheet," he said handing me the sheet of paper and a pencil.
Under the sparkling light of the bonfire I eagerly wrote down my wish, I reached up to give him the sheet but he told me not to show him my wish, to take some sand from the ground and throw it on the sheet where I had written it. This situation seemed mysterious and provoked in me a certain fear, but I enjoyed and enjoyed what I felt.
"Now fold the sheet so that you tie all its corners together while the sand is still on the paper."
While he was telling me what to do he had another sheet in his hands and he was doing each procedure so that I could imitate him and make no mistake, after doing this successfully he said:
"Now, Tom, throw it into the campfire."
I approached the fire and threw the wrapper with its contents, Dad took me by the arm and hugged me, "Now, Tomas, look carefully at what comes out of the flames, he said, pulling me closer to him.
The fire grew and its colors became more intense, I could hear sounds like small crunches at the stake, then I saw the most incredible thing, threads of light came out of the flames making amorphous figures in the air that rose to the heaven.
"Look Tom, your wish has been good, now it flies to the stars and it will come true because the strength of your wish is born from the goodness of this earth and the flames of your heart," said my father as we watched the lights rise.
After this extraordinary experience with my beloved father, we returned to the camping site and the next day we went home.
As I grew older I understood what my father always told me, his death hurt me a lot and it took me a long time to recover from his absence. I did this ritual that he taught me with my son and daughter when they were little, I know that Dad had also done it with my sisters. Now in my fifties, I occasionally go camping in the woods with my wife, and I write letters to my dad telling him how much I miss him, I throw sand at them and then throw them at the stake because I know that my words will go to a place near the stars, a distant place where Dad reads my letters, from where he looks at me and cares for me; I know that my father will love me just as I will: forever.
