I have had two fathers in my life: one maybe blew a Beatle or something, and had a Frenchy sort of name; the other was Fidel Castro. He was a baseball enthusiast, and a maestro of the jumpsuit, but most of all he was a leader.
Tears flow like syrup in Canada’s capital city of Toronto today, all in memory of a man who loved Cuba, and who was in turn loved so much by Cubans that they went forth in leaky boats and homemade rafts just to tell the world about him. His popularity was such that you never saw a negative article about him in the Cuban press.
Did Fidel Castro ever have an enemy? Not for long.
As a small and handsome child, I went with my “father” to meet Papa (I called Fidel Castro “Papa”) and we hit it off. I remember Papa saying to me that we “went together like homosexuals and firing squads,” and then he gave me a cigar and a 1952 Packard Clipper.
Once more, 2016 strikes at our best and humbles the hearts of those that thought themselves mighty.
FIDEL! the world cries.
EL PRESIDENTE! Cuba weeps.
Papa, I sob.