The tears have come again, non stop rolling off my cheeks. I hold the pictures in my hand and hear his voice once more, “Mi guera, tu puedes ser lo que quieras. Pero tu don es hablar por la gente. Yo se que un dia tu vas a ser la mejor abogada de los Estados Unidos.”

When my father passed away, these words were all that resounded within my mind. He was run over, thrown off the side of the road by a careless driver. The driver wasn’t charged with murder, wasn’t even prosecuted. He’s alive, enjoying a beautiful spring day as I sit here and mourn my father’s death.

Seeing these injustices strike not only the world, but myself, and angers me. My jaw tightens and my fists clench as I think about how this man is walking around freely while my dad is six feet under.
While I think of this, I realize that the world will not change unless someone stands up and fights for lost causes. I want to be that someone. I want to effect change.

Though my current career choice is not law, I know I can make a difference through powerful writing. I want to use my words to help those without a voice. To unmask the horrors that go unnoticed.
My career choice has been influenced by my father’s death, but I am not dwelling on the negative. I have continued to live my life and to remember my father’s.

As I sat in the back of my aunt’s van, collecting donations for my father’s funeral, she reminded me of the good times I shared with him, like how he used to brag about me being his daughter anywhere he went.

All of his friends knew me from head to toe, my favorite color, my favorite snack.
But most importantly they knew that his beloved “guera” was going to be a lawyer. He was the one that always pushed me to do my best in school. Getting an education was a priority since I could remember.

Just like any father, though, he had faults. He yelled and grounded me. He drank a bit too much sometimes. He couldn’t hold a steady job.

Looking back, none of that mattered. He is my father. He loved me more than life itself. If times were tough, he’d give me food before he even thought about himself.

When it was us two, the world’s problems disappeared. It didn’t matter that my mom was angry he’d begin to drink again, it didn’t matter that we didn’t have money to pay the mortgage, and it didn’t matter that his marriage was failing.

He’d pick me up from school every day and take me to the liquor store. We’d get gummy bears, chips, and a Mucho Mango Arizona drink, then sit in the car and listen to his Mexican Rancheras. I was his little girl and as long as I was with him, nothing could harm me.

He wasn’t the perfect father but he pushed me to make sure I was the perfect person.
Right after he passed, it broke my soul to know I didn’t have the chance to thank him one last time, to say goodbye.
I felt angry. I wouldn’t have anyone to walk me down the aisle, no one to share a father-daughter dance with, no one to treat me like a princess.

Now, that almost seems silly to me. He will always be with me. His words will continue to resound in my head as I write, as I help the people.

My white girl, you can be whatever you want. But your gift is to speak for the people. I know one day you will be the best lawyer in the United States.