His Domain

I remember waking up every morning to the strong lingering smell of my dad’s morning coffee set on the kitchen table right next to his truck keys just waiting to be picked up. As soon as he stepped out the door with his keys and coffee in hand, the cold breeze would fill the house, giving me chills. He would quickly start gathering his tools and lifting the heavy machines onto his truck and securing them for the long trip to who knows which city he would be driving to. As soon as I heard the engine of his truck go on I would speed out of the house and jump into the cold passenger seat freezing but happy that I would share a few minutes of unpredictable funniness with him before having to go to school. His funniness is one-of-a-kind. He could make a joke out of everything and it's never at the wrong times, not with him. My dad has always been able to find happiness in everything in life but by far work has been the place I’ve seen him the happiest in.

There are a few things I must explain about my dad—he has a unique name that I love, Netsai. Most people think they can’t pronounce his name right so they just call him Cortez. He is always cheerful and loves making a joke out of everything he can, although he can also be serious when he has to be. He also loves discovering new things, fixing things, and making the people around him happy, especially kids, which meant buying giant bags of candy or simply granting their wish of tacos from a taco stand. He is pleased with seeing smiles, happiness, and laughter around him. My dad always wears plain colored t- shirts with blue jeans, most of his clothes have paint stains, little chunks of cement stuck to it, and well, he just looks as if he is always ready to get dirty for the job.

Now for you to understand the passion my dad has for his job, you need to know about his usual work place in which he is the happiest and does his great house transformations. At work, my dad and I have experienced hundreds of painful sounds going through our ears and beautiful sights on our way to his site of his project for the day. On our way to the house we slowly get through the heavy traffic of people rushing to get to work and into the freeway. You hear people beeping on your left, right, and even behind you. The irritating sounds continue until we are no longer in Los Angeles, the city of traffic. I notice that there are no cars beeping or trying to pass us now but now there are eye catching things around me. I see mountains just a few feet away from me and hard to see and it ran too quickly. I believe I just saw a coyote. I’m amazed more than ever; I feel like I’m breathing the freshest air.

In order for you to understand what my dad is like at work, I should let you in on a few dos and don’ts while being at work with him.

1. Don’t ever think of it as work.
2. If there is a problem, there is always a solution.
3. Always be happy.
4. Never rush. Take your time.

I have shared many memories with my dad but one that stands out the most is the day I missed school in order to go to work with him. I was getting ready for school and I was soon going to walk out the door. My back was to the door but I heard it open. I turned around and it was my dad with the big smile he usually has.

“Negra,” he joked. (“Black,” he joked.)

Always making fun of how dark I am, I giggled.

As I continued to get ready, I overheard him and my mom talking in the kitchen.

“Me quiero llevar a Tracy a trabajar con migo,” he said happily. (I want to take Tracy to work with me,” he said happily.)

“Yo no se, preguntale a ella” she replied. ("I don’t know, ask her,” she replied.)

I jumped into to kitchen and stared at them with a grin.

"I want to go with him!” I rejoiced.

I dropped my things and grabbed my handbag while gathering a few snacks to eat on the way. He looked so happy that I was excited to leave with him. I ran out to his truck and jumped in. His truck is always so cold but it seems like that’s what makes his truck unique like him. He never minds the cold leather touching his hand or the steering wheel being just as cold while driving. However, he loves having his hot coffee that my mom makes him every morning in hand while driving. He offers me a sip of his coffee as we head down our street and into the gates of heavy traffic on the main street. He sits patiently while cars try to pass him and others are beeping at him as if he could just fix the traffic but speeding up.

I don’t understand how he can be so happily patient with this. I question it.

This beeping and random cars trying to get in front of other cars continues for anther 50 minutes until we’re finally no longer in Los Angeles, the city of heavy traffic. As we drive further from our home I notice things that make me smile; I see mountains, I see more greenery than buildings, and I notice how much bluer the skies look here than in Los Angeles. The smell of his morning coffee has vanished now and he rolls his window down. I smell the fresh air coming in from his window filling the truck. The freeway we’re on leads us in between two mountains that have little plants and bushes spread out.

“Aveces ahi coyotes ahi en las montanias,” he says with a smile. (“Sometimes there are coyotes in the mountains,” he says with a smile.)

I start searching the mountains, eager to try to spot a coyote but it is quite difficult because of the speed he is driving at. As we continue to drive, I randomly choose to look a little more carefully and by surprise I caught a coyote hiding behind a bush and peeking its head out. My dad saw my excitement and simply grinned at me.

“Ya casi llegamos,” he informed me. ( “We’re almost there,” he informed me.)

We drove out the freeway and into a small street. I spotted a big two story white house which turned out to be the house he was going to be working in. He parked and once again I struggled to get off the truck while my dad easily stepped out the truck. I hurried to the other side and stood by him while walking to the house. He rung the door bell and waited. An old lady opened the door and introduced herself with a smile on her face.

“ I am Netsai Cortez,” he tried to say in English.

“I’m Tracy,” I rushed behind him.

She giggled and took us into her house. I looked around as we walked around as she tried explaining herself of what he wanted him to do. My dad is a constructer; he knows plumbing, electricity, and just about anything there is to fixing a house really. From what I remember, what she was telling him was to clean her house. I was confused but my dad simply grinned and shook his head okay. I stood by him randomly bumping into him as we continued being escorted through the house. I can clearly remember gripping on his shirt to keep me right behind him, his shirt with little rough chunks of cement scrapping my fingers when I gripped tighter.

She walked away and my dad simply got to it.

“Tu limpia el refrigerador del la cocina y yo limpio el que esta en el garage,” he smirked. (“You clean the kitchen fridge and I’ll clean the one in the garage,” he smirked.)

He brought me two towels and water with soap to rub the inside with. I started taking the things out as he left to clean the fridge in the garage. It didn’t take long for me to be done but it took my dad less. He was just walking up to me as I was getting up from picking up little bits that fell out from the fridge.

“Tienes hambre, lencha?” he questioned with a smile. ( “Are you hungry, lencha?” he questioned with a smile.)

Lencha? To this day I question how he gave me the nickname. I don’t even know what it means! I smirk.

“Si, ya tengo hambre,” I answered slowly. ("Yes, I am hungry.")

It had been about four hours since I ate and he knew that I loved eating every hour I was able to so his plan was to get me full for a couple of hours until it was time for us to leave. So we jumped into his truck; the cool breeze hit us while driving off to the nearest Mexican restaurant he could find. We were now at a red light and slowly but strongly a dancing aroma of tacos, burritos, and chicken came along and snuck into our nostrils. A right turn it was; we were going to get our lunch there. The smell was amazing but it looked even better when we were looking right at it.

“Yo quiero un burrito de asada!” I exclaimed. (“I want a burrito of asada!” I exclaimed.)

“Ok pues y mas vale que te llenes,” he joked. (“Okay then, you better get full,” he joked.)

I giggled because most likely I was going to get hungry again in an hour or so. We got our food and left off to eat it in the truck. He started speaking about how I must be confused to the fact that we cleaned fridges this morning instead of making cement or painting the house. He explained that sometimes people pay good money to do simple things. Sometimes it is because they are lazy but sometimes it is because no one else is willing to do it for them. He had modeled some of their house just a couple months ago which is why they offered him the small job.

I guess a job is a job no matter what and even the smallest jobs have to be appreciated because money is always is necessary in this world.

As soon as we were done eating, we buckle up and find ourselves back to the old lady’s house. He brought down his ladder, a bucket, and some yellow liquid. Stretching the ladder out to one of the second floor windows, he began to climb up with the bucket full of some cleaning chemical and a tool, first wetting the window with the cleaning solution he had and then wiping it off and clean of the window. He continues the pattern on all 17 windows and the backyard door.

“He’s a great person,” she said to me softly.

I didn’t even notice her coming towards me but that made me smile because that was one of the days I saw him doing his job and it wasn’t his usual job but he smiled all through it, never complaining.

“I think he’s the greatest,” I smiled softly.

As soon as he was done he picked up the rags that were once white and now looked as if they had fallen in charcoal. The water he used went from a yellow color from the cleaning solution to a grey color and now with the hideous smell of dirt. He put his equipment back in the back of his white truck, quickly wiping his hands on his shirt while walking back to the house.

“Ya es todo mija,” he grinned. (“That’s it,” he grinned.)

We gave our goodbyes to the sweet old lady as we headed out the door. I ran around the truck and quickly climbed into my seat. He started talking to me, about life, again. There is nothing that I love more than hearing my dad talk about life on our car rides.

This day made me understand that a job doesn’t feel like a job if you love it and that sometimes any job is a job. I have always seen him do hard work like carrying his heavy equipment up and down stairs or working with a mask on because of the bad smell he tries handling. Seeing him do anything from the easiest job to the hardest job makes me appreciate all he has giving us because of his hard work. Now it is my turn to do any job, easiest or hardest, to keep my family stable financially.