I held my papi tightly as if holding for dear life as we danced our last daughter and father dance. The fast paced song seemed to last an eternity, but it did not bother me a bit, nor did the hundreds of staring eyeballs that followed every turn my papi spun me while my shiny champagne colored dress swept the entire dance floor.

“Eres apenas una niña, que empieza aprender. Por hoy se fue el amor, quizás mañana volverá. No debes llorar mas, pronto lo olvidaras. Son cosas del amor, son cosas de tu edad. Tienes que entender, tenia que pasar. Si quieres a un amor, sinceramente aquí estoy yo. Yo si te quiero de verdad.” (You are just a girl; you’re just beginning to learn. It seems love left; maybe tomorrow it will be back. But you shouldn’t cry, soon you will grow out of it. Its things you deal with in life, its things you deal with in your age. You have to understand, it had to happen. If you want love, sincerely I am here for you. I really love you.)

“You have to understand, it’s still not your time. You’re too young mija, please just give it time,” my daddy tried to explain in the calmest manner as we drove back to Carrollton from his hometown, Zacatecas.

While in Zacatecas, not only had I met a guy, but I had also fallen deeply in love with this year old, tall, handsome, not dark, but more of an orange tan color that perfectly complimented his blonde silky hair and pecan hazel eyes. At least at the moment it seemed as we were meant to be, as if God had handpicked us for each other.

Tears started rolling down my cheeks as I heard my papi deny my permission to have a boyfriend. He just didn’t understand. This boy was more than special, for he was my first crush. Who would of thought? Lupita, having her firs crush at the age of twelve.

Coincidently, the song “Cosas Del Amor” by Sergio Vega came on the radio just after my papi had denied my chance for love.

“Listen to the song, mija.”

Still purposely shedding silent tears to prevent waking my mami who slept in the backseat, I listened and analyzed the song word by word. At that moment I understood my daddy only meant good doing his role as a father. But I was still not going to show him that he was right, instead I simply stayed quiet as he continued with his explanation and tears continued to scroll down my cheeks.

The same crystal clear tears rolled down my brightly blushed cheeks as my flashback followed to this day, January 24, 2008, the day of my quinceañera.

Still dancing with my papi and holding him with twice the forth I started with, everything suddenly made sense. Everything had fallen in place and all of my questions, doubts, and worries had been solved.

Thus three minute dance with my father had made me realize I was not going to be a little girl anymore.


I know non Hispanic people have a hard time understanding why it’s such a huge deal about a young girl turning 15. Latinos see it more than just 365 days of lived life. Turning 15 is the introduction of lady hood. You officially have permission to date and will be respected as a young adult. My days of playing with Barbie’s were over and my days worrying about my hair and makeup had begun.

Wow. I’m 15 now.

That was my final thought as the song ended while my tears kept going at it. My papi spun me one last time as the applause increased from one side of the ballroom to the other side.

I stared into my daddy’s eyes realizing he was right, my time had come. He held my hand just like he did when he taught me to skate when I was seven years old. It was impossible to stop my tears no matter how hard I tried. It seemed as if my tears were forever locked in and freedom had let them out.

A rampage of tears struck my worn out blushed cheeks as I noticed more tears, this time they were rolling down my daddy’s fresh shaved cheeks.

After a few seconds of staring into each other’s eyes with smiles from ear to ear, he came close to me and hugged me tight. With tears still rolling out of our eyes, he whispered to me, “Siempre seras la bebecita de papi.” (You’ll always be daddy’s little girl.)