YENNIFER PEDRAZA, WEST ROXBURY
Of all the characters in the cartoon world, Climaco Pedraza was most like Aladdin: full of mischief and fun. He was her father for 13 years, and then, after years of illness, he was gone.
He missed the college graduation, the graduate degree, the launch of her career in interior design. But really, if you ask Yennifer Pedraza, he was with her the whole time.
Here, in her own words, is how their relationship unfolded.
“I’m not religious, but I believe in the universe. And I pray to my father, sort of. Like if I have guy troubles, I’ll be like, “Alright Dad, if he’s not it, just tell me, or send me a sign!” Or times when I’m looking for parking, and I’ve driven around for like a half hour and then I find (a spot), I’ll think, “Oh my God, that was my dad!”—convinced that he helped me.
I was always very much a daddy’s girl. Most of my life he was in and out of chemo, radiation, surgery, so he had a lot more flexibility in his schedule than, say, my mom, who was sort of like the main person who was working and had the insurance. And so my dad would end up picking me up from school a lot and taking me home.
He would basically try to please me in whatever way he could. There is this one photo where I put mouse ears on him and painted his face. There’s another photo where, I think it’s his birthday, and he’s using a toothpick and trying to do something for me, and I’m laughing with him. A lot of pictures from events, I was usually next to him—more than my mom. Him and I were very close.
I was adopted when I was five, and my parents were going to adopt more kids, but my dad got pancreatic cancer shortly after. My aunts tell me that they don’t think that he would have lived as long if it hadn’t been for me. Like he did all the treatments and everything ‘cause, you know, his dream was to see me grow up. And so it was like he just endured as much as he could.
My dad didn’t know very much English, but somehow he worked with only English-speaking people, and they were really close friends. And I still to this day have no idea how they communicated.
He would be friends with the homeless guy at Dunkin’ Donuts by the Red Hat downtown, ‘cause he always drove my mom to work and would stop and get her coffee. And I still don’t know how they had a friendship, really. My dad got an education until he was nine, and he tried to learn English, but he couldn’t. But he was just very interested in getting to know who people were, regardless of where they were in life.
(Growing up in Colombia), he was one of 12 kids, and him and his older brothers ended up working basically at age nine on the streets, just trying to help my grandmother. Because my grandfather was such a terrible human being, my dad tried for most of his life to be as different from him as he could.
Once, when we were on a trip in Colombia, and I was probably 10 years old, there was a group of little girls and they asked my dad for money. And he’s like, “Oh, have you eaten?” They said, “No.” So he took them all to the bakery and said, “Okay, pick whatever you want.”
And they were so mesmerized. They picked all sorts of treats and he just paid for everything, and they were so happy. So that’s kinda how he was.
(When he met my mom), she was a pretty high executive in Colombia, but then they came here and didn’t know English. So my dad ended up becoming a janitor for a bit and then doing auto body work, and my mom went to Northeastern at night part-time and worked. They slept on the floor, essentially. They shared a bagel for breakfast.
With what’s going on with the immigrants now, and not wanting them here, I always think about what my dad would say about those things. He was such a hard worker. He really wanted the American dream. I think about how it must’ve been for him not really knowing the language, and still trying to navigate through the systems, and not let people take advantage of him.
Back then, it was very Machista in Colombia. The woman was expected to cook and clean. But because my dad came here with my mom, all of those gender roles went out the window. They were very much a team. My mom was the breadwinner for a long time, but once my dad got sick, they were dependent on each other for different things. My dad would iron for her and cook and he was very supportive of her. He was very much her best friend.
I used to always think that I had to be the strong one. Like if my dad died, then my mom was going to just fall apart. And then my mom ended up actually being the strong one. I don’t know if she was actually strong, but at least that’s how she acted. She was the one who just kept pushing.
I had prom coming up, and it was just a bizarre time to lose a parent. I remember I would just go to the cemetery–he’s buried near our house–and I would just lay there.
And at the time there was this guy, this old man, so sweet. His wife had died like 10 years ago, and he would go to the cemetery every day. And he was like an Argentine writer and poet, and he would just write novels at the cemetery. And he passed a few years back, so now they’re buried together.
But I remember he walked over one day, like to check if I was alive. I was just laying there. And I was like, “I should stop doing this, freaking this man out.” So I don’t think I did it after that. But my dad died in April, so the weather was good, and I could go lay there for a while.
I used to think I would go there all the time, but as time passes you go there less and less. I really was only with him for 13 years, so he’s basically been out of my life as long as he was in it at this point. But I would say most of my life choices are influenced by him.
If I ever leave single life, which is unlikely (laughs), I think about how we’ll have kids and I’ll say, ‘your grandpa,’ and they’ll have no idea what I’m talking about. I think it’ll be very important to me to at least teach them how he was, and hope that they are similar.”
In addition to her full-time job, Yennifer is the founder of Kiliko, a studio focused on community building through design; Kiliko was her father’s nickname. She was interviewed by story ambassador Tangie Mendez and photographed at her home by David Greenfield.