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On a day like today, when in Costa Rica is celebrated on Father's Day , like in fifty-two countries, I remember the day my firstborn was born Hector and I officially graduated as , and when the life I RAGALA the arrival of my second son Philip, who revived the same thrill of first two years earlier. At that time, my priorities changed and increasingly appreciate the great effort that my mother and my father did, to form.

While the memories with me, I hear on the radio the song the Colombian singer Juanes where it says " What I miss my mother and my father remember, and we analyze I have a point. In a changing society, still remains in force the demon of machismo and, yes, our mother we do not lack is an illusion, but also our parents did not forget us, even if not us, it is our hope.

remembered the ritual of the Cherokee Indians in the United States, as is proof initiation of men, with some variations, is practiced elsewhere. Parents bring their children to the forest, blindfolded, leave them there alone. These young people should sit on a log all night and, without removing the blindfold from his eyes, face their own fears until the sun shine. It is forbidden to call for help and once you survive the dark, are recognized as men. They can chat with other boys about their experience, because each one must enter the masculinity on their own merits. Young people feel fear and anxiety, then listening to all sorts of noises, and they know that the wild beasts lurking around and they could do harm. Hear the wind whispering in their ears and the grass rustling, they sit in the trunk, without taking off the bandage, it is the only way they say ─ ─ to become men.

After a long and terrible night, the sun appears and removed the blindfold, they realize that their father has been sitting next to them and ensured, slope protection your child all day. His parents have not forgotten them, never left them alone and even thought they were absent, the only thing on their minds were their own children.

Most parents try , with great dedication and each in its own way, that their children break the barrier of fear of the unknown, never abandon us, but some do not talk and do not express their feelings, they are there, present in body and soul.

Let me share with you, dear readers, an unpublished poem that I wrote my father in 1997, when I got my degree, and of course means a lot to me.

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Manuel Humberto A mathematician

1

Morning me dreams revealed two

and then I could discern

the infinite length vanishing sea

on the square root of the raging waves.

From the white sands of my bones

watched the third dimension geometry Euclidean

blue as Murano glass,

with spaces filled with velvety dolphins

and the breeze warm, sweet,

tenderly bathing the lawn of my hair.

On the perimeter of silence

look like dawn is

yellow arc of the full moon.

2

tropical Fall,

that he passes out naked in the laziness of the fingers,

is obtuse, and in it I discovered something wonderful:

when the zenith point of the universe

is gray Cota Mayor,

π the sign becomes a galaxy pendulum

sliding happy in the splendid bell curve

which calls us to rattle Midnight Mass

in honor of the third millennium.

3

Since those bygone days,

forgotten by the memory of man,

Jan when squared plus one not yet born,

travels to derive the infinite sky,

floating within black holes,

drawing parallel lines on the smile a child.

So

hippocampus a dance in the tangent of the Cartesian profile

and at right angles to the pride of the sun.

4

The cosmos is an orange alien and eternal

with millions of celestial cosines.

distress is supported by stars isosceles

splendid in the reverberation of significant ways,

while wildly about the absolute zero of the Maya,

a tesserae Repollal

fossilized fern looks askance.

5

At the end of the day, winter's sigh,

formed spiral nebulae by hail

vertical drop at

separating two concentric circles.

The drunk draws a sine chocolate,

but I love

fill a glass of wine

sitting on a galaxy.

There in the chilly distance,

God appoints a route

dotted tiles Ephesians

where we will forever

no return and then

the end of time and love and words retained

fade, insoluble, the theorem of life

as all souls will have become

in infinitesimal fractal cosmic rain.

Juan Ramon Murillo 1997