I am the oldest of eight, with all the expectations that come with it. Because I'm also a writer and an artist, I have disappointed my siblings, and my father thinks I'm very successful -- he has to think that, I"m the oldest. My father was a demanding man, a World War II veteran, and a man who dreams of working on his tractor again. He doesn't remember the whippings he gave me, and I barely remember it myself. This year, he's been named the Valentine's Day King at the nursing home where he lives here in San Antonio. I cut his hair last night and gave him a manicure -- "you better make me look good, mija." He's excited, and so am I. He says I'm gonna live to be 100, and that he's gonna leave me his Social Security check. I don't want the first, and I can't get the second. Here we are on his birthday last month. It was his second pinata, ever, and he made a speech thanking all the residents for coming to his party.