He valued education and hard work, but my father’s legacy is so much more than that
I’m heartbroken.
My dad, who was 88 and suffered from Parkinson’s, died Monday afternoon.
Roberto Villa was an incredible man. He graduated from UHK — the proverbial University of Hard Knocks.
Born in Havana, he was one of 13 children, six of whom died before the age of two because of illnesses and the lack of proper medicine in those days.
By the third grade, my dad had to quit school to support the family. He was a house painter, but he had big dreams. In his spare time, he boxed and swam and went on to win fifth place in the Mr. Cuba bodybuilding contest.
Years later, he would joke that there were only five competitors, but I’ve seen the photos. My dad was ripped.
In 1955, he left Cuba and came to New York City. Within one week, he had met my mom, Berenice, at Ateneo Cubano, a family club in Manhattan. Nine months later, they were married. They remained married for nearly 64 years. His passing, of COVID-19 complications, robbed my parents of what would’ve been their anniversary July 22.
The first time they met, my dad told my mom all about an Elizabeth Taylor movie he had just seen. For more than an hour, he told her every bit of the plot, while she stared at his green eyes, black hair and bulging muscles. That’s it — they were in love forever.
My parents raised three great kids. Well, two really great ones, Robert and Susan, and … me. Because my dad escaped poverty in Cuba, he made it so he and my mom had five incredible grandchildren: Brian, who is a psychiatrist; Kevin, an aerospace engineer at NASA; Nicole, coordinator for student conduct at the University of Maryland; Natalie, owner of Fashion Happy Hour; and David, a pharmacy student at the University of Florida.
All of those people I just mentioned are my dad’s legacy, but his impact was so much more than just having kids and grandkids.
Even though he lacked formal education, my dad was brilliant and would’ve been a scholar had it not been for his circumstance. He valued education and always stressed that with his kids. He told me hundreds of times that he wanted me to carry a pen (or a laptop these days) and not a paint brush. There’s a map of the world on a wall in his house, and that represents his love for knowledge.
It was my dad who urged me to switch from editor to writer. He wanted people to know my name — our name, Villa.
My dad was the strongest person I’ve ever known, and it wasn’t just his bodybuilding. It was his zest for life. Until age 81, he and my mom would go tango dancing on weekends until 3 a.m., like a pair of teenagers.
He loved music. Even into his late 80s, he still knew the words to countless Spanish ballads, and he would sing them, sometimes to my girlfriend, Estefania, especially the ones from her native Colombia.
For my dad’s 88th birthday, his sister, Elsa, hired a Mariachi band to come to his house and perform. He loved it.
My dad loved to talk. I imagine he could’ve been an incredible attorney, an inspiring politician or anything that involved making speeches.
For years, he and my mom would go to a local bakery. They would sit in the back of the bakery, sip on coffee and make conversation with the young women who worked there. But my dad would also talk with virtually anyone who walked into the store, using anything he could think of to break the ice with strangers.
One time, he asked this older person and a younger person if they were parent/child. They ignored him at first, but he persisted three times. When it turned out that they were actually a “May/December” type of couple, my dad didn’t skip a beat and eventually engaged them in conversation.
Watching boxing was also a big part of my dad’s life, going way back to the days of Rocky Marciano. My dad would sit in his chair and silently make fists and punch right along with his favorite boxers.
He also enjoyed baseball, and, for a while, football. During the Dolphins’ glory days in the 1970s, he would watch the games and try to jinx Miami’s opponent by chanting: “penalty, fumble, interception” over and over again.
It worked — Miami went 17-0 in 1972, and I’m convinced he had at least a tiny part to do with their success.
But football, boxing, dancing — none of that could compare to the love he had for his family. In New York, he would hang on scaffolding on the outside of skyscrapers, painting them to provide for his kids. He never bought himself anything, bringing home every penny he earned to his family, and his ability to save money is something that has stuck with me all these years.
There are hundreds of examples of his love for me, but I will share just two more.
One time while he, my brother and myself were playing in an adult softball league, I kind of started a fight with one of our opponents. When the guy came after me, I heard my dad race onto the field, yelling — in broken English — “I kill it”, meaning he was out to decapitate that other dude.
From 2008-2010, when I worked as deputy sports editor at the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review, my parents visited me three times. On one of those trips, my dad did all the driving and loved it — anything to spend time with his son.
And while I was working, he and my mom would walk all over the city of Pittsburgh, stopping along the way to drink coffee and start some more awkward conversations.
Dad, I miss you, and I will love you forever.
Walter Villa is a sports freelancer for the Miami Herald. He covers the Florida Panthers, FIU and local colleges.