Dear Santa,
I realize that I am not a kid anymore, and I am sorry that I stopped believeing in you long ago. But this Christmas, I only have one wish... to see my Dad  again. You see, he supposedly passed from this life and onto the next, two years ago. But I still am finding that hard to believe. Every day, I find myself looking for him. I daydream and I fantasize that my Dad really isn't gone, that somehow I will look down at that homeless man on the street, wearing no shoes, and I will see my Dad's eyes shining up at me again. Or maybe my Dad forgot who he was, and is traveling the world, standing under the Eiffel tower, looking up at the Sistine Chaple, or even watching the lights of Beijing, and somehow, along the way, slowly remembering that he has a daughter and a wife that miss him so very much. Or maybe, just maybe, my Dad is now a King in another land, sitting upon a throne, with jewels upon his head and riches beyond belief. Can you find him for me, Santa? Can you bring him back home for just one day? Just one more Christmas is all I ask. Just one more time to hear his laugh, one more time to watch him open his gifts, just one more kiss for my mom. I realize that you're a very busy man, Santa. But if you could make some extra room on your sleigh ( I promise he won't take up much room, as my Dad was just a little guy) Could you please bring him back to us this Christmas morning? That's all I want for Christmas...
P.S. I love you, Dad.
                                           
                                             In Loving Memory Of
                                       
                                              BUTCH SERRANO 
                                 "Dynamite comes in small packages"

                                                   Written by
                                              Amanda Serrano

                                                 The Record
                                           December 25, 2014
                                        

 

Dream Machines
  by
Amanda Serrano

Think about it...would American Graffiti have ever been the same with out John Milner's "piss yellow", 5-window, 32 Ford Coupe?
No, of course not!  it has become the most recognizable classic car in the world,
a star within its own right. One cannot imagine watching that film and not seeing Milner's hot rod fly down paradise road, alongside Bob Falfa's 
(played by Harrison Ford)
souped up, black as night, 55 Chevrolet, as the sun rises on a small town,
better know as Modesto...
I grew up not too far from that little town...Home to me, when I was little, was plunk down in the  middle of a sea of polished chrome and pin-up girls lining the walls, a mini- metropolis of rockabilly and retro, long before rockabilly and retro made their so-called " comeback." Truth be know it never really went away,   not for me and not for many lovers of this spectacular culture saturated with hot rods, hot girls, saddle shoes and rock and roll.
But the cars...oh yes the cars...
As a child of the 1980's my formative years were lived out more like a teenager of the 1950's.
My dad, Gary, (known to all as Butch) had a passion for classic cars, dating all the way back to his own childhood, growing up on the east side streets of Stockton, California. He also had a tremendously talented gift for the restoration of these amazing dream machines. I spent countless years of my life, in my dad's backyard, watching various bare frames of metal, in all stages of rust and ruin, take form into true artwork, roaring down the street on four wheels, burning rubber, shaking windows, and turning egos green wherever they went. 
This type of atmosphere, was and always will be, home to me. 
And the sailored-mouthed men, milling around my dad's garage, covered in motor oil and grease, they were my family. The smell of paint thinner and exhaust fumes are as familiar and memory-provoking to me as mom's apple pie is to most. Candy-apple red and Corvette yellow, tuck and roll leather and armor all on a hot summer day...All sentimental reminders of a time I will cherish til the day I die...Strange? maybe. But kick-ass? Hell yeah.
In the teenage-romance department, my dad was lucky enough to land a girl who also shared his infinity for hot rods and rock 'n roll music~he met my mom when both were fifteen, and have been together ever since. A marriage rooted in classic car mania. I have learned, is not always an easy one, albeit, an interesting one though! And me, being the lucky kid born into these two cool cat's world of absolute coolness. I came home from the hospital in style when I was born...in a black, 1963 Stingray Corvette, Yeah, baby! How many kids can say they made their grand entrance in a gorgeous piece of hell on wheels like that?!?
While my dad was working his fingers to the bone restoring every kind if Ford and Chevy  basket case that was called upon for his talents, my mom was often in the wings, doing beautiful upholstery restoration for many lucky customers. Admist all this, the hours of sweat, blood, and frustration, my parents have taught me a very special lesson..two lessons actually. One, never quit until it's done. Two, always see the future potential of what something or someone can be...Where most people would see a hopeless bucket of rust and decay,
imagine it polished and new, reborn with a fresh coat of paint and a shiny new set of polished rims. Life lessons that I am sure they weren't ever aware they were teaching. And for this, I thank them from the bottom of my heart.
Of course, the endless stream of cars also had their moments of hilarity: Such as the time when " Christine," my grandfather's '59 Thunderbird lost it's brakes and flew out of control, taking out a wooden fence, half a tree, and the rear of a freshly-painted T-Bucket roaster that my dad had FREE-HANDED beautiful flames on the side of the body... Or when the kids in 1st grade ask me if I lived on "Walton's Mountain" after my mom picked me up in my dad's red 1932 Ford Pick-up. Is your daddy rich? Or when others assumed I came from parents loaded with money...Is your daddy rich? Nope just talented... Some people may have a hard time understanding one's passion for an inanimate object such as a " car." But these types of " cars " are so much more. After all, people from all over the United States gather at shows and swap meets to enjoy the sights and sounds of classic cars, rat rods and the likes...it is an essential part of Americana, a stone pillar in our history, one that, like rock and roll, will never die.
As for my dad, although slowed down a bit in recent years, due to a diagnosis of congestive heart failure, he still remains loyal to his Street Rod roots.  
He still is the proud owner of that same beautiful 1963 Stingray Corvette, in addition to a 1932 Ford Pick-up, a 1956 Chevy, and of course, Mom's mellow-yellow, 1935 Ford Coupe, and he still, when able, restores " basket-cases" into strikingly gorgeous, bad-ass dream machines. As for me, growing up in this kind of atmosphere was a wonderful, fun, amazing experience. It taught me respest for all forms of creativity, and respect for the calloused hands behind it. And today I follow in his footsteps, in my own way- I am a stubborn, hot -rod loving, rock and roll blasting heathen, with a penchant for pin-up and boys with tattoos...
Buddy Holly and Elvis Presley... Twlight Zones and Saddle Shoes. I am a child of the '80's lost in a time capsule of the 1950's, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Bio: Amanda Serrano is a northern California  resident, Paramedic student, Roller Girl, and sci-fi writer for Shades of Strange film productions. She remains true to her hot-rodding roots, and is the proud owner of a 1957 Chevy Bel Air, and a 1966 Ford Mustang.

PIN UP PERFECTION MAGAZINE
Car Cruise Issue
February 2010   

I can't believe it has been a year since I lost you. I keep expecting you to walk through the door any minute. I know I have only survived because of you, you taught me to never give up no matter what and because I watched everything you did and listened to every word you said I have been able to do a lot of things I never thought I could. You made me strong because you were always so strong, I can honestly say you are the most amazing person I have ever know and I have always been so proud of you. I still can't believe a spirit as strong as yours could ever be gone, I watched you fight to survive for so long I never thought you would ever be taken away from me. I actually feel like a part of my heart is missing, but I have my memories, a lifetime of wonderful memories of our precious time together and when family and friends tell me stories about you, it brings you so much closer to me. Your friends have been so good to us, I don't think you ever realized how much your friends love you, when Harold came to see us in February he started to walk into the back yard and broke down, it was just to hard to go back there because you were not there. I try to do everthing the way you would have done it, sometimes I feel like your leading me in the right direction. I always think what would Butch do or how would Butch want this done. I hope you know I will love and honor you everyday of my life. I miss you so very much and will never understand why someone as loving and kind as you had to be taken away. My love will go on forever and ever. You are always in my heart, Sherry 

My Dad, My Hero

There are so many stories to be told, to let the world know what and amazing man my father was, that I could spend the rest of my life telling them. And that's exactly what I intend to do. My Dad was a survivor and a fighter, he was a man's man all the way, the last of a dying breed, a beautiful mix of spanish and Irish, but most of all he was a loving man with a heart made of gold, who was adored by so many.
From the time he was born, my dad had to fight for everything he had, but he never complained. He made the best of every struggle that was thrown his way. And he always did it with a smile. When he was a small child, he contracted polio, as many children of that generation, he spent many days in a hospital ward, and was left with a limp, thus, making him have to work ten times harder just to run and play, like the other kids, but he never gave up and he never let it hold him back. And that limp? He turned it into a swagger, an attitude, that only added to his absolute coolness. And trust me, anyone who ever met him, will tell you, a cooler guy never lived.
He often had the nickname "Fonzie" because of his love for leather jackets, white t-shirts and blue jeans. My dad just wasn't a "monkey suite" kind of guy. He was down to earth and real, the kind of guy who would invite you over for a beer, and sit for hours, trying to make you feel better, no matter how bad your day had been, that was just him. He had the ability to make anybody his friend.
As a teenager, he loved the challenges of school, and was an excellent student. He also held a  part-time job with J. Milano company, while attending school. He started working when he was fourteen, sweeping floors, and eventually worked his way up to become the head fabricator and foreman for building farm machinery, that was used all over the United States and even Costa Rica. Often times he would go to class, go to work, then come home and do his homework by the light of one of the streetlamps outside his bedroom window. He was no stranger to dedication. He absolutely adored his co-workers at J. Milano, and they adored him. They weren't just his "co-workers", they were his friends. And the stories of fun mixed with work were never-ending. My dad was just the kind of guy that knew how to make any situation a blast, even a hard day's work.
He was also a 1967 graduate of Franklin High School, and always waved his black and yellow proudly. To this day, an array of "Yellow Jackets" artifacts hang along his garage wall. He was true to his school. "Franklin was the best school around!" he would always say. And despite his limp and severe curving of the spine, he became acompetitive baseball player, swimmer and wrestler, winning many competitions and metals before graduating. He never allowed any challenge to beat him. It just wasn't in his blood.
From a  young age, my dad had a love for cars, cars that would later be known as "Classic". As any girl of that era who knew him would tell you, he was never without a cool car. He also had an amazing gift for restoring them, from the ground up. I have many fond memories from my childhood, of various skeletons of machinery being towed through the gate, everyone shaking their head at his newest "Basket Case". And in time they all ate their words when a Dream Machine on four wheels, full of chrome and a cherry coat of paint, would come roaring out of the driveway, rattling windows and smoking everything in its path. He was an amazing artist, who could always make something, out of nothing. That was him, he just had to turn ugly caterpillars into beautiful butterflies.
My dad met the love of his life, Sherry, when he was sixteen years old, and they have been together ever since. My  parents had a rare kind of love for one another, the kind where you could see the glimmer and pride in their eyes when they spoke each other's name. We should all be so lucky to know this kind of love. They taught me how to treat others, just by being themselves. My dad was a wild spirit that knew how to live life to the fullest. He could never get enough of the summer sun, the water and the Beach Boys...he was a true California boy.
The love we all feel for my dad will last a thousand lifetimes, and the loss we feel will never go away. Although we are shedding many tears and our hearts are broken, we are smart enough to know that this isn't goodbye, its a "See you later, bud" as he would say, until we meet again, But until then, I know you will be with us, making your presence known in every obnoxious and wonderful way possible, as you always said, "Dynamite comes in small packages".
I  love you more than words can say, you're not only my dad, but my hero. And if I can live my life half as good as you, I will have lived it right. Heaven just got the coolest, smartest, most handsome guy that ever lived, and I bet the angels are blushing already.
I love you with all my hear and soul, Daddy.
~Amanda
P.S. Your " Best Girls," aka Mom and I, are counting the hours until we are together again.

The Stockton Record  4/27/2014 

You will be remembered when the flowers bloom in spring
In the summertime remembered
In the fun that summer brings
You will be remembered when fall brings leaves of gold
In the wintertime, remembered, in the stories that are told
And you will be remembered, each day right from the start
For the memories that we once shared live
Forever in my heart... 

My love forever and ever, Sherry 

Butch
You are my love and you are my life.
I know in my heart we were meant to be together for eternity.
You have given me the greatest gifts in life...
your love and Amanda,
she is a living symbol of the love we share.  
Together we have had happy times and sad times,
both have made our love stronger.
I love you so much and I know what a kind and caring heart you have.
Your love makes the world a better place for me.
You are my soulmate,
now and forever.
I love you, Sherry
      12-25-00

  A GESTURE IN TIME
          There is one gesture in this world,
that will stay with me until I am old and gray.
The touch of my father's hand
to my mother's body.
It is a simple gesture,
One that many may not even notice.
But it is one of sweetness and comfort.
I watch his hand,      
touching her face and shoulder,
Yes, I have seen this many times.
It is the same hand that held hers
on their first date,
their wedding day,
and even the day I was born.
                                  It is also the same hand that held onto hers                      and never let go,
Not even through nights of sickness,
and days of hospital beds.
His hands have always been there
ready to touch, ready to give comfort.
And though calloused and rough they may be,
they are kind and soft,
they themselves are immortal,
for his hand never left hers.
Amanda
2-22-05
                

 








DID I EVER TELL YOU

  Did I ever tell you how much you mean to me?
Although I have not spoken of it often,
you mean more to me than words can say.
You woke every morning and sacrificed your time and
your day just so I wouldn't do without.
Did I ever tell you how much I appreciate that?
Everyday of my life you taught me lessons, not throught your words,
but by actions. 
You showed me what it mean to love someone under any circumstances.
Did I ever tell you that you became a hero in my eyes one day when I,
eleven years old, watched you through the bathroom door
when my mother was sick, dressing her and gently brushing her hair,
did I  ever tell you that?
You have been so much more than a  father could ever be,
You've been a friend, in good times and in bad.
Everything you have accomplished in life and everything that you are makes
me proud to carry  your name.
When times are sad, as they have often been, you always come through,
you never walk away.
And when times are good, you share the laughter just the same.
You live everyday completely blind to what a blessing you are 
to those around you.
And last but not least, did I ever tell you just how much I love you?
Did I ever tell you that?
All my love forever,
Amanda
12-25-00