When I look the stars and I am really not seeing the sky, when I relax and I am not even calm is because I am thinking in my father Cuban life style. No matter it was a rainy day or a sunny day he was always at 6 o clock in the backyard with his mojito drink. Three parts of mineral water, and the other one of Cuban rum some green plant called "hierbabuena" was the secret. Sugar to sweet the time and a bit of lemon for not forgetting the problems of life. I remember him with a smile and a far sound that the radio sang. It was salsa music what makes him dance. So a glass on a hand and a Cuban cigar, the smell of it makes my cry. A little hat just by a side over his head and still Laugh after laugh the time pass till my mother with the dinner arrives. He talks about beauty of life and recite pieces of Cuban art. Some could call him ridicule I call him himself, some call him a weirdo I call him a dreamer. I know all this because at the same time I was there lighting that cigar, hoping that Cuban life style was mine. It was not only a tradition to see him there full of smoke; it was a way of living, a way of expressing that he was just fine with life. Try and try to be like him but only a free soul could reach that peak. I repeat a Cuban cigar on his hand, and a dream on his head. I remember one day when I was five I asked my father the reason for him to smoke and he only said is the taste, is the taste. Three years later when I was eight I ask him the same question and he said is the smell, is the smell. But some days ago after repeating that question he didn’t answer, keep silent for just a moment and encouraged me to taste it. That day I realize why he smoke, of course it makes you feel alive, because for just one moment in the daily life you feel relax, you feel calm. Now I have my father by my side, I hope it stays like that a lot of time, but in some years when he passes out I will breathe that smoke and remember the moments with my dad. I will remember the moment of true Cuban life style in the suburb house.