It all began one Sunday at home, playing with my daughter. I gave a voice command: “Alexa, dad mode.” What made the game so amusing was Alexa replied with a classic Mexican fatherly phrase. That time she said: “You'll understand when you're older.”

My daughter, puzzled, looked up and asked:

—Dad, why did Alexa say that?

And in that moment, I couldn't help but travel back to my own childhood—hearing those exact words from my father as he tried to justify choices that, to my young mind, felt unfair or impossible to grasp.

Back in the present, I realized I've not only reached that age of understanding—I've become a father myself.

And all I can say is: How right he was...

One month later, I find myself back in my homeland—Oaxaca—watching the rain fall, listening to its gentle rhythm on the night before Father's Day. Our family plan: visit San Martín Tilcajete to witness one of Oaxaca’s most iconic artisanal traditions—The Alebrijes.

After exploring the workshops, one image stayed with me: the living metaphor between the creation of an alebrije and the act of fatherhood.

It begins with a raw chunk of copal wood, brimming with potential, placed in the hands of an artisan weathered by time—hands that seek to reveal the form hidden within.

A father begins with rawness, too: a cry, a laugh, a child unaware of who they are. His role is not to impose, but to discover.

With machete and gouges, the artisan strips bark and smoothes roughness. There is no rush—every cut is a decision.

To be a father is to carve with care: to correct without wounding, to guide without stifling. Each cut is advice, each sanding stroke an act of patience. The goal is not to shape at will, but to reveal what already lies within. Every detail takes time—just like every lesson, every word of encouragement, every embrace along the way.

An alebrije would never dazzle without its vibrant colors, striking contrasts, and unexpected details. Every child carries the colors their father shows them—alongside those they discover on their own. A father does not paint for them—he offers the tools to build their own palette.

Here, the small things matter most: a dragon's wings, a deer's antlers, a jaguar's gaze—even the nearly invisible brushstrokes.

A father knows the difference lies in the details: in the whispered advice, the silence that supports, the glance that says I believe in you without words.

No alebrije was ever made to stay locked in the workshop. Its magic lives in the world—where others can witness its singular beauty. A father knows this better than anyone: his triumph lies not in holding on, but in giving wings, trusting the colors they shared will shine—even beneath distant skies.

This Father's Day, we celebrate the artisans of the invisible—those who carve futures.