Dad loved working in his yard. As the change of Seasons announced the coming of the new year, Dad prepared himself. He would plant his tomatoes, strawberries, and whatever else that would compliment his existing garden. Some of these plantings may of failed, but Dad always knew his Fig tree, Banana plant(s), Plum and Peach trees...etc., would remain dedicated to his efforts. Often times, these reliables would exceed Dads expectations. In the early 1980's, Dad decided to plant an Avacado tree. With his trusty shovel, and (his buddy)two year old grandson Johnny, Dad selected the perfect spot in the front yard. Dad and Johnny dug the appropriate size hole, and carefully placed the twig of an Avacado plant into the ground. Over the years, both Dad and Johnny paid the utmost attention to their joint project, and dreamed of the day it would become strong, tall, and fruitful. I guess you could say they kept a dedicated eye out for the fruit of their labors. As the years passed, the Avacado tree grew and grew. Each year, the Avacados became more plentiful. Both Dad and Johnny had every reason to proudly beem upon their joint miracle of a tree.   With pride in his heart, Dad would always keep a watchful eye upon the Avacado tree. He always made sure that whoever mowed the lawn, did so without scratching his tree. One day, despite his ever watchful eye, an avacado anticipating Dad noticed that his avacados were mysteriously disappearing. (Nothing ever got by Dad!) Dad just knew in his heart someone was picking his avacados! Dad, devised a scheme. He would come up with a most fail safe system. Dad decided to take a black marker, and number each avacado. This way, if anyone were to pick an avacado, he would have the evidence that one was missing. With this scheme well thought out, Dad carried out his plan. Eventually, the avacados were all properly numbered. Dad needed only to wait. Sure enough, one morning, Dad went out to check on his children...er..I mean Avacados.Well, you can only imagine, Dads horror, when he found that avacado #1, or #4, or whichever number absent, was no longer hanging from the tree. Poor Dad...although he established that in fact his avacados were indeed being taken, his system failed in identifying the avacado-nappers!! As sad as it was, it was also laughable, when each morning, Dad would report upon his most recent loss..."...Oh they got #5..."! Dad loved sitting beneath that tree!He loved sharing the fruits it produced. This past weekend, Dads beloved Avacado tree was fallen by the blow of an axe. Happily, we have our memories, and thankfully they are not as easily removed like those trees which can be brought down by one swing of an axe.

Dear Dad,   We miss you already and pray that you are with those who have long awaited your arrival.       We'll take care of Mom as you always remind to; we will honor your memory forever.   Love you Dad!   Mary, Lindsay & Twek

Dad,   I've only known you a few years and already feel the pain of losing you. You welcomed me into the family as one of your own, and I became accustomed to calling you 'Dad' like everyone else. It was a wonderful feeling to call you 'Dad' and being accepted as one of the family.   I'll miss you...have a safe journey.

Dad was a simple man...or at least, he tried to be. As with any parent(s) who would find themselves with fourteen children running about, Dad elected to surrender his (desired) simplified ideas, and decided upon a sense of humor -- sort of like going into a self-defense mode.  Either that, or he would have found himself lost amongst the ruins of what once was his sanity.      Perhaps Dad's life is one that proves the old saying, "insanity is inherited; you get it from your children."      An excellent example:          "Here comes my Daddy"     I'm not sure if Dad saw joy, happiness or just plain comedy,  as he would encounter (for) years  of devoted fanfare in the daily homecoming his children performed as we gathered and lined the street corner with a collected shout, "Here comes my Daddy."        For years Dad would apprehensively drive his family station wagon home from work ( a true act of bravery in itself) to a daily ritual greeting at the corner of Haynes & Goodman by a posse of excited, energetic, and dark haired "Colinites".      As Dad's station wagon turned the Haynes corner, we would run back to the yard and file one by one along the driveway. All the while, Dad's wagon would patiently idle in the middle of the street as we cleared the front gate. I have no doubt, that over the years, hundreds of gallons of gasoline were spent as a result of this practice.      Once safely parked in the driveway, and the wagon was secured in place with the aide of a large white rock (origin unknown), the "lunch" would then be awarded.      Dad always took a bag lunch to work. Whatever was leftover, was brought home and handed out the car window to the one who would arrive at the window first.      The nudging for best position, would entitle the winner, the "spoils of war".... a half eaten jalapeno pepper and a rumored half sandwich.        Looking back, I don't understand why any of us ever bothered to combat, because unless it was your birthday, someone else always got the 'lunch'.   Those of us who did not receive this award, would be left to help Dad carry in his barber tools.   Maybe that is what this was all about...helping Dad come home.

My deepest sympathy for your lost and I hope the memories of your father will always bring warmth to your hearts and the strength of his love he instilled into all of his children. I only wish I could have seen him before he past. Uncle Joe has joined his beloved sisters and brothers who are waited to embrace him once again.      All our love, John Maldonado and Family

Dear Colin Family:      Please know that even though I cannot be there to celebrate your dad's life, each and everyone of you are in my daily prayers and thoughts.      I will always remember your Dad as a very kind and gentle person and full of so much love not only for his family but also for his brothers and sisters and their families.      As I read the memories of your Dad, it brings smiles to my face as I recall my own childhood memories.  I remember the times when my mom would take us along for a visit and as many mouths as he had to feed, he always tried to offer and give us something to eat or drink.      I will always remember him as someone who seemed satisfied and happy with what he had; simple as that may be.  I will remember him as someone who found the real treasures and true meaning of life; those of which are his children and the joy and love that he must have felt as he watched his children's eyes sparkle (as you conveyed) when he turned the corner, returning from work.        I once read that:   People will forget what you said;   People will forget what you did, but    People will never forget how you made them feel.       I will always remember your Dad as someone who made us all feel welcomed and loved whenever we visited his home...      Chriss Maldonado Matthesen in Seattle, WA

Dear Barbara, Linda & Family,   I'm so very sorry I was't there for you weeks ago.... but we are in touch again now & thats what matters. I wan't you all to know that you are all in our thoughts & prayers.    *******************************   It will be the little things    that you will remember    the quiet moments,    the smiles,the laughter.    And although it may seem    hard right now,    it will be the memory    of these little things    that help to push away    the pain and bring    the smiles back again    *****************************   With all our Love,   June Albin & Family           and   Jesse & Lily Garcia

OBITUARIO

Joseph B. Colin

9 abril, 1928 – 13 enero, 2006

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