When I was growing up, my mom never watched telenovelas. I doubt she had time to sit down with four kids running around. In fact, the only time she watched TV was when she ironed clothes or folded clothes still warm from the dryer. TV was just background noise.

The only people who watched telenovelas at home were Papá Chepe and Mamá Toni. When I was 8, my parents sent me and Danny to their home in el Cargadero, Zacatecas for a few weeks during the summer. I played all day with the kids in el Cargadero. In the evening, I’d settle in front of la tele with los abuelitos, to watch the latest chapter of Rosa Salvaje. Rosa (Verónica Castro) was the perfect heroine. Ricardo, Rosa’s wealthy love-interest, was swoon-worthy. And what’s more scary than evil twin sisters with big ’80s hair and shoulder pads?

I loved it.

But then I came back to the states, third grade and the Disney afternoon. I forgot all about Rosa and her rags to riches story.

In the next ten years, I’d get hooked on only two more telenovelas, Baila Conmigo and Soñadoras.

Since 2000, I haven’t paid much attention to the telenovelas that always confused me as a kid. A blonde person speaking Spanish? Really? Where were all the brown people? It wasn’t all so confusing. After all, I did learn plenty of insults and words like “idiota,” “jamás” and “engañar,” but the acting was bad and the plot lines were predictable. Plus, I had way too much going on to tune in every evening for an hour.

La Pregunta: Are you a novelera/o?

Dad comes to my rescue whenever I need him. And I need him a lot.

Last week, I called him a bit freaked out because my car was overheating. I was in Northridge about 20 minutes from my apartment with no cell phone. I made it safely to my friend’s apartment and called dad to figure out what to do about my overheating car.

I gave him directions to my friend’s apartment and a few hours later, he and my mom showed up in Northridge. They’d driven out from Hacienda Heights (45 minutes to an hour away) to check up on my car. Of course my dad could have told me how to do some basic checks under the hood. And he could have told me to call the roadside service included in my warranty, but I’m his daughter. He drops everything if I — or Lori, Danny and Adrian — need him.

The whole experience made me realize that I’m not as independent as I thought. I need my dad and his Charlie Services™.

La Pregunta: Why does your dad rock? Amusing anecdotes appreciated.