Born in Yauco, Puerto Rico on July 21st 1950, Julio Garcia was slated for a hard life. Not old enough to finish school, not mature enough to have to support his family. Forced to grow up faster than he should have, he started working in his pre-teens to help his mother support herself and his 6 younger siblings. He was the man of the house before he was actually a man.
To add to his struggle, he became a dad at 15 forcing him to work even harder. Decided to try New York in the 70’s for a better life then from New York to Florida in the 80’s. Julio didn’t know how to rest, he didn’t know how not to work, all he knew was to hustle and make sure he provided for his family.
Not having a complete childhood hardened him and could make him an angry and at times a rude person. His love was a hard love, it was one that didn’t include the word “love”. It was a love that was hammered into our souls by his teachings of how to be self-sufficient and to sacrifice everything necessary to make sure your family was taken care of. Julio wasn’t the leader of the village, he WAS THE village.
He never turned anyone away that needed help or wanted to learn. Hell, even if you didn’t want to learn something he taught you. He would give the shirt off of his back to anyone that needed it.
Julio Garcia was a loving husband, a great (sometimes mean) father, a supportive son and brother but most importantly a good man with a huge heart. He will never leave our hearts.
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