I’ve called my little sister “Paco” for a long time. Paco is not her real name, but Paco is her name. To our children, she is Aunt Paco. Even to my wife Emily, she is (often) Paco. Now that we’re familiar with her name, let’s get into the specifics of what, exactly, a Paco is.
A Paco is one who drops everything to hop on a plane and get to our house to take care of the kids while Emily takes good care of her parents. A Paco is one who leaves balmy Florida to endure Michigan winter without complaint, all while wearing several hoodies at the same time. A Paco is one who does things like wash clothes caked in poop, then turns around to give yet more food to our children, which only leads to more, well… cake.
Paco flew back home yesterday afternoon, but only after she made a tough weekend much easier — for all of these reasons and more. I’m glad I have a Paco, and I believe that everyone needs a Paco.