His close-cropped hair has all turned white now, and his once supple and well-trimmed body now bear the marks of old-age. But the sparkle in his eyes remained undimmed, the laughter that was the music of my childhood, still ring out with clarity and mirth. And there are moments, there are times in our infrequent conversations that I am brought back to a time when he seemed 10 feet tall and all that he does seemed like magic. He could never do wrong.
I remember one time I was listening to him speak on stage. I was about 8 or 9. I still did not have a notion why he was up there, or why the public roared with laughter at the stories he told, or why it seemed a big deal that he was there. We never seem to talk about what he was able to accomplish, nor have I ever seen him attached, or hungry for the positions he was able to reach in his political life. But one thing was clear: I was so proud of him I could burst. I listened, along with the others, enthralled by his wit, by the sincerity we hear in his voice, by the great time he seemed to be having spending time with people. Here was this clever, earnest and seemingly charismatic person. I turned to my classmate seated with me, and whispered, “That’s my dad!” “I know,” my classmate replied.
And in his subsequent avatars and reinventions of himself he was: teacher, businessman, building contractor, farmer, furniture designer, artists, politician, father, husband, church man, leader.
My dad married relatively late by some standards– he was a confirmed bachelor when he met my mom, they fell in love and soon married. He is a jovial, laugh-out-loud kind of a person, and one of my earliest memories is his laughter ringing out so early in the morning. He has had a difficult life – one of the first generation of the wave of immigrants from the Visayas who made their way to Mindanao just after World War II. He often told stories of how hard life was back then, and we as kids used to enjoy his adventures. His father was a sensitive artist who’d rather sculpt and read his Bible than help in the tailoring shop he and his wife began. My grandma was a strong-willed survivor who raised four sons almost single-handedly.
A product of poverty, he is at times simple and down to earth, and yet at times inexplicably extravagant. He would shower my mom with expensive and sometimes frivolous gifts from his many trips. My dad chose and bought clothes for my mom, even her pieces of jewelry. And his choices were almost always impeccable. It was through him that I was able to see and appreciate the finer things in life – art, food, laughter, and the sheer joy in being alive. Here’s a memory: as his job required him only to report every other week at his office, he would bring home boxes of video cassettes from the city. In the week he was free, we would watch these movies one after the other, the half-light from the t.v. flickering, enveloping us in a world of make-belief, a world between dreams and reality and he was there to take my hand and guided me.
And his love affair with my mom was something I marvel at. Affectionate, tender, and fiercely loyal to each other, my dad and my mom became an early model for me how to love. Devoted to my mom, my dad was there assisting her, helping her, becoming her strength when she was stricken with cancer. Almost 20 years have already passed since my mom died, but my dad could still not bring himself to marry another. Such is his love for the woman that captivated him.
It was my father’s faith that kept us strong. It is my father’s faith that is keeping us strong. It is my father’s faith became the cornerstone of our who we are and what we have become.
Dad – papa – here’s what I want to say to you: I love you. Happy 75th Birthday!
I remember one time I was listening to him speak on stage. I was about 8 or 9. I still did not have a notion why he was up there, or why the public roared with laughter at the stories he told, or why it seemed a big deal that he was there. We never seem to talk about what he was able to accomplish, nor have I ever seen him attached, or hungry for the positions he was able to reach in his political life. But one thing was clear: I was so proud of him I could burst. I listened, along with the others, enthralled by his wit, by the sincerity we hear in his voice, by the great time he seemed to be having spending time with people. Here was this clever, earnest and seemingly charismatic person. I turned to my classmate seated with me, and whispered, “That’s my dad!” “I know,” my classmate replied.
And in his subsequent avatars and reinventions of himself he was: teacher, businessman, building contractor, farmer, furniture designer, artists, politician, father, husband, church man, leader.
My dad married relatively late by some standards– he was a confirmed bachelor when he met my mom, they fell in love and soon married. He is a jovial, laugh-out-loud kind of a person, and one of my earliest memories is his laughter ringing out so early in the morning. He has had a difficult life – one of the first generation of the wave of immigrants from the Visayas who made their way to Mindanao just after World War II. He often told stories of how hard life was back then, and we as kids used to enjoy his adventures. His father was a sensitive artist who’d rather sculpt and read his Bible than help in the tailoring shop he and his wife began. My grandma was a strong-willed survivor who raised four sons almost single-handedly.
A product of poverty, he is at times simple and down to earth, and yet at times inexplicably extravagant. He would shower my mom with expensive and sometimes frivolous gifts from his many trips. My dad chose and bought clothes for my mom, even her pieces of jewelry. And his choices were almost always impeccable. It was through him that I was able to see and appreciate the finer things in life – art, food, laughter, and the sheer joy in being alive. Here’s a memory: as his job required him only to report every other week at his office, he would bring home boxes of video cassettes from the city. In the week he was free, we would watch these movies one after the other, the half-light from the t.v. flickering, enveloping us in a world of make-belief, a world between dreams and reality and he was there to take my hand and guided me.
And his love affair with my mom was something I marvel at. Affectionate, tender, and fiercely loyal to each other, my dad and my mom became an early model for me how to love. Devoted to my mom, my dad was there assisting her, helping her, becoming her strength when she was stricken with cancer. Almost 20 years have already passed since my mom died, but my dad could still not bring himself to marry another. Such is his love for the woman that captivated him.
It was my father’s faith that kept us strong. It is my father’s faith that is keeping us strong. It is my father’s faith became the cornerstone of our who we are and what we have become.
Dad – papa – here’s what I want to say to you: I love you. Happy 75th Birthday!
Dad seated at the center - one of the rare moments when all of us (my siblings and myself) were at home.
Comments
Your dad is amazing! Now I know a bit more about the man you have grown up to be ... Wonderful grace from God to have a father like him ... Cherish the time together