Father's Day

I know it’s Father’s Day today because Auntie Morena had called me up yesterday to ask if the church could use my electric vehicle’s battery as power source for the congregation’s sound system. Some parts of Marbel will experience a scheduled brownout this Sunday. I got the call as I was buying breakfast at Cafe Leticia at the General Santos City International Airport, while waiting for Auntie Netnet to pick me up on a fine, earthquake-free morning.
 

This day inevitably turns my recollection to my own father. Tatay passed away eight years ago. He remains alive in our memories. My faith tells me he is alive with the saints and angels, singing and laughing and worshiping the God he had lived for. We talk about him still. I encounter random people who have fond memories of him. He could be serious and silly, irritating but charming, and, despite his imperfections, he enjoyed being a father. He enjoyed our company, and we enjoyed his.
 

Because he had been around our lives so much, it is impossible to detach himself from our childhood and adulthood memories—and why should we do that? Tatay lived to see Manong, Sean and me graduate and become full grown adults. He would say, "You're getting taller than me!" He was deeply proud of us. He talked about us with his friends, who knew the landmarks in our careers and personal lives.

A deep regret I have is that I wasn’t able to lavish him with gifts and travels—things he would have loved. I was barely starting my career, was still in subspecialty training, and didn’t have much extra money. But he couldn't care less: what mattered to him was that we were around, safe and well.  

 

My brothers and I acknowledge that Tatay was the more fun parent. I remember dining with him in a Vietnamese restaurant where he ordered items in the menu he couldn’t pronounce. Nanay, on the other hand, is a kill joy; she knows that, especially when we make her try new food or experiences, which she refuses. She would say, “If your Tatay were alive, he would love this.” This—pertaining to food, trips, family occasions, and every day surprises and novelties that God lavishes upon our imperfect but blessed lives on earth. We live with a subterranean acceptance that we have lost him on this earthly coil but with the expectation that we will meet again soon.

It was hard to make me cry before 2018. But something moved the switch in my lacrimal glands after my experience with loss. For instance, an episode of Everwood, an American drama series in Netflix, can easily bring tears to my eyes these days. In that series, a world-famous neurosurgeon from New York leaves the city after his wife dies from a car crash, and brings his son and daughter to start a new life in Everwood, Colorado. I turn Everwood if I need a good cry. When I rewatch Kramer versus Kramer, the last film I saw with my father, I turn into a puddle.

But Father’s day inevitably turns my eyes to the ultimate father—God Himself. Tatay was but an imperfect version. God is infinitely good, merciful, and loving, and He dwells in and among us. I'm grateful for those precious years with my father.  

I need to stop writing because Paul is waiting for me to walk him around the neighborhood. Tatay would have loved Paul, as he once loved his dogs Jill and Rocky and Eve and Rocky II. He would have enjoyed being with us. But he is in a far more happier place with the Lord Jesus Christ. 

I can imagine him saying to us, as in the moments when he had wanted us to try something new, “Dali na kamo diri.”  

 If you're a father and if you have a father, Happy Father's Day!