Tatay Ko 'Yan!

As I am writing this blog, I already had a conversation with my dad greeting him a Happy Father's Day with a kick of bola and a rhetorical question of how does he stay pogi after all these years. Of course, my dad, as all four of us know him, feeds off of compliments such as that. But hey, who doesn't?

My dad is less of a storyteller compared to my mom. Stories of his childhood and early adulthood were mostly told by my grandmother, aunts, and uncles. It's probably because it was too hard, painful, and humbling all at the same time and that he'd rather keep mum about it. I never knew what his reasons were, I never asked. Hence, writing this shall be the riveted version from the bits and facts. Born in Ilocos Sur from the union of a market vendor and a baker, my dad's childhood was weathered by a life with barely enough to eat. The oldest of five, he started working to fend for himself at the age of 7, hopping on and off provincial buses selling kalamay to passengers. He barely could read at such a young age, let alone speak Tagalog to tourists so he could sell the kalamays out and be back home and look after his younger siblings. In the summer, when he'd probably gained enough muscle mass and strength from the kalamay stint he did, he took on a more physically demanding job as a popsicle vendor. That was on foot, treading and shuffling his way from Candon to Tagudin, a 28-kilometer stretch, and back. Yes, we're still talking about a boy in his pubescent years here. That was his childhood routine.

I remember him telling us that at the age of 10, he already knew what he would want to become - A LAWYER. He said the jobs he did, hard as it may seem, had perks on the side, so he felt it to be less of a backbreaker. Perks? Well, the hopping on and off from one bus to another took him to places like Baguio and, for all we know, places in the 50s were still mostly off-the-beaten paths. Baguio was home to a then diverse flora and fauna and people. He made friends with tourists and locals alike. They've let him into their homes and businesses allowing him to scavenge on heaps of old newspapers and magazines and television. And then there were the movie reels shown to a public audience for free, which he would not-a-care-at-all dart himself to get to the front row. That definitely marked the beginning of the inclination to moving, Hollywood-made pictures of the very young mind of Benito. Television and films in the 50s are the Internet of those days. They may already had the UNIVAC going, but that's an NSA-related history, and that's a whole lot of different story.

Anyway, however big his dream may had been, however hard he worked his ass on realizing it, that dream was shattered by the very man whom he's supposed to look up to. I'm sure you've heard it once somewhere from someone about old folks back in the days telling their kids, "Basta marunong ka nang bumasa at sumulat ng pangalan mo, hindi mo na kailangan magpatuloy pa ng pagaaral." Unfortunately, my dad is one of those parents' kids. Bound by tradition and religious teachings that a child should never disobey his parents, his hands and feet were tied. Tied to the farm animals and farming tools he was forced into using while enduring the sweltering heat under the sun.

Fast-forward to the present, I was old enough to witness what he has accomplished as a person, as a son, as a brother, as a husband, as a father, and now a very doting grandfather. He didn't fret. Never. The same dream had always been there with him. Just the circumstances he got into let it take on a different shape and form. The lawyer became a cook and had a family. For me, that's all that matters. His past inspired him to become a great father, even though he was away for the most part of our growing-up years. He was spared of all the teenage drama my sister and brothers and I were so good at creating, but his wisdom and love made it through despite the distance. He's always been proud of what he has become. He's proud of what his children have become. Me, I couldn't be any more proud, Tatay. But what I will always remember as an essential part of what he is is the kalamay boy who loved his job and the perks that came with it allowing him to live out the wanderlust in him in his own right. I love you, Tatay!