When I was a lot younger, our Dad couldn't emphasize enough to all of his children the value of reading. He made us read pocket books, magazines, newspapers (more on that later) and reference books. He bought volumes upon volumes of encyclopedia so that if we had homework, we could use them for research instead of asking him things like "What is a paramecium?" and "What is chlorophyll for?" I remember one specific crying incident because I couldn't find some topic for school using the encyclopedia as there were so many of them . I asked myself how many years it would take until I actually came across the topic I was looking for if I had to browse through each and everyone of the 20 volumes. Of course I didn't know then, that there was this magical thing called the Index. And so when Dad saw me at wits-end flipping through volume 2 he asked what the be-jesus was wrong with me and proceeded in teaching me how to use the index. Problem solved, homework done, peace in the universe-- restored.
He also taught me how to use the dictionary when one Sunday morning, I was reading the paper and didn't recognize a certain word. It was an advertisement for a product I was not familiar with but for some reason, was very curious about. I meekly approached and asked him while he was reading the rest of the paper if he knew this word which I couldn't even pronounce. He smiled at me, his "diligent" daughter and asked me to show the word to him. Within seconds I saw my father's face shift from happy to furious as he blurted out in Filipino--"Don't you know how to use the dictionary?!" I only understood the sudden switch from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde in all of 10 seconds after looking the word up by myself. The word was Vagina and the product, Tampax. Can you imagine a better way of handling such a situation? "Ah, this here is a thingamajig and is inserted in the watchamacallit to put a stop to the events leading to the apocalypse... " Thanks Dad, you were truly wise for letting me be.
And that was how my Dad saved me--by letting me be. To tell you frankly, we were never really that close. I was the second daughter and right after one year, my brother was born . Naturally the first born son was favored most and I was left mostly to fend for myself. He was very cute too and I wasn't. I was thin, quiet, shy, not cute nor amusing-- in short, I was a very boring child. I had the personality of a porcini mushroom and I don't mean food-wise. A year after, another daughter was born. She too was so cute the neighbors would borrow her every afternoon. Right there you'd know our family was different, because we actually lent her without any accompanying nanny. Anyway, Dad began to panic thinking that since there was only one boy and three of us girls, our only brother (brother number 2 came only after 4 more years) might become gay. Back then, people thought that it was so very wrong to be gay, of course we know that doesn't count for squat now. But then, it was a big deal. And because of this insane fear, Dad started to dress me up as a boy. I swear, we had the same corduroy pants. The same boots. The same checkered shirt. And the same cowboy hat. (Brokeback Mountain--hell-low) He bought boxing gloves and actually made us fight against each other. We even took goddamn Karate lessons together. Of course I whooped my brother's butt all the time but still, it wasn't right.
One day when we were having a brother-sister fight not unlike Bart and Lisa Simpson, he told me "Go ahead, punch me." He was egging and egging and egging me on and so finally, I did. I put one on his kisser and then he cried and told on me. The next thing I knew, I was being summoned for a closed-door meeting with my Dad in his room. About that time, Dad and my brother spent a whole lot of time together because of tennis training (my brothers were like mini-tennis stars then). Dad asked me if I punched my brother because I was jealous that he was spending so much time with him and none with me, a fact which I was so used to already. I shook my head because I truly just punched him because he bloody asked for it. And then he started to explain why they had to do so much training blah blah blah...then it happened without warning and quite so suddenly like if the song Smoke on the Water or Sweet Child of Mine played without the opening riff, my tears just involuntarily flowed. I don't even remember what he said that made me cry for and in front of him but in my head I was thinking, I'm going to punch that little sh*t when I get out of here. But I didn't. We eventually grew up and stopped punching each other physically though we would go at it verbally every now and then.
I didn't have a lot of fights with my siblings. But I also wasn't as affectionate as I should have been. I don't do hugs and sweetness, that's just not me. I didn't know how to show it and I didn't know how to receive it either. I think the only time I truly learned how to do this was when I had children of my own. But back then, all I knew was to remind the younger ones to do their homework, to not open their mouths when chewing their food and to put on their plates what they will only be able to finish. I was as affectionate as, oh right, I told you already as a porcini mushroom. And then something happened that changed my life forever. I learned to cook. And through food, I found the stage for my voice and the canvass for my expression. My Dad still let me be most of the time, learning my way through life by experiencing it myself. But when I needed the answers to the most important questions about life, he answered them quite comfortably. We went from "Go get the dictionary" to some of the most important lessons I now pass on to anyone who cares to listen.
When my heart was badly broken for the very first time, (as in the "why did he leave me, please come back to me I'm begging you, I'll never be the same again" type) I was sitting by the dining table just staring into white space. I was just sitting. Not crying or anything like that which I realized just now, was the calm before the storm. He walked into the room, and without me telling him I knew he already knew of the breakup because he sat down beside me and put his hand upon my knee. Without saying a word I started to cry like that child in his room again. Only this time, I would remember his words forever. He said, nothing in this world is truly ours. Everything is borrowed. This life, our parents, our children, the clothes on our back...Everything. That we should only be thankful for the time it was lent to us. He told me about his marriage and how he was just thankful that out of it, he had six of us. I cried for my pain, but mostly I cried for how miniscule my pain was compared to his. I cried because of his quiet elegance by choosing not to say anything against the woman who so badly broke his heart. I cried because of his infinite and simple eloquence speaking to heal rather than impress and grandstand as (forgive me) most lawyers do. And healed I was. Then after the last tear was wiped off my cheeks he tilted his head, smiled and said, "Nasaan na ba kasi siya? Gusto mo patayin natin?" (Where is he now? You want, let's kill him?) Rock and roll.
Food was the bridge that brought my Dad, my brothers , sisters and I together. It still is. You cannot imagine a group of people more different than we are. But we all love Kare-kare. The fact is, food unites. Food is the fiber that binds opposites and is the elixir that dissolves differences. For me, food did exactly what the staff did for Moses and parted the great big sea between Dad, myself and the rest of the world. I love my Dad. I thank him for being the kind of father he is. Though far from perfect, he is the most humanly perfect father to me.
Happy Father's Day Dad. See you on Sunday.
He also taught me how to use the dictionary when one Sunday morning, I was reading the paper and didn't recognize a certain word. It was an advertisement for a product I was not familiar with but for some reason, was very curious about. I meekly approached and asked him while he was reading the rest of the paper if he knew this word which I couldn't even pronounce. He smiled at me, his "diligent" daughter and asked me to show the word to him. Within seconds I saw my father's face shift from happy to furious as he blurted out in Filipino--"Don't you know how to use the dictionary?!" I only understood the sudden switch from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde in all of 10 seconds after looking the word up by myself. The word was Vagina and the product, Tampax. Can you imagine a better way of handling such a situation? "Ah, this here is a thingamajig and is inserted in the watchamacallit to put a stop to the events leading to the apocalypse... " Thanks Dad, you were truly wise for letting me be.
And that was how my Dad saved me--by letting me be. To tell you frankly, we were never really that close. I was the second daughter and right after one year, my brother was born . Naturally the first born son was favored most and I was left mostly to fend for myself. He was very cute too and I wasn't. I was thin, quiet, shy, not cute nor amusing-- in short, I was a very boring child. I had the personality of a porcini mushroom and I don't mean food-wise. A year after, another daughter was born. She too was so cute the neighbors would borrow her every afternoon. Right there you'd know our family was different, because we actually lent her without any accompanying nanny. Anyway, Dad began to panic thinking that since there was only one boy and three of us girls, our only brother (brother number 2 came only after 4 more years) might become gay. Back then, people thought that it was so very wrong to be gay, of course we know that doesn't count for squat now. But then, it was a big deal. And because of this insane fear, Dad started to dress me up as a boy. I swear, we had the same corduroy pants. The same boots. The same checkered shirt. And the same cowboy hat. (Brokeback Mountain--hell-low) He bought boxing gloves and actually made us fight against each other. We even took goddamn Karate lessons together. Of course I whooped my brother's butt all the time but still, it wasn't right.
One day when we were having a brother-sister fight not unlike Bart and Lisa Simpson, he told me "Go ahead, punch me." He was egging and egging and egging me on and so finally, I did. I put one on his kisser and then he cried and told on me. The next thing I knew, I was being summoned for a closed-door meeting with my Dad in his room. About that time, Dad and my brother spent a whole lot of time together because of tennis training (my brothers were like mini-tennis stars then). Dad asked me if I punched my brother because I was jealous that he was spending so much time with him and none with me, a fact which I was so used to already. I shook my head because I truly just punched him because he bloody asked for it. And then he started to explain why they had to do so much training blah blah blah...then it happened without warning and quite so suddenly like if the song Smoke on the Water or Sweet Child of Mine played without the opening riff, my tears just involuntarily flowed. I don't even remember what he said that made me cry for and in front of him but in my head I was thinking, I'm going to punch that little sh*t when I get out of here. But I didn't. We eventually grew up and stopped punching each other physically though we would go at it verbally every now and then.
I didn't have a lot of fights with my siblings. But I also wasn't as affectionate as I should have been. I don't do hugs and sweetness, that's just not me. I didn't know how to show it and I didn't know how to receive it either. I think the only time I truly learned how to do this was when I had children of my own. But back then, all I knew was to remind the younger ones to do their homework, to not open their mouths when chewing their food and to put on their plates what they will only be able to finish. I was as affectionate as, oh right, I told you already as a porcini mushroom. And then something happened that changed my life forever. I learned to cook. And through food, I found the stage for my voice and the canvass for my expression. My Dad still let me be most of the time, learning my way through life by experiencing it myself. But when I needed the answers to the most important questions about life, he answered them quite comfortably. We went from "Go get the dictionary" to some of the most important lessons I now pass on to anyone who cares to listen.
When my heart was badly broken for the very first time, (as in the "why did he leave me, please come back to me I'm begging you, I'll never be the same again" type) I was sitting by the dining table just staring into white space. I was just sitting. Not crying or anything like that which I realized just now, was the calm before the storm. He walked into the room, and without me telling him I knew he already knew of the breakup because he sat down beside me and put his hand upon my knee. Without saying a word I started to cry like that child in his room again. Only this time, I would remember his words forever. He said, nothing in this world is truly ours. Everything is borrowed. This life, our parents, our children, the clothes on our back...Everything. That we should only be thankful for the time it was lent to us. He told me about his marriage and how he was just thankful that out of it, he had six of us. I cried for my pain, but mostly I cried for how miniscule my pain was compared to his. I cried because of his quiet elegance by choosing not to say anything against the woman who so badly broke his heart. I cried because of his infinite and simple eloquence speaking to heal rather than impress and grandstand as (forgive me) most lawyers do. And healed I was. Then after the last tear was wiped off my cheeks he tilted his head, smiled and said, "Nasaan na ba kasi siya? Gusto mo patayin natin?" (Where is he now? You want, let's kill him?) Rock and roll.
Food was the bridge that brought my Dad, my brothers , sisters and I together. It still is. You cannot imagine a group of people more different than we are. But we all love Kare-kare. The fact is, food unites. Food is the fiber that binds opposites and is the elixir that dissolves differences. For me, food did exactly what the staff did for Moses and parted the great big sea between Dad, myself and the rest of the world. I love my Dad. I thank him for being the kind of father he is. Though far from perfect, he is the most humanly perfect father to me.
Happy Father's Day Dad. See you on Sunday.
