My Dad wasn’t your typical Dad. Maybe because he had me and my older brother at a really young age. They both just graduated from University when they had us. They were like kids playing grown-ups with two young children, which wasn’t really bad at all – I remember loads of fun and laughter.
Holy Week was serious business in my maternal grandmother’s house. Us kids weren’t allowed to be boisterous during the Holy Days, even though we weren’t really expected to take part in the fasting and praying, playing noisily was a big no-no. My Dad knew how miserable we were, so he used to take us to the beach with our other cousins and there we were made to run around and scream like loonies as loud as we can.
He took us camping and also built us a tree-house and his version of a Wendy house for me. During the week though, we hardly saw him because he was busy playing grown-up and was working like any regular Dad with a 9-5 job, which always extended till late at night. But during the weekends, he always took us to parks and played football with us. Once in a while, he would even take us to listen to his friends sing at a Folk House near our home.
He was (is) a very intelligent man who was a scholar all through-out his schooling and graduated of course, with honours. I inherited my love of books from him – he was (is) never without a book. He was the only Dad I knew who answered all your questions without even thinking much. We used to call him a walking dictionary/encyclopaedia. We were taught English at a very young age and would mix it with Tagalog or our local dialect which used to exasperate him. He would tell us to use one language at a time and speak it properly. He said it was important not to ruin the language by speaking Taglish (a combination of English and Tagalog). If we were to speak English, to speak English only. If we were to speak Tagalog, speak Tagalog only – never to mix.
He was a hippy, who cut his hair and traded in his sandals for leather-shoes, as expected of a “responsible” Dad. But now that he is retired, I’m happy to say that he has traded back in his sandals and has grown his hair long again, even though it is now more white than grey – much to the embarrassment of my mother.
The last time my daughter saw my Dad, she was only about five months old. Yes, she does see him and speak to him whenever we Skype. I wonder what she thinks sometimes Who is this man with long-white hair and whom my mother insists I call Lolo? He is rather funny. Yes, my Dad also has a weird sense of humour.
Happy Father’s Day Dad – I really miss you!
Happy Father’s Day too to my daughter’s Dad!
She is one lucky little girl to have him as a Dad.
I’m a lucky woman too
to have my Dad as my Father =)