by Lieza
I could pretty much attest to the fact that it is hard to raise an old man—my Father, in this case.
These past few months, my Dad has become intolerable. Every morning at 6:30 AM, I’ll hear him knock on my door, open it and say, “PAPASOK KA BA?!” and leaves the door open. Sometimes, at 5AM, he’ll visit me in my room and talk to me, expecting that I’m already up and damn attentive: “Grabe, si Cez Drilon! Nakidnap! Kilala mo yung anak ni Franklin Drilon diba?”
EVERY DAMN MORNING! He never gets tired. If only I could press the stop button.
Everyday I get at least 3 texts from him. The first one, probably around 12:30 in the afternoon, telling me how tired he is from cleaning the house or from doing something else, the second, around 3PM reminding me of either avoiding some route due to traffic and flood or a text reminding me to pick up my two other sisters from work. The last one, would either be, “what time ka?” or “Uwi ka ba?” Some days I get lucky with bonus texts like, “Don’t drink and drive. If you drive, don’t drink” or “Where are you? Who’s with you?” or some updates on our 45-year old neighbor who has a wife and kids, who turned out to be gay (secretly dating our water supply boy—but that’s a different story).
EVERY DAY! He never gets tired. He never runs out of pre-paid load.
On weekends, especially on a Sunday, my Dad would basically pull my siblings and I out of bed. See, he likes to see us “busy.” Ate Elyss, the oldest, would suck up and do some cleaning in the sala, Ate Eiselle would cook up breakfast or lunch, and I on the other hand just wait for whatever utos my Dad and Mom would think of.
I would rant about this madness to my sisters, my officemates, and my friends whenever it gets a little too irritating. But then again, I somehow understood why he began to be like that. My Dad didn’t want us to grow old—he knew we would grow up one day, just not this fast.
There’s this one moment that I clearly remember, back when I was still 5. I woke up from a bad dream, and so I woke up my Dad. He didn’t ask why I was awake; instead he just scooped me up and carried me through his arms. He sang a lullaby and swayed me until I fell asleep.
I remember at that same age how he would ask me to dance and put me on top of the table and sing “tira tira pak pak pak!” while clapping with glee (note: picture it when I was five, not 24).
Everyday until College he brought me to school, attended most of the PTA meetings, made sure I had enough money, and made sure I was always safe. Taught me how to drive, accompanies me in LTO whenever there’s a need to renew my license, and the best thing? I get to get my way out from a traffic violation in Makati whenever I tell them who my father is.
Some nights he’ll visit me in my room and check if I locked the windows, he’ll rub my forehead and tries his best not to wake me up.
Sometimes during dinner, he’ll tell me how to take care of the car, to always lock the doors, and never talk to suspicious-looking people. He’d always say, “Kung wala na kasi ako.”
My Dad is 63 years old, and aside from his enlarged heart, he has prostate cancer.
Our family is a happy one—I mean literally. We joke about anything. It’s not that we didn’t take his sickness seriously when we first found out about it--whenever I look at him, he doesn’t seem to be in pain or even be bothered by it. It’s just that, maybe, we didn’t want to dwell on it…yet.
Kung wala na ko rings in my head like I have a deadline to catch. It means no more reminders, no more do-you-know-my-tough-Dad, no more lullabies, no more I love you anak.
The other night, he went inside my room and thought I was already asleep. He rubbed by forehead, and whispered, “I love you anak.” As if on cue, a tear from my left eye dropped the moment he closed the door.
Showing posts with label father. Show all posts
Showing posts with label father. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Not Now.
by Omie
A child was named Kobe.
His Daddy and Mommy loved him so much.
They will gave everything to Kobe:
complete vitamins, nutritious food,
and of course, lots of toys.
His mom always talked to Kobe
and tells him to be a good boy when he grows up.
His dad bought him more toys
and played with him everyday.
But one day,
Someone called Kobe:
"you can't be with them anymore."
"but why?" asked Kobe.
"it's not yet time for you to be with them."
"But I want to be with them,
they would be sad without me."
"Not now."
So Kobe kept waiting,
to finally see his Daddy and Mommy
one day.
A child was named Kobe.
His Daddy and Mommy loved him so much.
They will gave everything to Kobe:
complete vitamins, nutritious food,
and of course, lots of toys.
His mom always talked to Kobe
and tells him to be a good boy when he grows up.
His dad bought him more toys
and played with him everyday.
But one day,
Someone called Kobe:
"you can't be with them anymore."
"but why?" asked Kobe.
"it's not yet time for you to be with them."
"But I want to be with them,
they would be sad without me."
"Not now."
So Kobe kept waiting,
to finally see his Daddy and Mommy
one day.
The Last Basketball Game
by Pat Balo
I started playing one-on-one basketball with my dad at the age of 8. We must have played roughly around 500 games all in all.
But this isn’t about the first 499 games we played. This is about the last basketball game we played as father and son.
But first, a brief background. My dad was a good basketball player. Good enough to win a high school championship and earn a FEATI engineering degree on a basketball scholarship. Good enough to get 3 MVP awards from various commercial leagues and get a front tooth knocked out by a younger Robert Jaworski.
But by the time I turned 15, he was 46 years old, an ageing basketball star slowly fading away while I was a rising starter for a championship volleyball team. It was age and experience versus youth and energy…and up to this point, age and experience had always won out.
But this game was different. Right from the very start, it was obvious that things weren’t what they used to be. My father tried lofting layups over my head and I swatted them away. He tried driving on me and I was there, blocking his path to the hoop. I blazed past him for easy lay ups and grabbed my every miss for second and third and even fourth chance points.
Finally, on match point, leading by more than 5 on a race to 11 game, I drove once again for the win. As I soared up, I caught a glimpse of sadness on my dad’s face.
My dad hugged me and congratulated me on my first ever win against him.
And we never played basketball ever again.
I started playing one-on-one basketball with my dad at the age of 8. We must have played roughly around 500 games all in all.
But this isn’t about the first 499 games we played. This is about the last basketball game we played as father and son.
But first, a brief background. My dad was a good basketball player. Good enough to win a high school championship and earn a FEATI engineering degree on a basketball scholarship. Good enough to get 3 MVP awards from various commercial leagues and get a front tooth knocked out by a younger Robert Jaworski.
But by the time I turned 15, he was 46 years old, an ageing basketball star slowly fading away while I was a rising starter for a championship volleyball team. It was age and experience versus youth and energy…and up to this point, age and experience had always won out.
But this game was different. Right from the very start, it was obvious that things weren’t what they used to be. My father tried lofting layups over my head and I swatted them away. He tried driving on me and I was there, blocking his path to the hoop. I blazed past him for easy lay ups and grabbed my every miss for second and third and even fourth chance points.
Finally, on match point, leading by more than 5 on a race to 11 game, I drove once again for the win. As I soared up, I caught a glimpse of sadness on my dad’s face.
My dad hugged me and congratulated me on my first ever win against him.
And we never played basketball ever again.
Cosplay Gramps?
by Ace
My dad was confined in The Medical City for two weeks. Because of this, most of our meals were spent in restaurants near the area. One day, I was having lunch with my mom, my uncle, and my pabling (playboy) grandpa. I told them that a nurse that I was dating, who happened to work in the same hospital, was joining us.
I told my grandpa some interesting stories about her so that he’d have an idea who she was. I told him that she was a very good dancer and that every time we went clubbing, guys drooled when she started shaking her cute booty.
She finally arrived clad in a blue jacket over her white nurse’s uniform (so cute! hehe). I introduced her to my family and she sat between my grandpa and I. And like a true professional, she assisted my grandpa as he ate his lunch. My grandpa was so pleased with her that he even showed her pictures of his former girlfriends.
After eating, I told them that her lunch break was almost finished and that she had to go back to work. My grandpa was surprised. I reminded him that she was a nurse at the hospital. My grandpa answered with a puzzled look on his face, “Nurse? Akala ko ba dancer? Ang aga pa ah. Wala pang bukas na beerhouse!” (Nurse? I thought she was a dancer? It’s still early. Girly clubs are still closed!”)
My dad was confined in The Medical City for two weeks. Because of this, most of our meals were spent in restaurants near the area. One day, I was having lunch with my mom, my uncle, and my pabling (playboy) grandpa. I told them that a nurse that I was dating, who happened to work in the same hospital, was joining us.
I told my grandpa some interesting stories about her so that he’d have an idea who she was. I told him that she was a very good dancer and that every time we went clubbing, guys drooled when she started shaking her cute booty.
She finally arrived clad in a blue jacket over her white nurse’s uniform (so cute! hehe). I introduced her to my family and she sat between my grandpa and I. And like a true professional, she assisted my grandpa as he ate his lunch. My grandpa was so pleased with her that he even showed her pictures of his former girlfriends.
After eating, I told them that her lunch break was almost finished and that she had to go back to work. My grandpa was surprised. I reminded him that she was a nurse at the hospital. My grandpa answered with a puzzled look on his face, “Nurse? Akala ko ba dancer? Ang aga pa ah. Wala pang bukas na beerhouse!” (Nurse? I thought she was a dancer? It’s still early. Girly clubs are still closed!”)
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
One Less Baby
by Peachy
My hubby and I were driving my eldest son Mackie to NAIA 2. He was going to Bangkok as part of the Philippine delegation to the ASEAN Schools swim meet and it was his first time to travel abroad without us. Like a typical mom, I had a litany of reminders for him which were mostly cultural do’s and don’ts for his 5-day stay there. My hubby on the other hand, like most dads, was more concerned about the big picture. He didn’t want this life changing experience lost on our teenage son. Still trying to be cool, he started a “when I was your age” thread of conversation with him.
“You’re lucky Mackie.”
“Huh?”
“You get to travel at such a young age.”
“Uhhm. U-huh.”
“When I was your age, I was just at home wanking off my sausage. But you, at 15, you get to fly to Bangkok to represent your country!”
“U-huh. And wank off my sausage.”
I laughed my heart out after hearing that exchange. Despite my boy’s answer, I knew his dad’s point wasn’t lost on him. My eldest boy is no longer a child. It was then that my laughter slowly turned into a wistful smile. I realized that today I lost one baby.
My hubby and I were driving my eldest son Mackie to NAIA 2. He was going to Bangkok as part of the Philippine delegation to the ASEAN Schools swim meet and it was his first time to travel abroad without us. Like a typical mom, I had a litany of reminders for him which were mostly cultural do’s and don’ts for his 5-day stay there. My hubby on the other hand, like most dads, was more concerned about the big picture. He didn’t want this life changing experience lost on our teenage son. Still trying to be cool, he started a “when I was your age” thread of conversation with him.
“You’re lucky Mackie.”
“Huh?”
“You get to travel at such a young age.”
“Uhhm. U-huh.”
“When I was your age, I was just at home wanking off my sausage. But you, at 15, you get to fly to Bangkok to represent your country!”
“U-huh. And wank off my sausage.”
I laughed my heart out after hearing that exchange. Despite my boy’s answer, I knew his dad’s point wasn’t lost on him. My eldest boy is no longer a child. It was then that my laughter slowly turned into a wistful smile. I realized that today I lost one baby.
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