IF we honor our mother, it is but fitting that we also honor our father who is the head of the family. Father’s Day is the one day in 365 when fathers take center stage as we honor and pay tribute to them for being our provider, protector and mentor.
The Father’s Day celebration is a centuries-old tradition and its observance varies from country to country. In the Philippines, we celebrate Father’s Day on the third Sunday of June.
In 1980, then President Ferdinand E. Marcos issued Proclamation 2037 declaring the first Sunday and the first Monday of December every year as Father’s Day and Mother’s Day, respectively. The proclamation was superseded in 1988 when President Corazon C. Aquino signed Proclamation 266 declaring every second Sunday of May as Mother’s Day and third Sunday of June as Father’s Day following the American observance. Mother’s Day and Father’s Day are celebrated in our country on these dates since.
Last year’s Father’s Day observance brought me back to my childhood, wondering how it would have been to grow up with my biological father. I have no recollections of my father; I lost him when I was just a baby. I keep this image of him in my young mind through the old photographs my mother had shown me. He provided posthumously for my needs through the pension he got from the US government (he was a doctor in the US Army) which paid for my education.
Whenever I think of my Papa, I think that he must have been instrumental in my choice of a life partner because like him, my late husband was very caring, protective and a disciplinarian. He placed me and my interests above everything else.
But in my early growing-up years, I looked up to an uncle as a father figure, Tatay Tecio, the husband of my mother’s younger sister who lived in a house behind my grandmother’s. An anonymous author wrote that a father’s job is not to teach his daughter how to be a lady, but to teach her how a lady should be treated. I can relate to that—my Tatay Tecio taught me this.
Tatay Tecio cooked our Sunday meals after a trip to the Sunday market, the tabo, where we bought meat from farmer friends. Sunday was the only day of the week when we had meat and he always cooked a mean lomo, stewed beef tenderloin with vegetables. I was not a vegetable-lover but I liked the veggies from the lomo. I always got a big share on my plate with a warning from Tatay Tecio to “eat everything.”
Throughout my early childhood, he was there to protect me and was my pillar of strength. Tatay Tecio treated me like his own daughter. I grew up with his own children; one of them was my mentor, Mano Boy whom we considered the “leader” of the pack of male cousins I hung around with. Another son, Oyen, was my best friend. I recall going to mass every Sunday and during communion, he would look around for me. If I was far away, he would call me — pssst — and make space on the communion rail so I could kneel beside him. He would get a nudge from his Nanay but we would both smile at each other.
At the backyard of our house, there was a huge fecund langka tree, and every summer, we would gather around and Tatay Tecio would “ratak” (break open) a fragrant, ripe langka. Each child would get a piece, put oil on their hands and find a place to sit to devour our langka. I always got a large slice because Tatay Tecio wanted to “feed” me well as I had a poor appetite and was skinny as a result. I naturally shared my langka with my best friend, Oyen.
When my mother remarried and we moved to the capital, my stepfather who I called Tito, became my new father-figure. We did not hit it off from the start. He tried his best to make me like him but I was young and stubborn and put up a wall.
I was unfair to my stepfather. It was only when I married and started a family that I relented. He was so loving to my children which made me completely change my attitude. Until he passed on, my children, especially my daughter who was closest to him, gave him the love that I could not show him.
I regret the callous indifference with which I had treated him in my youth. In the months before his death, I tried very much to make up for it. But alas, maybe it was too late because a few days after I left for a trip to the US, he passed on.
That is why I always tell my family to make the most of their time with the people they love before it’s too late. Through my daughter I learned that we must not hold back from letting the people we care about know how much we love and value them.
In our Spiral, we must shed unkind thoughts but bring love and compassion so that our climb will be easier and more meaningful.
