Fatherless World
“IF I COULD GET ANOTHER chance, another walk, another dance with him. I’d play a song that would never, ever end. How I’d love, love, love to dance with my father again.”
These lines were taken from the song Dance with my Father written by Luther Vandross and Richard Marx. The song shows the longing of the persona to see his/her father again, to have another chance for them to dance again, for them to enjoy the company of each other again. From this I begin my story.
I was young, very young, when my father died 19 years ago. He passed away in October of 1998, a year or so after his battle with cancer. We had only 8 years of fond memories, 8 years of time to enjoy the company of each other, 8 years of seeing each other, and 8 years of dancing with each other, though we really did not hit the floor. However, the memories that I had with him, however scant, I could not forget.
He was a sweet but strict papa. Whenever he went home, he would kiss me in the lips in spite of my wailing and protestation. It was not just your ordinary smack, it was smooching! I really hated it when he did that, but as a consolation, he most of the times had pasalubong in store for me. That is the part that I loved the most.
On the other side of all of this sweetness, he was strict. When he said no, you must not do it or else face a round of whipping of a hanger or belt. I could still remember very clearly when my cousin and I was with him in front of our house when I asked him to buy me ice cream. At that time, he did not have any money in his pocket so he told me next time. We didn’t heed. The two of us hung on to his legs, so he could not walk. He ordered us to let go, but we, being hardheaded, did not listen. Because of that, both my cousin and I earned yanking on our butts.
That was one of the last times I could remember him healthy because he was stricken with cancer in 1997. He became so emaciated, and his belly ballooned so much. At that time, I could not grasp the enormity of the situation. All I could do for my father was get him water using his white mug. He would also ask me to sit by his side, and it was during that time that I ran my hands over his inflated belly. At times, I got afraid of him because of the too much change in his physique. I knew it was heart-ripping for my mama to see her husband like that, but she remained steadfast and strong. Finally, in October 1998, my father’s battle with cancer ended.
Through the years, it has really been hard to grow up without a father. My mother was forced to go abroad because she needed to fend off for our needs, and my sister and I were left to our lola. When my teachers asked me to write an essay about my family, I was limited to a few foggy memories with my father to write about. When we had parents’ meetings, I was forced to talk to my teacher to release my card because no one would come to the meeting for me. When March came, and it’s time to recognize the achievers of the class, I scrambled to call my aunties or uncles to shoe in for my parents lest I would receive my medal alone. During birthdays, I was content to cherish solitude because no father would ride me to malls to buy a gift or to eat with. During special occasions like Christmas or New Year, I have no father to greet a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. When I graduated valedictorian both from elementary and high school, I had no father to greet me congratulations after the ceremony. When I first wooed someone during my high school, I had no father to give me words of advice on how to get her sweet yes. When I first experienced a heartbreak, no father was there whom I could run to and ask how to cope with such terrible experience. When I was caught in trouble, no father was there to defend or chastise me for what I did.
Sometimes you get to wonder how it is really to have a father by your side. Yes, I do have my tito who has really been great to us siblings, but having a real one is, I guess, different. I guess it’s different to call someone papa and someone tito. I guess it’s different to have a father who will hang the medal around my neck the next time I receive honors. I guess it’s different to have a father to greet during special occasions and a father to run to whenever you are in trouble.
Although I spent most of my life without a father, the love and warmth of my loved ones compensated for it. My mother, though she has been away from us for years, never failed to make us feel her love for us with all the sacrifices she has made for us to live and breathe a little better. My titos were always there to guide and discipline me and to somehow make me feel how is it to have someone guide you.
My friends and teachers also provided me with love and support. My friends were there when I was in need of a shoulder to cry on, when I needed company whenever the frost of solitude crept on me. They were there when I needed saving when I messed around. My teachers, on the other hand, were my mothers who nurtured and molded my mind. They showed me what was right and wrong; they told me if what I was doing was going to get me in trouble.
I guess all these years growing up without a father taught me many lessons. It taught me how to value your loved ones: There is really no time to waste to show your love to them. It taught me how to be independent: You have no one to bank on in the end but yourself. It taught me to value my education: This is the only thing that my parents could give me. It taught me that life is really about decisions and consequences, and, whatever happens, I am the only one responsible for it. It taught me that I have no right no whim about life being so unfair because there are many others out there who are in a more unfortunate situation than I am.
I guess I was able to write this to remind those children out there who are taking for granted their parents that it’s still not late to show them your love; to remind them that no matter what shortcomings our parents have, they will always remain our parents; to make them cherish the simple moments they spent with each other, the simple laugh, the simple meal, or the simple stories they share with each other. Maybe they are not being too strict too you. Maybe they are just making sure that you will be better off than they have been.
During this season of graduations, we should thank and love our parents for one simple reason: They are the reason why we are here and that they have made us live and breathe a little easier.
