Stories My Father Told Me
This was something I wrote in 2013 and since today is Father’s Day, I thought why not post it again. I edited a bit so that it is a little up-to-date.
I was born when my father was already 30 years old. I was his first born son. My mother was 25 by that time. I didn’t hear a lot of stories from them when I was young for I had to live apart from them due to them wanting me to be raised in the countryside. I stayed in the country side until I had to go to the university. It was only then that I could hear of stories from both my mom and dad.
My dad was always proud of me, of my achievements from the time I was in primary school up until my days in the university. Even up to this day, he would never fail to brag about me to his friends and his occasional drink buddies.
He is a man who is proud of almost everything he’s got. More than anything else, he was so proud of his own dad and the experiences he had with him when he was young. Experiences which I wished to have experienced when I was young but I never did.
Nevertheless, I enjoyed hearing those stories for it always made me wonder about the “what ifs”.
What if I experienced the same thing? Would there be any difference to how I live my life now?
What if I got into a big fight in high school? Would my dad rescue me or will he allow me to get beaten and therefore learn my lesson?
They were never answered though, for they never happened.
But despite that, I like thinking about their stories.
There was one time when my dad had to fight with several people while he was alone. I knew he wasn’t that skilled but he had the guts and he was able to fight against them. Sometimes he just had to do the tricks of the mind so that he can win over them. He fought with relatives, with his in-laws and his life had been in danger for so many times but he managed to survive.
There were times when he managed to live with the help of his own power. There were times when he only trusted that God will be the one to make things happen. Well, it was great that he managed to live.
My grandfather lived like a warrior too. He seemed to be the most powerful man in our town from his teenage days and I guess even up to his last days. (He died not too long ago). He was more brutal during the old days though.
My dad told me that he (my grand dad) would always go to barrio parties, town parties and look for the most beautiful girl. Every other man was afraid to choose the girl he wanted. Whatever he wanted, no one could take away from him. That was the kind of life he lived.
During that period, it seemed to me that our family was among the elite class in the town. I often wished I had lived in that same time period.
I, however, cannot experience it now. I don’t consider my family to be among the elites anymore. Well, we used to be; I also had the taste of affluence in my childhood days.
My mom and dad’s business went bankrupt when I entered secondary school due to unplanned financing and because my dad became so into gambling that he sold some of our properties without outright telling us (of course).
There were times when he thought of separating with my mom. He had other girls, he told me and my siblings, but he never had children with them. What’s good is that they never separated. They still live together and spend sweet silly times together.
He said he always wanted to go to America, not to work but to settle down and live an ideal life. I don’t understand his concepts of what’s ideal. He expects me to be the one to fulfill his dreams.
I’m happy that he never stopped dreaming.
I will not stop dreaming as well. I will keep on moving forward to fulfill what I myself have to fulfill.
I might not experience the same old warrior stories of my dad and grand dad, but I will fight my own fight and I will struggle to win no matter what.
