I remember Daddy.I remember him as he was before he got old and bitter. He was a teacher, and once in a while he would take us on trips to Lucena City when he was submitting reports to his division office. He would tell us to sit quietly and behave while he went to this office and that, and he would point out the various bosses that he would have to give gifts to in order for his promotion to be processed. If we were really good, he would take us to eat chicken barbecue and coleslaw in one of the upscale restaurants there.
I remember him bringing home a large vanity mirror in a carved narra frame. It was sleek and beautiful, and I thought it was for my sister and me. After we have proclaimed our admiration, he said that it was a gift for the aforementioned boss who processes promotions.
He would tell the same jokes over and over, till you would cringe at the end of the telling because you knew no one would laugh but himself.
I got a score of 99+ in the NCEE as a high school senior (back then, it was a big deal if you were going to college). He made a lot of copies of the exam result, and he showed it to all the relatives. He thought I was going to be either a doctor or a lawyer. So did I.
He knew I could write. That Readers Digest submission was about three years too late. If I had gotten around to doing that sooner, I would have been forced to buy 3 dozen copies for him to distribute.
I remember his rusty sidecar. He bought that for us kids when I was around eight years old. He kept it and used it till the day he got his last stroke. So many kids got to take a ride in it, including mine.
I remember his face when he would see that we had arrived for a visit. The visits were always unannounced, because it was difficult to keep promises to visit. I remember his face when we came with the new van. He cried because he thought he would never see us again.
He wasn't always mean and disagreeable. There are so many things about him being a father that I did not know because I did not grow up with him, but I remember that there had been times when he tried so hard to give us what he thought we wanted.
You know why I don't want to go home? Because a part of me will always insist that he is there, in his sidecar, waiting for us. And his face will be as I remember: excited, and half-hoping we would stay a bit longer.
