A CHILD'S STORY

I THINK I have been so passionate with this fatherhood thing (can't blame me, it's normal) that I tasked myself to write a longer essay about it. But what I got instead is a brief story for children. So here it is...

I LOVE SUNDAY!

I LOVE SUNDAY very much. Daddy is around the house. He cooks for our breakfast, especially my favorite, egg omelet with fried bacon. He plays computer games with me. He horses around with Mimi, my younger sister. He fixes Kuya Boyet’s bike. He does home chores while Mom goes to market. Sometimes Dad takes us out for lunch to a nearby fastfood. Or he leads us to a children’s park to play. Or he brings us to cinema for the latest kiddie flick. Mom is so glad seeing us happy with Dad.

That is why I learn to hate those days when Dad stays long in the office. He stays there until late at night. He no longer reads me bedtime stories as before. If I have a test the next day, he does not even go home early for my review. Dad will just ask Mom to do it for him. When I happen to be awake when he goes home, he will just kiss me good night and tell me to go back to bed at once.

“Dad is doing overtime work. He will be tired when he goes home,” Mom explains. I want to complain but I don’t know how to say it. Kuya Boyet does not mind, because he is old enough. Mimi doesn’t seem to care either.

But when Sunday comes, I forget everything. Then I love Dad again. 


ONE SUNDAY, Dad did not bring us out as before. We didn’t even attend the mass. We just played around the house. But he got tired easily. He took a long nap in the afternoon. In the evening, he told us the usual bedtime stories. Before he kissed me good night, he hugged me tightly, patted my back and ruffled my hair. And I loved him for doing that.

Monday, the next morning, Dad did not go to work. He was the one who helped me dress up for school. He even fetched me from school on time. Then we played computer games together.

The next day, Dad did not go to work again. So with the next day and the next day. The next Sunday was just another day. He was at the house, cooking for our breakfast, doing home chores and playing games with us. But we did not go out as before. Except in the afternoon where we attended the mass. For the first time I saw Dad praying so deeply in the pew. 

Dad was unusually silent after his time with us. He had long and hush-hush discussion with Mom. Mom was also affected with this Dad's strange mood.

Is he sick? Why does he easily get tired? I asked Mom about it. With a deep sigh, Mom looked at me straight in the eye. Then she hugged me tightly.

“Your Dad has lost his job. The company is losing money, so his boss must let your Dad and other workers go.” I couldn’t understand what does that mean. But I knew Dad was badly affected.

I cannot be happy when Dad is not happy. So I prayed like the way Dad did in the church. It was a deep and long prayer. I asked God to tell my Dad’s boss that he will ask Dad to return to work soon.

After a week, Dad went out the house, like he used to when he had a job. He was dressed at his best, bringing with him only a thin folder when he went out. He did it almost everyday. And on a Sunday, Dad was back to his usual self. But even so, I was so glad being with him again over the weekend. But now, I no longer hated Mondays and the long weekdays as before. Sunday with Dad was enough for me.

One afternoon, Dad went home shouting with joy. He kissed and hugged me tightly. He danced with Mimi. He had a high five with Kuya Boyet. And he embraced Mom so tightly until I saw Mom laughing with tears in her eyes.

“Dad has got a new job!” Mom announced.

I ALWAYS love Sunday. And I no longer mind if I could not see Dad before I sleep on weekdays. Because on a Sunday, it will be the day for me with Dad and Mom, and also for Kuya Boyet and Mimi. And every holiday means a looong Sunday for all of us!

A TAG PRICE FOR MY TIME?

I HAVE a busy schedule every day. I work from four to six hours in a publishing house, work with my computer for long hours to write articles for a local magazine, read textbooks and photocopied cases for my law studies, and manage with my wife a household full of three inquisitive and active kids.

I am rather a part-timer with each of my present roles. (But aren’t we all in this age of multi-tasking?) And with my current situation, I lost my precious time for sleep and extra time for pleasure (reading good books, watching blockbuster movies in DVDs, having beer sessions with my relatives or peers). But the good thing is, I don’t have time to be bored. Multi-tasking has always been a perfect antidote to boredom or a justification to beat the mad rush in this modern world. But for a price, and a heavy one indeed on the family.

I admit I have less time for my kids. I may be present for them every day, but only a physical presence looming before them so that they have to behave in my presence. As if to say, if I am around, they must study their lessons very well, they must not make unnecessary noise while I work at home, they must listen to their Mom, and do this and that, or else I’ll impose a sanction on them, or a heavy dose of scolding when necessary.

I had promised them that Sunday would be for fun and relaxation, for mass, and a good time to cook and serve them their favorite dishes. But for the past three years (or since I resigned from a regular job to pursue my law studies, just a year after my wife also left work to look after the kids) I had rarely fulfilled these promises, if not at all, because even when I didn’t have take-home jobs for the weekend, I did extensive research in the Net for my articles and my case readings, or had to attend make-up classes in the college. I would just be contented with the thought that those goodnight kisses before they sleep on nights when I come home early after a suspended or shortened class, or goodbye kisses when they go to school in the morning, and when I brought them pasalubong (donut and pizza are all-time favorites) would make them think that all's well with Dad after all. But am I really sure that they are not complaining with this setup?      

One time I come across this story from the Net, an appropriately symbolic story for my situation. It is about a little boy who waited for his dad until he came back from work. His dad was surprised to see him still awake at 10 in the evening and asked him why he had not slept. The boy told his dad that he had an important question for him.

His dad told him that he was so tired and had to answer his “important” question in the morning. The boy told his dad that he needed a quick answer to his question, which disturbed him and prevented him from sleeping. Finally, at his son's insistence, the father gave in. “How much do you earn per hour, Dad?” asked the little boy.

“Is that your important question? I earn 20 dollars per hour, son,” answered the father, shocked by the question. His son pulled a little bag from under his pillow and said, with a big smile all over his face, “Can you loan me two dollars, Dad?”

The father was upset but he gave the boy two dollars. “But we need to discuss this tomorrow,” he said. Nevertheless, the boy took the two dollars and pulled more money from his bag, mostly quarters and nickels, and started counting. Then he gave the money to his father while saying, “Here is 20 dollars, Dad. Can you please give me an hour of your time?”

It is a very simple story, but it delivers a very important message about the importance of spending time with your family, especially with the younger ones. It shows how children cherish every precious time they can have with their dad. I felt ashamed of myself when I realized that I have become a mechanical wage-earner providing only the material needs of my family. And sometimes, when my resolve to earn for the family was waylaid by some domestic problems, or conflicts in the office, I burst out like a dormant volcano and all the more I would shut myself out from the peering eyes of my kids. I had become oblivious of the passing days that I must have spent with them. And I had been so sensitive with my feelings and less with their feelings.

It happened not only once that I dismissed my children when they approached me in separate occasions and asked questions while I was busy with my work. With my rigid rules, my kids would rarely come to me again to ask about things, unless they have problems with their assignments, but most of the time I told them to go to their Mom for that bit of information. Or I would just give them a short answer bereft with explanations.

Thanks for the story, and subsequent day-long ruminations of my life as a father, I got a new resolve to change my ways and spend more time with my kids. I thought I have missed the fun part of being a father, like playing with them, hugging, listening, sharing activities and just goofing around.

I recalled the times when I would always answer the questions of my kids during the separate times they were toddlers. And how I’d loved seeing them flashing their toothless grins when I replied to their queries, from the highly philosophical (why there is God or where God is) to the absurd (what made the housefly pregnant or how ants lay eggs). But those were the days before I was swamped with work.

That’s why when my ten-year-old asked me why prices go up these days, I answered him as scholarly as a dedicated teacher can do to his inquisitive pupil. And only last week, he saw me browsing the Encarta dictionary for the meaning of a word. He asked: “Dad, why are you using the dictionary? I thought you have known all those words in there.” I smiled, not for his outright mistake, but for his innocence and his terrible impression of me as a genius.

Time will come my kids will no longer ask questions as frequent as they do now. They may keep their questions to themselves or may ask somebody else. Or they may have learned so much that they no longer see the need of asking me. From a know-it-all Dad, I would retrogress to a “doesn’t really know quite everything” Dad, then to a “doesn’t know everything” Dad. So while I am on that first stage, I must get the most of it by replying to all their questions and be the know-it-all Dad for them, even for a time.

I hope with proper time management and a firm resolve, I can show them more affection, communicate affirmation, and give them attention. And while nurturing them, I must enjoy being a father and let my children enjoy belonging to me.

NOT NOW, BUT SOME OTHER TIME

"I'm not afraid of death. I just don't want to be there when it happens" - Woody Allen

IT almost happened to me. And I wouldn’t have lived to tell this one.

It was safe to cross the street just after I alighted from an FX taxi, so I thought. I dashed forward to cross the three-lane street towards the center island. Suddenly, a speeding gray SUV came towards my blind side, almost sideswiping me that instant. As if a bullet had just zinged past through me!

What if it happened? I shuddered at the thought of seeing myself lying lifeless on the busy street. Who would look after my mangled body? Who would tell my family about it? Would bystanders bother to look at my mobile phone’s phone book and call my wife or any of my friends? My ID wasn’t even in my wallet! That made my whole body cold as soon as I reached the island.

Then it came to my mind what happened to one of the graphic artists in the publishing house where I work. Early this year he was ran over by a truck near his place in Malabon. I pitied the guy. He was only in mid-30s, had a good career and great plans for his life. He died after a few days in a hospital due to serious internal injuries. And I couldn’t imagine myself having to suffer the same fate as his.

Death is like a thief in the night, and everyone must be aware of it, be alert and ready for the inevitable. But at that instant, I don’t think I am ready to die. And with that I am afraid. Honestly! Maybe when I was younger, when I had this clumsy belief that I was treading on a hopeless and unmanaged life. I had nothing to lose then and I was not actually afraid to die. But things are different now. I have my own family who looks up to me for support.

No, I don’t believe that death is a big unknown, a dismal abyss. It is rather a destination, an eventuality. My religion had given me noble thoughts about it, that beyond this life, there is a perfect place for each one of us as God had promised. But why I am afraid of death now? Yes, indeed, but I have my reasons:

1. Like most family men, I am more concerned with leaving those I love behind, than any painful death I could imagine for myself. I know I can’t be with them forever, but it’s too early at this stage to leave them!
2. And like most people who have high hopes in life, I have plans or dreams that I wish to accomplish before I expire.
3. I couldn’t imagine my three young children dealing with such harsh reality as death in the family. They say children have a degree of “magical thinking,” or they have this capacity to believe that a person who has died will come back and is not really dead. But missing their father so much before bedtime may erase that magic.
4. I don’t want to leave my wife and my kids grieving and financially insecure. I am afraid that with my little earnings, none will remain after paying for my funeral and settling all my debts. I would not like to fail them in death. Kaya huwag muna.

Now, do I have good reasons to hang on to dear life? Of course, I have good reasons to be extra careful in crossing that busy street again. 

A NOTE ON PRAYER

GOD answers prayers. I know and I believe He always does. But there are times in my life that I felt He does not respond to most of my prayers. And when I believe He answers one of my prayers, I wonder if it is really the one that I have been asking from Him, because sometimes the same thing turns out awful later on.

That’s how I felt when I got kicked out from a premier law school due to grade deficiency. I asked then, if having qualified to the college of law was an answered prayer for a better career, a better chance to help other people, and a better life for my family in the future, then why did He allow me to fail? Why did God take back the chance He had given me? It was easy to say that what went wrong was really my fault. I did not study hard, or law school wasn’t my strongest suit, or I did not want enough.

But for every struggle I had then for my class I would always seek God for help and guidance. And during the deliberation of my case by the appeals committee, I prayed hard and even made a covenant with God of a commitment to serve His church, the usual thing I do when I hit dead corners.

But I lost. The committee did not give me another chance. I became the chaff (those who did not meet the standard of excellence) separated from the grains (deserving scholars).

Then I began to wonder how prayer works, and how it makes my relationship with God become stronger with or without the answers I would expect to receive.

It’s easy to say God did not hear my prayers after all. But that’s being unfair to Him. In fact I was the one not being fair to Him, as if I was using Him and saying to this effect: Lord, you gave me this chance, so you should be there for me, I need you, and please help me do this thing. What if I had uttered instead: Lord, here I am, do whatever you want me to do, or Thy will be done, Lord. Would that make a big difference?

Winners or Losers 

Every time I watch a basketball game on television, I see that players doing the sign of the cross before they play or after they made a shot are as common as sounds of whistles for every on-court violations. And players coming from either team are all praying to the same God.

When players from one team prayed “Lord help us win this game,” and those of the other team prayed the same, to whom will God listen? And when a team wins, the players raise their muscular arms saying hallelujahs to the Lord, while the losers contemplate on why they did not get that divine intervention.

I think the world is highly polarized with winners and losers—in every field, in all walks of life. But no one can really say if one had won or lost it all. And looking back, everytime I failed in an undertaking, lost a turn or missed every opportunity that would make me feel good, I would think my prayers were not answered. Maybe because I didn't have a deeper relationship with God. And I could not do anything but wait for another round, and for another. I never considered myself religious, but through it all, I haven’t stop praying.

Lessons from Job 

I don’t believe that any misfortune that happened to us is a form of punishment from an all powerful and benevolent God. Nor is there any application to life the scientific thinking that things react because of a corresponding action, or simply, we suffered because we caused things that make us suffer.

In the bible, Job is not being punished when all his children and material possessions were lost. Job is a righteous man and faithful to his God. This only confirms one point—that the problem, misfortunes and suffering in this world is beyond our understanding. God loves Job but He has to test him.

God isn't under obligation to say “yes” to every prayer. (That's a good thing considering some of the things we request!) He may be testing us all along.

And sometimes God, who has much more wisdom and foresight than we do, says “no” to our most profound requests. But that doesn’t mean we stop from there. If time goes by and we still cannot see that our prayers have been granted, we can ask God why. We can persist on this if we do not agree with, or understand His answer. If we persist, then God will explain in terms that we will totally understand. And this can only be possible through constant prayers.

And when He does, we will know that God did hear us, indeed, and that He did for us much more than what we asked of Him. Had I realized this earlier, I would not have griped at all during those trying times of my life.

A DREAM IN A WOODEN BOX

“THE TV’s gone...” my mother said that afternoon I arrived from school. I was 9 nine years old, and watching my favorite cartoon shows was always something to look forward to after a tedious school work.

Now what I saw was an empty TV stand, like a decapitated superhero gone and lost forever. The eldest of my three brothers had to explain to me that Father was forced to sell the television to a neighbor because he badly needed an amount to pay part of his big losses in a mahjong game. The guaranteed amount was equivalent that time to a half-cavan of rice which would have been enough for our week-long ration.

I couldn’t understand why Father had to let go our most precious possession. It was 1973 when he brought home the bulky wood-framed Hitachi Solid State television all the way from Manila to Narvacan, our hometown about 300 kilometers from the capital. It was one of the earliest televisions in the poblacion.

The TV would become my father’s best friend, and his tool to gain new friends and acquaintances around town and attract more customers for our tailoring shop. The shop during the day would teem with people trying to glimpse at a show in the black-and-white monitor. A boxing match was a fiesta—when almost all men on the streets, most of them tricycle drivers, would come to our house to watch the bout.

And the TV would become my earliest schoolmate. From the classic grainy black-and-white Hollywood and Filipino movies to Japanese early animation series to Sesame Street and The Muppet Show—I had watched them all.

When we moved to the barrio after losing our tailoring shop to poor business, aggravated by my father’s gambling escapades, we easily disposed of our sewing machines, cabinets, refrigerator, but not the TV. My father’s “best friend” was purposedly set at the center of our new abode.

But not anymore with that afternoon I arrived home from school.

“You can now concentrate more on your studies,” Father spoke to me in a tone that was largely devoid of blame. But listening to him was hard when you have lost a “special friend.” The thoughts of losing the television passed over me like a wave of fever.

Every night, while I worked on my assignments in a room I shared with my brothers, I could hear our TV being feasted on by our neighbor and his family. I would hear their boisterous pleasure with a comedy skit, or sounds of guns and airplanes and cannons in a war movie, or slaps and sighs from heavy loaded drama in a soap, all flashed on the TV screen. I missed my favorite cartoons and noontime shows so much!

I was too eager to watch television shows even from our neighbor’s window, but I couldn’t. It pained me so much to cast an eye on what we have already lost. I rather crossed the streets two blocks away and watched TV at a rich relative’s house. But I couldn’t choose the show I wanted. I even obliged myself to be extra friendly to my cousins; otherwise, they would shut the door—or the windows—for me.

There were long months in our house that we didn’t have electricity, because we weren’t able pay our long-overdue electric bills. I could feel the hardship in our family, even more when my father resigned as a part-time teacher of a private school in the poblacion. He went into farming but he didn’t have much luck either. Unlike some fathers in the barrio who drowned their miseries in alcohol, my father would do well with mahjong or card games around town. And bad times showed no sign of abating.

Every night I literally burned my midnight oil studying my lessons. Yet, those were the nights that I heard that intense sound of our erstwhile TV from our neighbor’s house. Though most of our neighbors had also purchased their own televisions, our neighbor’s TV stood out in my own uncompromising nights.

I might not have watched so many TV programs in those years but I had read plenty of books I couldn’t imagine I would read in my lifetime. I completed my elementary and secondary education on top of my class, and I was a consistent scholar while in college.

It was the year I graduated from college that I learned that our old TV set was no longer in use, perhaps damaged by old age, now relegated to a dark spot in favor of new and better model. Yet, I never wavered in my determination to buy it back someday. And this had been a driving passion in my early life. 

IN the summer of 2004, I visited my hometown after almost a decade working in publishing houses in Manila. Years earlier or just after I settled down, I bought a 14-inch Samsung colored and cable-ready television for my new family.

Many things have changed in our neighborhood in Nanguneg. The roads were well paved and the old folks of my childhood were gone. Gone also were the thatch-roofed and dilapidated houses. In their places were concrete and bigger houses. Now every household had their own television sets.

The neighbor who bought our TV had migrated to the US a year after his wife died. The family of one of his two married daughers was all that was left in their old house. And I learned from my mother that that “antiquated” TV have been rendered totally useless, all electronic parts gone; and the wood-framed Solid State box was now only good for a four-footed cupboard for old tools.

“The TV’s gone...” I remember Mother repeating those words to me. Had I only known the truth earlier, I wouldn’t have gone this far. After years of wishing helplessly to reclaim our old glory from a wooden box, I gained something better than that—my pride.