A Post Father’s Day Tribute to My Dad

I call him “Tatay”. He is my father, and for me, he is the best father a daughter or a son could ever have! Don’t we all wish that we are close to the man who sired us? Of course we do! When we were kids, we envied those children whose dads were fetching them from school, taking them to amusement parks, riding with them on the rollercoaster.

I’m very grateful that God gave me a father who loves me not just because I am his daughter, but because he is by nature a loving person.

I remember when I was still a child he used to carry me, when he saw that I was tired of walking. I think I was about four or five years old then. The three of us – my father, my mother and I (my sister had not been born yet) used to walk all the way to my grandparents’ house, approximately a twenty-five minute walk from our place.

He used to take me to carnivals, malls, bookstores, theaters, and every other place that a little girl like me was fond of visiting. When my mother and I would quarrel about petty things, he would act as our mediator; he was not taking my side all the time though, but he would make sure that both sides were heard and the argument would come to an end .

He had been there when the school required the parents to participate in certain activities; he taught me my first lessons in English, encouraged me to build and broaden my vocabulary that the next thing I knew, I was writing editorial articles at the age of 12.

He had never been strict when it comes to going out with my friends. He allowed me to enjoy going to places as long as it was safe. He’s always been after my safety but not up to the extent that he’s suppressing my independence. When I asked him to come with me because I was not familiar with many places when I was still applying for work, he never said “no”. I never heard him complain about the length of time that he was spending waiting for my exams or my interviews to be finished. All he needed was a broadsheet to keep him occupied during the long wait, or a guardhouse to serve as shelter during a stormy day.

I never heard him complain or get mad at me when I came home very late one time during my final year in college. I was supposed to be at school attending a symposium with my classmates, but instead, we all decided to go to the mall. I was supposed to be home at around 8 in the evening since my schedule in class during that time was from 3-7pm, but since my classmates and I got stranded because of a downpour and a flashflood, I got home around 1:45am the following day, and found out from my mother that my father was waiting for me at the waiting shed at the foot of the bridge.

I was really worried then, because I knew my parents had been worried about me. There were no cell phones yet during those times neither did we have a landline where I could call in case of emergency. I was ready to face their wrath. It was my fault anyway and I was willing to take the consequence of my action. But my parents, especially my father, who had gone up to the bridge to wait for me for more than an hour, with the mosquitoes biting him as he watched every passenger jeepney to see if I was inside, never raised his voice to me to ask “What have you done?” and instead, he asked me “Have you eaten? We were so worried about you. Go ahead, change your clothes so you can go to bed and get some rest.”

My father is neither overly protective nor overly lenient with his daughters. He always sees reason, always hears what we have to say and gives advice whenever it is necessary.  He values his principle over money, a trait, which I am proud to say, I have inherited.

He is my role model, my inspiration, my guide. I thank my Tatay for bringing me into this world, for always being there for me, for taking care of our family’s needs to the best of his ability and capability, for being a loving husband to our mother, and most of all, for being a wonderful father to his two daughters…We love you, Tatay!