Happy Father’s Day

September 23, 2007

To this day, September 23, it has been five years since my father’s death. Whew! Time is faster than I thought it was. It felt like it was just some Sundays ago when I had to be brave at the face of my father’s fight on his death bed. But it doesn’t disturb me now when I try to remember how I quivered during those sleeplessness nights at the wake because during that time, the sheer size of what just happened (one father’s death, that is) felt all so surreal that I thought I was moving in some ghastly, lonely piece of literature. Yep, I could say I’m done with those sick, sad episodes now. But not the pensive remembrance of my father.

What objects make you remember your father, whether alive or not?

I made a list of those things which remind me of my father. Some of these can still make me cry.

Champion Long – this was my father’s brand. There were a thousand errands for me to buy this, and always, he let me keep the change.

Traditional Pomenade – my father used a green covered, yellow grease hair gel. I have never seen any of it for the last 5 years. Whenever I could smell a whiff of it, usually from old men in jeepneys, I feel like my father is somewhere near: I could picture him standing infront of the dresser’s mirror, with his old Honey comb, combing his hair from hairline to hairline until his crowning glory was all well placed. If the house would smell of that pomenade, then Tatay is going to do some business. That pomenade would also serve as his perfume. Over the years, the smell of that pomenade became a hushed breath under my nose. When it reaches my nostrils, it swells my tear ducts.

Baseball Cap – in the 18 years that I was with him, I have never seen my father owned more than one. But he wore them everyday, except when he does business and sport the pomenade, replaced only when the cap’s cushion becomes paper thin and the edges are torn and soiled. The same goes with his slippers. My father wasn’t vain at all. Whatever happened to me is my entire fault.

T-squares and folding rulers – my father was a civil engineer. He had a very huge drawing table which stood imposingly at one corner of the living room. That’s where he kept all his things, including the t-squares, the folding rulers, the plans and blueprints from his work. He doesn’t like us to use his table very often. But whenever he was away, I’d secretly open it and play with his stuff. I think those were the times that sparked my interest in engineering. Among my brothers, I was the only one who wrinkled his blueprints, broke his rulers and t-squares. Given now, I guess I’m the one who’ll become heir to the contents of his drawing table after all.

I could only distinctly think of these things now. It comes to mind that my father wasn’t really an owner of a lot of things. He lived simply if that’s the way to say it. He kept things only of utmost importance; no collections, no fetishes, no vanities. Very far from what I have become.

Which brings me to realize that my father never owned a picture of himself. As a matter of fact, I don’t have a picture of him. The last time I went home, I took one afternoon rummaging through piles of old albums looking for a solo picture of him. But there was none. Either he was with us, or with a group.

Sometimes, when I think of him, I’m haunted by this absence of one small photograph inside my wallet. There are days when I couldn’t remember how he looked like. My cousins said I looked like him. I wouldn’t be scared if he’ll appear one more time only to remind me how more handsome he was than any of my brothers, (or me?).

So there, it’s his 5th year in heaven. I guess no more reasons to be sad, just missing.