Happy Father's Day, Dad :-)

Me and my handsome dad at Universal Studios

There are too many precious moments and unforgettable experiences shared with my father to document in one blog entry, but as we celebrate Father’s Day, there are a few specific instances that I remember and look fondly on:

I was in the second or third grade and an avid fan of Debbie Gibson. Nights were spent jumping up and down to her energetic hymn Electric Youth, or singing her ballad Lost in Your Eyes emotionally to my Ken doll. (Or was it the stuffed bear substituting as a Ken doll? I don’t think my mom even let me have a Ken doll at all.) I was over the moon with excitement when I found out that she would be performing in an open field concert a few towns away from ours. My classmates and I eagerly planned what we would wear, ways that we could find each other in the crowd, and how we would get Debbie Gibson’s attention from far, far away. Nearing the concert, however, there was a hurricane forecast. As my classmates backed out of our plans one by one, I held steadfast to my dreams of seeing my idol in the flesh.

My dad picked me up after school on the day of the concert, asking me if I still wanted to push through despite the weather forecast and the ominous gray skies. “Let’s do it,” I declared passionately, fastening my seatbelt. He gamely drove on. The rains poured, but on we went. The rains grew stronger but still, on we went. We were at a turnpike and at nearly zero visibility when my father stopped. He asked me quietly, and ever so gently, if I still wanted to go on. I looked out and saw sheets of rain pouring down, the lights of other cars an ever so distant blur. The only thing to do was turn back.  My mouth quivered as I said we could go back home, then I abruptly burst into tears.

My father never did forget my heartbreak, so when Debbie Gibson came to Manila a few years after we had returned to the Philippines, he immediately bought the two of us tickets and for me, a neon colored Debbie Gibson shirt to wear to the concert. I was a rapturous attendee (although he would laugh later on that she was a performer no longer in her prime), and thus I was finally healed of my childhood heartache of not having seen my idol perform.

Flash forward to my college years. I was in my junior year and had claimed my Dean’s Lister overloading privileges and had signed on for two classes on top of my regular load. Then came hell week, and several of my courses had required me to submit papers, critical analyses, and creative work with virtually the same lead time and deadline. I was in way over my head and one night, I remember sitting by our work station at home with two desktop computers, one computer screen open with a pop culture analysis paper, the other computer screen open with a yet unfinished Filipinized version of an episode of Friends, an assignment for one of my creative classes. I was hopping between the two, tears streaming down my cheeks. My father came out at about midnight, asking how I was. I sobbed and said that I felt like I had no chance of finishing both papers in time. He rubbed his eyes, took a look at my work and suggested a plan – I would finish my pop culture analysis paper while he took a crack at the Filipinized sitcom. I said yes, and we typed side by side till the wee hours of the morning. I finished my pop culture paper and joined him to finish the Friends sitcom. We laughed as we printed out and read our final adaptation. It was four in the morning. We both went to sleep and woke up an hour and a half later. He took me to school, I submitted all my assignments on time, and he went to work.

He never minded losing sleep to be with me and help me despite his tiredness from work on a particular day, or his need to rest for work the next day. I remember that I had gone home one Friday night, my head and heart reeling from my first break up. I was unprepared for how painful it was going to be and no matter how hard I tried, I could not sleep. My heart aching, I went out of my room, sat on our living room sofa and stared out the window. It was raining hard that night, and fittingly so. I eventually heard the creak of a door, and knew that my father had come out to join me. I didn’t need to say anything but he knew. He stood near me and looked out the window. “Life paints you a picture,” he said gently. “What’s important is what you make out of it.”

I did not reply and just stared out the window. He pulled a chair and sat with me till early morning, both of us silent. He did not demand any explanations, but was just content to keep me company. Sunrise came, and finally I was ready to sleep. I returned to my room as he shuffled to make coffee and prepare his breakfast.

There are so many more stories to tell, like how I was not yet married and was still living with them when I had Sophie, and how he would get up in the middle of the night to carry her and sing her Beatles and Beach Boys songs so that I could rest. Or how, when I was starting out in acting in theater and independent films, he would patiently take me to auditions. I would then get asked, “Who was that handsome man who brought you? Was he your father? Can he come and audition too?” This eventually led to both of us appearing in an independent film directed by a New York based Filipino filmmaker. I remember my heart swelling in pride during premiere night as he walked in, looking handsome and dapper in his crisp dark suit.

I feel so blessed and grateful to have had all these many memorable nights – and days – with my father. There really has never been a moment, even when he was furious at me, that I did not feel cherished and loved by him. This is a love that continually inspires me, moves me, and blesses me. Happy Father’s Day, Dad. Have I told you lately just how lucky I am to have you? I love you. :-)