Remembering Tatay Benny

My father died on December 28, 2001, Innocents’ Day. Barely three days after Christmas, and four days of being out from a private room at Zamboanga Doctors’ Hospital… 

I wasn’t at home when the tragedy happened. I went to our hometown, Naga to spend the rest of the holidays there. See, my eldest sister and I had an argument and I left to prevent any more confrontation with her. When my sister was scolding me, I could see my father protesting from the side of my eyes. And when I kissed him goodbye, I had no idea it was going to be the last time I would kiss him, he held my hand so tightly, not letting go… But then, I followed my stubborn instinct and left anyway… 

My father had been bedridden for a year and a half before he died. His memory and physical strength deteriorated when he experienced a severe stroke. It was difficult for me to handle that because I have been so attached to my dad, without being too aware of that fact.

I thought I hated his strict and sometimes even cruel ways of disciplining us. I thought I didn’t like it when he threw some corny jokes at the dinner table…

I thought I hated him for repeating those lectures about life over and over that continuously would shrink my self-esteem. 

I thought I hated his way of molding me into the person that I have become! 

Now, I’m beginning to realize that the way I grew up has a greater influence on the values he had inculcated in me. And I’m grateful for all the teachings and the legacy he had left me with. 

Remembering my dad… 

I remember a spoiler who would save the leanest meat, the ever-sought-after bangus belly, the best seat at the dinner table and a space on his bed, all for his youngest daughter! 

I remember a protector who prematurely lectured an 8 year-old girl about fornication, child abuse and STDs with a warning not to allow those things to ever happen to her. 

I remember a disciplinarian who believes that a fine lady is neither a glutton nor a kleptomaniac and should be a virgin bride. 

I remember a storyteller who told a variety of humbling experiences. A dreamer who dreamt only of the best for his children! 

After more than 2 decades of not celebrating Father’s Day with my Tatay Benny, I have this short message, which I hope will find its way to him.

“Tay, I hope I didn’t fail you. I remembered all your teachings and I try to live up to your expectations. 

I wrote a short story about Bok… You would have been proud of me. It was published in our university magazine, along with all the articles I submitted. Well, I got my journalistic skills from you… Don’t worry, I will continue to write and I will fulfill both our dreams of publishing my very own book.

I wish you were still alive to meet and spend time with my sons and Meynard. You and Meynard have so much in common: black coffee, spicy food, love for meat (especially tenderloin), current events, intellectual discussions, chess games, sports updates. I wish you were alive to taste Meynard’s cooking. I’m sure you’d love it! He’d be the son you wished you had. I knew how you wanted to have a son who shared your preferences in sports, principles, and other activities. I could tell, because you tried making me that kind of son. That’s why I grew up boyish. I remember you teaching me boxing, tennis, and baseball. My mind wanted so much to please you, but my lungs were too weak. Still, I gained your favor when I learned how to play chess and even beat you at it. I saw the proud father in you every time I played against the men and boys who were regularly playing chess in the Betamax House of Manong Edgar Villar.

I miss you, Tay… For a decade now, I may have found someone to ask whenever I encounter new, unfamiliar words. I may have found someone to discuss politics and current events with. I may have found someone to share hot coffee with, even in the middle of the day. But these moments will never be the same as those shared with you. I will forever treasure all the lessons you taught me and all the memories we shared together. I will tell your grandsons how great of a grandpa you could have been to them. I love you more than you ever knew… More than I ever knew!”