Why I am Daddy’s Girl

I almost died when I was born. I have no memory of it anymore but my mother told me that I had to go through blood transfusion to survive. My Papa Nick was so worried that he prayed in church every day until finally, I was O.K. Obviously, God heard his prayers.

My papa is a very quiet man – to strangers, that is. People always mistook him for being aloof, especially the friends of my brothers. Being the reserved person that he is, he never told me about the time I almost died or what he went through. Nor did he bring up the occasion he saved me from drowning when I was barely five years old.

We were at A.I.T. (Asian Institute of Tourism) with family and friends when I tiptoed down the steps of the swimming pool. On the last step, I found myself underwater and could not go back.

My papa, all clothed, saw me and dove into the pool to rescue me.

Again, this was never a big deal for him; he simply did what he had to do.

Through it all, it is understandable why I am his favorite. My brothers won’t even dare dispute this, because it was very apparent when we were kids. They dared not make me cry, or else.

My brothers experienced how strict Papa was when we were younger, but I could get my way with just a kiss (All right, all right… not all the time). When he said bika-bika, that meant a five-second kiss (it lasted more like a minute!). Eventually, I would be granted what I was lobbying for.

We had lots of bonding moments, too: A trip to Bike City in Cubao for my first bike, jamming at the Menudo concert in Araneta Coliseum and buying food at Nepa-Q-Mart Wet Market. He took my being the apple of his eye to heart when he brought me to the barber shop(!!!) for my pre-school haircut: The classic apple cut (that looked more like a coconut husk).

I looked forward to our food trips: the samurai balls, sukiyaki, tuna sashimi, seafood, etc. Papa has a big appetite but he is not keen on fancy restaurants. He feels we don’t get our money’s worth and ends up criticizing our order. "O.K. Lang…" he would often say.

We were very close and I know he savored every moment. Parents are told to hug their kids a lot while they’re young because when they grow up, they won’t let you anymore. Eventually, I was too old for his bika-bika.

Papa taught me how to drive (and my brothers). It was out of necessity and nothing else. Thinking back, it was my first taste of liberation: to drive myself to school.

When I reached college, I had my first boyfriend. If Papa had his way, he would have wanted me to have a boyfriend only after graduation, but he never protested… not to me (Sorry, Mama Elaine). When I had my first heartbreak, he just hugged me tightly as I wailed and poured out my heart. He uttered two words, "ganyan talaga…" teaching me acceptance.

Papa hardly said "no" to me. I am against that, too… now. But by saying "yes" – reluctantly – he allowed me to grow as my own person and to make my own mistakes (nothing illegal), and learn from them. It’s something that parents can never prevent anyway.

It is ironic that Papa encouraged that I even live on my own. His logic was simple: "You should have your own place because your brothers have their own houses now."

While I live independently, once in a while I find my favorite sinigang in my fridge, or a ration of my drinking water by the sink when I come home from work. Papa still has a key to my apartment.

I’ve been seeing less of Papa lately but I can still feel his gaze. Though unwilling and unaware, he set me free to spread my wings, to catch cold air, to be trapped in a tree, to do somersaults in the clouds, but always ready to catch me when I fall.

Happy Father’s Day, Pops!

And to the best brothers in the world – Kuya Joray and Kuya Jun… for always looking after me through the years. Love you, guys!

Happy Father’s Day to all!

(E-mail me at [email protected])