Their guy was my Daddy

MANILA, Philippines - At my age, I have found that writing about Daddy is never a walk in the park. Firstly, I never feel that I can do him justice. Secondly, reminiscing brings a lump in my throat, an ache in my heart; I miss him even more. On this occasion I offer random snippets on Daddy.

There’s Daddy going over to our neighbor’s house to fetch some carabao milk kindly offered by our neighbor for us children to drink. (This was when he was posted in San Antonio by Try-Tran, the bus company he worked for. This was just before the war.)

There’s Daddy, the guerrilla leader on horseback coming home in the dead of night to visit us. Mama wakes up, lights a kerosene lamp, tells him we are fine. He leaves instructions to her in the event we would  have to move elsewhere. (We were in Baring, Lolo and Lola’s farm, together with my aunts Tia Conchita Labrador and her family and Tia Nene Corpus.)

There’s Daddy on a happy occasion at the town plaza being sworn in as Military Governor of Zambales when the war ended. (He occupied that position until our country became independent and we had to elect officials. He was urged to run for congress by the Zambales guerrillas. With their help, he handily won a congressional seat.)

There’s Daddy (Congressman Magsaysay) with us in our home in Singalong attending to his constituents who came to the house. Mama would have the househelpers run to the nearby Chinese store to buy some food supply (mostly canned goods) for the visitors who came all the way from Zambales. (Ching, the storeowner, was always very kind. He gave Mama credit. When Daddy became president, he had Ching and his family come to the Palace for a tour.)

There’s all of us with Daddy and Mama in their room early on Easter Sunday. He would lift each of us up the air as Easter bells tolled. It was the belief that doing this would ensure we would grow tall.

 There’s Daddy driving his army jeep with a trailer with Jun on his side. The trailer was full of sand. He would use the sand for the back of our house to stop water from the estero from spilling into our yard.

There’s Daddy and Mama giving my Ate (Teresita), Jun and me work assignments in the house. Frail Teresita was assigned to dust the furniture; Jun, the youngest was to dust the rest of the house. Robust me (Aging) was to husk (lampaso) in the sala. That, they decided, was equitable and explained that “kawawa naman si Tita” as she was thin and frail and Jun was still young. (Daddy would tell us stories of how as a young boy he would wake up at the crack of dawn to attend to the carabaos [pastol] and then help Lolo in his smithy shop, welding steel to be made into cart wheels.)

There’s Daddy (still a congressman) on his first trip to the US with President Harry Truman signing the Rogers Bill which benefited the Philippine Veterans. (In Congress, Daddy was chairman of the Committee on National defense. He and Congressman Atilano Cinco were tasked to work for the passage of the Rogers Bill. Among the benefits of this bill was the establishment of the Veterans Memorial Hospital.)

There’s Daddy now at another happy and auspicious event: being sworn in as Secretary of National Defense. We moved to Camp Murphy (now Camp Aguinaldo). His marching order from then President Elpidio Quirino was to quell the then menacing communist movement represented by the Huk — balahaps. (He not only accomplished his mission, but effectively at that. By this time, his name was becoming a byword for effective leadership and many considered him a hero!)

There’s Daddy now, the presidential candidate speaking before St. Scholastica’s College’s high school graduating class of 1953, which I was part of.

And there’s all of us in Luneta Grandstand as Daddy took his oath as the third president of the Republic. What a grand, glorious day!

That’s him in an open Ford convertible with Jun pulling him down lest he fall off the car as people jostled, pulled, and shouted his name, not wanting to let him go. We made our way to Malacañang, which was to be our home for the next three years and three months. We entered the Palace gates with throngs of people from all walks of life surrounding us. Dad had the gates flung open for everybody as he wanted the people to see “the Palace of the people.” (Daddy was elected in a landslide victory. He received 69 percent of the votes, a feat not yet equaled to the present.)

There’s Daddy motoring to Novaliches to visit his old boss, President Elpidio Quirino, whom he defeated in the presidential election of 1953.

There’s Daddy in the Palace instructing his executive secretary (I eavesdropped) that the price of a ganta of rice should remain at 50 centavos as it was important that the people should be able to afford it. (The common “tao” was his passion; to make life better for them as the country had just emerged from a devastating war, Daddy gave priority to basic things such as food, clothing and shelter as we continued to rebuild the nation.)

There’s Daddy calling us to his bedroom for some bonding time with Mama He would dance with Mama or play ping-pong with us. We would talk about school, what people we met say they need. He wanted to know what people were thinking and feeling.

There’s all of us in Daddy’s bedroom again as the next election for a second term was drawing near.  He asked us to vote whether it was okay with us for him to run for reelection. Not one of us wanted him to run again. He was sad, had tears in his eyes when he said he would have to run again as he still had much to do for the country. What could we say? He was Daddy. We always supported him, Mama especially.

There’s Daddy motoring to Zambales to visit his “Papa and Mama.” He always greeted them with “Mano Po.”

There’s Daddy with Mama as she asked him if he would agree that I could have a party on my 18th birthday party: a debut. He said yes! He stood in the reception line as our relatives, my classmates and friends came to celebrate with me. We danced the traditional first dance — a waltz. It was such a happy, happy time for all of us! (Of course, the expenses for that party were deducted from his salary.)

 There’s Daddy in a hurry as always to go somewhere. I reminded him that he should not forget that he would be the guest speaker at my college graduation in UST. He seemed surprised that time had passed so fast. He asked what course I had taken. I said political science. He gleefully laughed and said, “Oh, you might be mayor of Castillejos one day.”

 Sadly, he could not be there for my graduation. On March 17, on a trip from Cebu, Daddy never made it back home.

Man cannot predict his destiny, but he can do much in the journey toward its fulfillment.