Father’s Day

In Church we all prayed together for our fathers. If there was a concept I didn’t understand, this was the concept of what a father was. I’ve been mothered all my life but I don’t have a single memory of being fathered.

We were swimming one time and my brother was playing with his kids in the pool. All three of his kids, 11, 9, and 7 year olds, were crowding at him, almost suffocating him in play as they grabbed his neck and back, each clambering up on his shoulders. He threw any successful kid back into the water, and they wrestled, and they were laughing their hearts out.

One time, my brother just lay on the floor of our small house, resting from his field work, and he seemed to be in deep thought. Suddenly he asked, “How do I raise my kids to become good persons? It is so difficult.” All I could do at the time was encourage him and say, “Bro, at the range of 1-10, I think you’re 7. Just keep doing what you’re doing. You’re doing fine.”

But what do I know?

Somewhere in this city, my father roams the streets selling cigarettes. Occasionally, I see him and we say hi and hello in less than twenty seconds. One time, he saw me and I saw him and we both stopped and I approached him and asked, “Where are you going?” He said that his false teeth got run over by a jeepney and he was looking for that politician-dentist to help him. I gave him some money that could buy him another pack of cigarettes to sell, but not enough to buy a replacement for his false teeth. Afterwards, completely disconnected, we both went our separate ways.

When he had us, did my father ever ask the question my brother asked? And when he didn’t have an answer, did he simply quit on us and let his life flow independent of our grabbing at his back and neck, effectively avoiding a lifetime of wrestling with us?

Of all the possible reasons for his complete absence in our lives, this is one reason I can understand.