Happy Father's Day

By Loi Gillera

My recollection of my father to this day is of a middle age man with a perennial smile. Slightly balding on the crown of his head, his hair looks full in front with an unruly lock that dangles like a comma on the center of his forehead. Born in 1910, in a tiny islet called Bantayan north of Cebu province, he was a fisherman since he was a child. He came to Manila with my mother in 1936 to work in the government as a motor pool guard. He stand straight and appears taller than his 5'7" frame. Looking lean he must have weight no more than 150 lbs. A regular "Joe" so to speak.

Like all fishermen, my father drinks a lot. Never miss a glass of "Shyok Tong" with lunch. On weekends, along with other Manila boy "Bantayanons", they muster in our house, drink, sing and tell the same war stories over and over again until they are stupor with alcohol where they sit.

But my father was the one who taught me the rudiments of arithmetic. It was him who educate me how to read the clock and learn to strum a ukulele. And we walk a lot together. He work the morning shift so he's home around 3 in the afternoon. By 5 p.m. we're already out on our almost daily jaunt. From Bilivid Viejo where we live to Luneta and Dewey Boulevard most of the time. To Pandacan where he works. To the Welcome Rotonda in Quezon city boundary. To Fort Santiago in Intramuros. To Quiapo, Sta. Cruz, Escolta and the Chinatown in Binondo. Before we go home, we always stop by a sari-sari store in front of Mapa High School in Hidalgo for a glass of sago and gulaman or ripen saba banana in a bowl of sweetened syrup with evaporated milk. It was fun.

He was not a soldier. Too old when the war broke out. Was not a guerrilla fighter. No one approach to enlist him he said. When the war in the Philippines started, his superiors and co-workers fled the city. My father bravely stayed and became the sole custodian of the motor pool and garage where the city keep its motor vehicles. Nobody ordered him but he took it upon himself to continue the discharge of his responsibility. He was there when the Japanese occupation forces captured Manila. He made a Japanese general sign receipts when his soldiers commandeered the properties he guard. He was imprisoned and tortured by the enemy on suspicion that he is an insurgent. He was released due to his frail health. He was already back in his post when the Americans liberated the city in 1945. He kept his job until February 7, 1966 when his heart finally failed. Then, Manila Mayor Antonio Villegas awarded him posthumously a plaque and certificate of appreciation and recognition of his service to the city above and beyond what is expected of him.

Never having been in the military, what's astonishing about my father was that I have not seen him wear any shoes except combat boots. Yes those kind of sturdy calf-high boots worn by soldiers with eyelets and string you laced all the way to the top. When I was in high school I recall asking him why he does not wear any other kind of shoes. I never have to buy he said. He got cousins in the army and air force and everyone supplies him with their used boots. But when I questioned my mother, she said my father hates to spend money unnecessarily. I promised myself as soon as I have a good job, I'll buy father one of those black leather shoes we see in department stores we pass by in Rizal Avenue.

In October of 1960 I begun training in the Philippine Navy. The Naval School Center was in Cavite Naval Base. The training was tough and hectic. We are restricted inside the base. Contact with relatives and friends is forbidden. The order is to concentrate on our studies. But by December, the school commandant says we can invite our parents, girlfriends, relatives and friends to join us in the coming Christmas Ball.

My guest were only my father and my mother. We have not seen each other for 3 months. My mother cried so much. My father gave me a good long look and said I have grown a lot. He appeared to be pleased, beamed happily and hug me which he never did before. After the emotional pleasantries, I invited them to my quarters. I gave my mother a gift I bought her and most of the money I save. Then I handed my father a box. I saw the look of genuine surprise in his eyes. Yet he must have known it was shoes from the figure of the box. He lifted the cover, took out one of the pair. A black, shiny all leather officers' dress shoes. In one of the several cross-training we did with sailors of the US Navy in their naval base at Sangley Point, I bought from the commissary a pair of size 8W low cut shoes. I also bought 2 pairs of black sock and a shoe tongue. There was an askew kind of unbelieving smile in my father's face. He keep looking at the ceiling and shook his head several times. Then his eyes glisten and a few drops of tears roll on his face. He grab and embraced me again harder. He murmured thank you in my ears. It was one moment in time I will never forget.

Happy Father's Day to all you Mapan fathers!