Try as I might to unlock deep seated memories of childhood times spent with my Dad, I couldn’t bring them up. I don’t know how.
Sadly, I don’t have memories of my Dad being home early enough to play with my siblings and I. Neither was he there to help us with homework or with anything else.
“He has a business to run and manage, that’s why he’s always out late entertaining his clients.” my Mom would always explain when asked where Dad was.
All I remember growing up was finding a box of my favourite Chicken BBQ from Aristocrat Restaurant waiting for me in the morning. That would be the highlight of my day knowing that even though he was out very late, Dad remembered to get us something that he knew we liked.
Dad was from the old school. That means I never experienced being cuddled by him or even chatting with him about everyday things. BUT….he was my hero. He was this giant of man that I literally looked up to.
On the occasions that he had time for us, I went everywhere with him even if it meant several hours’ wait with nothing to do while he played mahjong with his friends.
However, as I grew older (and more adept in reading between the lines), I realised that not only did Dad manage a legitimate business but he also had monkey business (READ: other women) on the side.
Hurt that he dared cheat on my Mum, I gave him hell for several years that followed. I wanted him to pay for what he’s done. I was so hurt that I couldn’t even cry and couldn’t find it in my heart to forgive him even after my Mother did.
But as they say, time heals all wounds and the ice of anger that covered my heart for years started to melt and just before my freshman year in college, I found myself talking to him again.
Scarred by his betrayal, we had a fragile and tempestous relationship. We squabbled about everything!
I wanted him to change.
I expected him to change.
After all, he was the one who cheated on my Mum, surely he’d find ways to show us he’s a better man now?
In my quest to change him to my own definition of what a ‘better man’ should be, I neglected to see the goodness in him. I refused to see the little and big things he’s done not only for me but for our family.
A person’s redemption come in the most unexpected places and circumstances.
My father had his the day I gave birth to my daughter, Bea. Because I had no husband to speak of at the time, my parents became Bea’s surrogate parents while I slaved away at work to provide for my child.
It was during this time that my Dad showed me what a loving father he truly is.
He looked after Bea more than he ever did with any of his children — he changed her nappies, fed her, bathed her and sang her lullabies (His favourite song to rock her to sleep as a baby was ‘My Way’).
Dad took Bea everywhere with him — to the mall, his friends’ house. Everywhere he went, Bea went with him.
Bea was his sidekick. Everyone at Dad’s social club knew who Bea was. I went to work assured in the knowledge that my child was left with family apart from her nanny.
My Dad’s love for Bea was overflowing. I know he loves her more than he loves me and truth be told, I don’t mind.
I know it crushed him when Bea and I left for New Zealand to join my husband, Simon.
It is evident how much Bea adores my Dad because even though it has been 3 years since we left the Philippines for good and that they (my Dad and Bea) have only seen each other once in those 3 years, Bea still misses him and keeps on asking me when she’s going to see her Lolo again.
Bea’s arrival saved our father-daughter relationship.
When there was a time I couldn’t even bring myself to talk to my Dad, now I can’t imagine Dad not being there during our weekly phone calls.
Our troubled past is but a distant memory now.
What I fondly recall is the loving way my Dad looked after Bea. It didn’t matter that he was not that kind of person and father when I was growing up.
My Dad more than made up for it — he did it to my own flesh and blood.
Bea was his saving grace.
Bea was also my saving grace. Her birth opened the doors to forgiveness. She was very own redemption from a lifetime of misery, regret and bitterness.
Author’s Note: This is a Father’s Day article I wrote for WifeSpeaks in June 2005 re-posting it at For Gooding Sake for posterity.
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Hello people — thanks for the kind words. I was actually holding my tears when I re-read this post as well.
I felt it must be re-published here on our family website for posterity
aww.. na-touch ako, ‘te, and actually, naiyak din.. ;-p
This is such a wonderful, poignant post. It’s almost identical to my story (except my dad has yet to change a single diaper still).
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(anuba.. ang sakit sa tenga ng mga ingles ko, ha. pasensya ka na, nag-ko-commando ako dito sa opis ng internet kaya nagmamadali ako, hindi ko na nache-check ang mga errors. nek taym, pramis, mas ok na ang grammers ko. hehehehe)
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I, too, cannot imagine not having my dad beside me now that I’m all grown up. It didn’t used to be like these cause he was the sole breadwinner of our family and I never got to see him often either. And he was the silent type which made it much harder to relate to him. but as one matures, and grows older, one becomes more open. and he started being more relaxed and more outspoken. He would still be tactless at times, but I love him so much, i cuoldn’t imagine him not being by my side now that I’m all grown up. I admit, I’m still daddy’s little girl
ate sienna´s last blog ..Welcome, Miss Iggy Badjee!
Wow, what a beautiful story.
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i knew i read this somewhere!
all’s well that end’s well.
good times ahead
I love happy endings. Christine, I was very touched by this post – it does hit a soft spot. I have no relationship at all with my father. I do not speak to his family and his relatives except to his current wife and my 2 siblings. I actually have a good relationship with her and my siblings). I try not to think or talk about it but it’s that part of my life that will never be ok.
Your dad, he gave you feedbacks whether it was good or not, you existed. I am waiting for him to acknowledge me, my door is still open.
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