Hello, This Is My Dad
He’s just normally amazing
If you’re reading this, I want you to know my dad as if I’m a 2nd grade student in front of the class for show and tell.
Kids are the most honest people on Earth. I binged on Hiho videos last night and admired how awfully innocent and unfiltered kids can be. It kind of made me resent adulthood and how our consciousness somehow work like poison in teabags. They tend to limit our expression and gloss them up for presentation. In the past, I think I’ve made several Facebook posts that honor my dad through ambiguous and touching words, with a well-lit photo on the side. I’m very motivated to do the same this year and emphasize how gallant, intellectual and assiduous he is as a person. It’s great and nothing’s wrong with bragging our parents from time to time (or all the time), but sometimes I wonder if the message really comes across when I beat around big words and phrases so much.
The truth is, my dad is just a normal dad who does regular dad stuff.
He has been teaching me math for as long as I can remember. When it comes to anything with numbers, he is my go-to guy. I’ve had several tutors in the past, but nobody does it like dad. I can cry in front of him when the equations start to look the Russian alphabet, and I don’t feel shy at all to ask questions over and over and over and over. He’d get pissed sometimes but that’s alright, at least he doesn’t come with an hourly rate.
He does most of the chores when he’s home. You’d think guys do not excel in that department, but not my dad. I can easily dodge my assigned chore when he’s around, just like the time I complained how the dishwashing soap makes my skin dry (it’s very true). My mom rolled her eyes, but he found it funny that I said it with a straight face.
Dads come in all shapes and sizes, but it’s probably the middle aged testosterone that makes them have the same type of humor. My dad tells bad jokes that only he finds funny; the worst part is that he laughs at it like it’s the first time he’s hearing it. The second-worst part is that he assumes we have a short-term memory loss when it comes to his jokes that he recycles them after a few days.
My dad is my go-to movie date. I always prefer him over my mom because she asks way too much questions (don’t tell her I said that). We once drove into a Friday night rush hour traffic to catch a film screening in Greenbelt. I can list down every single film we watched together, but I don’t think there’s anything that can compare to Ang Babaeng Humayo by Lav Diaz. We watched it on a Saturday in Alabang and it was probably the longest night of our life. It is in black and white and runs roughly four hours long. I felt partially blind when we left the cinema.
He talks a little louder than the rest of us. If you don’t know him, it’s likely you’d think he’s mad when he’s actually just a bit modulated. We would occasionally tease him for his poor hearing, but I recently left the bandwagon when I found myself jacking up the volume when I’m listening to music or watching TV. He’d ask us to repeat what we said until he gets it, but I’m the type to just nod along the mumbling. Clearly, he’s the more caring and understanding one between the two of us.
My favorite thing about him is when I bully my brothers and he goes along with it — which is very rare. I usually get scolded for finding pleasure in my brothers’ despair, but it feels like sweet victory when someone occasionally appreciates my problematic humor.
My mom once told me that when my dad was younger, he once made a round trip bus ride because he was dead drunk. When he woke up, his watch was already gone. She has told me that story several times and it only reminds me of one picture — not my dad, but of myself. Well, history has a tendency to repeat itself, so if you ever catch me passed out in a bar, you know exactly who I got it from.
My dad is just a regular dad who does normal dad stuff. He has contributed a lot to who I am today and for that, I am thankful. He may be no superhuman to you, but his normal-self is what makes me appreciate him more. A regular pair of gloves becomes the perfect one if it fits just right, and that’s how he is to me. He drives me to school, laughs out loud and has great memory — which I wish I got.
It is true that some heroes don’t wear capes because mine is in a white hard hat and seven year old Levi’s denim pants. Happy Father’s Day to our good ‘ol folks.
