I have recounted these Daddy anecdotes in many a conversation with friends. The stories may not be as complete in the recounting as the journo in me would like them to be because sadly, Daddy is not around anymore to fill in the missing details. But it doesn’t take away from the substance, and they still give a good picture of why Daddy holds super hero status in my heart.
You know how Filipinos like telling one-upmanship jokes by comparing family members to those of others? Well, I think this is a perfect time for me to claim, “Wala kayo sa Daddy ko!” (Your dad doesn’t hold a candle to my dad!). But let’s not argue; I’ll let these stories do the job.
Action star
I remember the time Daddy came home with bloody fists. I was about 12 years old then. It turned out that while walking home, at the intersection about 10 minutes away from our house in Manila, a man accosted him saying gruffly, “Ano yan?!” (What is that?!), referring to the packet he was holding. My dad said just as gruffly, “Balut!” Then the man asked him for his wallet—it was a holdup! He got my dad’s fists instead. I can just imagine the state of that man’s face from the state of my dad’s fists that night. And no, the balut never made it home, in case you were wondering.
There was the time my dad got pickpocketed, I think in Quiapo or a similar crowded area in Manila. Daddy was furious and went to the police station to report what had happened. He ordered (yes, my army colonel dad can be very commanding when he wanted to be) the policemen there to take him to the pickpockets’ “lair” — you know how it’s an open secret that policemen actually know where these street criminals live and where they hang out? Well, it’s true, because my dad was taken to the gang of thieves’ hang-out. Daddy identified his empty wallet among the day’s stash, and he, of course, asked for his money back, stating how much he had lost. One gang member vehemently denied the money was that much, saying it was only a fraction of that amount. My dad stood his ground, and the gang members had a fight before they produced the money to return to him. Yep, Daddy made a profit that day for all his trouble.
Big heart
My mom and dad decided to retire in my mom’s hometown Cebu at a certain point, and this incident happened there. On his way home during a storm, Daddy offered a couple of young boys a ride because the city was badly flooded and a lot of people were stranded. The following day, he realized that they had stolen the things he kept in the rear deck of the car. My dad was the picture of sadness and disbelief when he told me this story. He had such a big heart, it wasn’t the first time that people he helped had abused his kindness.
‘Humor-monger’
When Daddy, as a teenager, was applying for the Philippine Military Academy, his height was an inch short of the requirement. How did he get accepted anyway? He had cajoled the nurse to let him get away with it by promising to grow taller. Whether he actually grew taller or not, I don’t actually know, but I do know that whatever his height was, it did not get in the way from him excelling in so many sports as a plebe that he got awarded the PMA athletic saber when he graduated.
Daddy was a favorite emcee for his batch, PMA Class ’54, for their annual reunions and other get-togethers. That’s because he was very funny and entertaining, a wonderful storyteller, and had the knack for making fun of his classmates and eliciting nothing but laughs (read: no hurt feelings). Never mind that he always volunteered to sing as well as part of the act — his “mistahs” (military schoolmates) and their wives loved him so much, they let him do whatever he wants. Although to be fair, my dad could carry a tune, and his stage presence made all the difference.
Smart as a whip
I was probably about eight years old, and we were living in Camp Aquino in Tarlac at the time, where my dad was assigned. I don’t remember why — I don’t know if they were doing drills, or if they were tasked to clear up the field of tall grasses—but there were a lot of soldiers in the field near our house that day. And then I discovered that the money in my “alkansya” (piggy bank) had disappeared, and I came out of the house crying, and made “sumbong” (reported) to my dad. Next thing I knew, he made all the soldiers fall in line, and then he asked them to remove their shoes and socks. And lo and behold, the wad of bills that constituted my savings showed up in one soldier’s sock! I do not know, or did not want to know what happened next, but I imagine the soldier got more than push-ups for his misdeed that day.
Daddy was part of a special batch of Army officers who were sent at one point to the United States Military Academy or West Point to study there for a period of time. There was this one class when an American classmate of his noticed that he wasn’t taking notes. The white guy asked him loudly and in a condescending tone, “What’s the matter? Do you not understand?” My dad said nothing, and instead took the guy’s notebook and proceeded to correct the grammar on his notes.
He got the girl
Daddy met Mommy when he led the PMA fencing team as team captain in a sports competition held in Cebu. The sports team was met at the airport by appointed school teachers, and my mom was one of them. The teachers were tasked to give welcoming leis to the athletes, and according to my dad, even if it wasn’t my mom who put a lei on him, it was her lei that ended up around his neck. My beautiful 19-year-old mother caught his eye, and he literally followed her home. This was how his courtship of her, and her aunt-guardians, commenced. He got my mom’s hand in marriage the year after.
At age 33, Daddy was the last in his batch to get married. He may have been the oldest to wed, but I’m willing to bet he got the prettiest wife of them all (among other superlatives). And they had a beautiful, loving marriage, which lasted up to his dying day and beyond. My mom has visited my dad’s grave weekly — except for some misses because of strong typhoons, and other equally understandable reasons — ever since he died more than 11 years ago. That’s every week for 11 years and counting, folks. I am clearly not the only one in the family who holds my dad in the highest regard.