While the entire archipelago is paying tribute to all the fathers in the household, I am here treating the day as rather ordinary. No matter how I try to be a part of the event, I can't actually relate myself from it – by heart.
First off, I am not a father yet. Secondly, I never had the chance to play along with my father. Not an occasion that I had the so-called bonding moment with him. I didn't feel what it is like to have a father at all. When I was a growing kid and went curious to everything, he was not there to entertain my questions. When I had myself circumcised, he was not there to give moral support. When I had a crush for the first time, he was not there to be my confidant. When I was an adolescent and started to explore on adult stuffs, he was not there to explain my limitations. As a result, I learned to be timid. I felt lost. I felt left behind.
Until I reach this age.
Part of me is envious. To the son who plays basketball with his dad. To the son who is being taught how to play guitar by his dad. To the son who is receiving monthly allowance from his dad. To the son who is being scolded because he messed up with the wrong peers. I wonder what it feels like being guided by a father.
Before my mom and dad parted their ways when I was about four years of age, I seldom see my dad at home. At night, he had to go off the shore. While during daytime, he was in the farm. Yes, he was a fisherman and a farmer at the same time. During Martial Law era, Samar was indeed a grueling place to live at. People had to really work hard to survive. The word “pleasure” has no space in everyone’s home. This might be the reason why we ended up to a broken family.
In her attempt to alleviate our status in life, my mom went to Manila and there she contracted marriage to another man. I didn't know if she was worried about us having no father to guide, either she couldn't simply carry the burden of raising us alone or she is still a woman that needs a man to live with. Be that as it may, only one thing was certain, she had put ourselves in jeopardy.
My step-dad never succeeded in his attempt to steal the role of a father to me. That probably explains why he, in turn, gave us a miserable life. He was a drunkard. My mom was a battered wife. He turned evil when he's under the influence of liquor – he respects no one. I will never forget those nights while I was on a deep sleep and suddenly awakened by a loud banging of the door and smashing of the kitchen utensils with simultaneous utterance of unremarkable words. It was consistent that every after drinking spree, he runs amok. We're all conquered by fear. We couldn't do anything as if we had no other alternative except to embrace this fate. True enough that notwithstanding our association to the umbrella of the so-called “poverty”, I did not consider it as my top problem. I could have been happier, despite of this mediocre life, had I granted instead of a happy and complete family.
At this rate, I know it's pointless to narrate further. I do not want to key in every details as these are memories not worthy to preserve for. The saga had long been laid to rest charging all to experience. After all, were it not of the struggles and sufferings, I couldn't have learned being independent.
This is now the 2nd Season of my life story. This time, I am in control.
I may not have given the opportunity to enjoy the benefit of having a dad, but I still have the chance to prove my worth by being the best dad ever to my soon-to-be child.
