An ode to my father

sound would put him to sleep. For truly, what was there left to cut?

her Lolo Blas used spray-net and a black, generic-looking comb, to keep his endangered hair strands had her share of a P20 school allowance when she was in grade school at St. Paul’s College, Pasig. Of course, that amount was caught in a time warp. When it - tion was never part of my father’s computations. Every Christmas, he had his aide put in twenty-peso bills in white envelopes as his “to children lined up outside the gate of the mod- est house where he grew up in Hagonoy, Bulacan. Only years later did that twenty-peso bill rise to the level of P100, and that slow transition took effect with extreme nostalgic reluctance.

who has long relocated to Los Angeles, California, has his own fond memories of hotel room breakfasts with my dad, complete with the mandatory requested that Bulos ( Dionisio’s unique nickname), take him on a long, scenic drive to San Francisco. Happy to oblige, my brother quickly rented a vehicle from the most convenient car rental service he could find. The car rental company was ironically named, “Rent- a- Wreck.” And, that it was, because we felt every bump and every creaking turn, as any cargo would. The van combined with my brother’s expert driving did the job, and my father got his wish.

If you are lucky enough to have both parents still alive, do put down your phones and physically reach out to them. Believe me, you’ll never have enough of them when they’re gone. I lost him is a forever thing. He may have an altar of awards, but it is his smile, the twinkle in his eye, and the softness of his hand that I miss the most.