YOUNG VOICE
Who's your daddy?
I found myself trapped in my 10-year-old body, my hair curled in pigtails and my toes clipped on neon pink sandals that didn’t exactly match my green polka dot dress. I knew it had to be a dream. I’ve never been to a stranger place before, and all the more, looking eight years younger.
Three doors stood ajar before me. They all had shiny golden knobs reflecting the glow emitted from somewhere behind them. The rest of the place was dim and had an eerie feeling, the kind that would raise the hairs on the nape of your neck.
There were faint footsteps that grew louder, clunking their way towards me. Those were of a man appearing from the mist. As he went closer, multicolored lights flashed instantly filling up the darkness. He looked like one of those game show hosts on primetime television. He took his microphone and announced that I was in a game show called “Who’s Your Daddy?” Behind each of those three doors was a different kind of father and I can go home with any one of them, and all I’ve got to do is choose.
It has been a while since I had that dream, but the scenes were as fresh as if they were just from last night. The bright circular bulbs and the upbeat tempo of the background music must have my heart beat doubled. I twirled my hair and moved closer to the first door, pushed the door slightly and peeped through the opening. The first father looked like a very serious man. He was uptight, smelled like mouthwash and not a single strand of hair out of his hairline. He was preparing for work. That father seemed very busy since he didn’t even have a pinch of breakfast that his wife cooked nor did he bother to peck a kiss on his little boy before taking off. A workaholic, I thought.
I pulled the knob and closed the first door slowly, then tiptoed to the next. The second father looked nothing like the first one. He was at home, lying on the couch doing nothing. He had his beard all messy and unshaven. On the table were no office papers to sign or a stand-by laptop instead were packs of junk food, some bottles of beer and a remote control. Not too long, what looked like his children entered the house. He stood up and carried his little angels, giving each of them a piggy back ride. Must be one of the many househusbands, I thought.
I turned my head back and smiled at the game show host, there was still a last door to see. I peeped for the third time. The third father did not seem to be at home. He appeared to be on a ship, along with several others in uniform. The sound of the ship’s engine could not disturb him. He was on a phone, laughing now and then. I heard a couple of “I Love Yous” and a little later he ended the conversation. His smile gradually faded and misery soaked his eyes. He must have called his family and He must have missed them so much. I was pretty sure he was one of the overseas fathers.
Too bad I didn’t get to finish my dream, curse my full bladder and my urge to pee. But that dream told me the stories of different fathers all of us have. There are those who are strict and austere who couldn’t seem to even cuddle their kids to sleep with their constant alibis of office works and busy schedules. There are those who act like a best friend, who know a little girl’s tickle spot and shares some few hoops with junior on the ring but suffers the torture of not being called the breadwinner of the family. And there are those who simply couldn’t be with their kids since they’re out far across continents. These and more paint a picture of a father, each one may have their strengths and flaws, but each one of them is our own.
There are times we disliked them, for being so rigid and apathetic, for being so plain and someone you can’t brag about, for being not there. I had those moments too. My father is like the father behind door number 1. He is cool and a people-person. Yet, he isn’t the type who tucks you to sleep. He’s more of a dad who wants you to be independent. At times, I just wanted to cry out hard and tell him that I need his help, that I can’t do it alone. I just wanted to hug him tight and wrestle with him until we all cry of laughter. But most of the time I realize that despite his rigidness and stubborn personality; I am still fortunate to have a father. He stayed with me for the past eighteen years, sent me to good schools, helped with some of my assignments, and occasionally says I love you. That is more than enough and I feel secured. Let us all realize that despite the differences of our fathers; the very fact that we have one is already enough.
If you have a father who’s overseas, do not think that you are less blessed with the moments of father-child bonding. Whenever he is around, spend the rest of the days with him meaningfully. Ignore first those boxes of pasalubongs he has for you, rather hug him tight and sprinkle him with kisses he should have had while he was away. Give him the chance to get to know you better so the next time when he’s around, you’ll be even closer.
If you have a father who’s like the one on door number two. Even if he isn’t the breadwinner of the family, this doesn’t stop you from becoming proud of him. With every playtime spent with him, with every towel wiped on your sweaty back, and with every night he tells you stories and tucks you to sleep, these you can be proud of. Not everybody has dads like this..
How I wish one day I could have the exact dream once again, then I could pick the one that really suits me. When that dream reappears, my ten year old self would be more than ready to answer the game show host. The one that really suits me have been with me for the past eighteen years.
I don’t need to change him.
He’s perfect and I know that I have won the jackpot prize for having him.
Happy Father’s Day to my Papang Roge, Lolo Pat, Tito Nan and my dearest Tatay Inong.