Last Sunday was Father's Day.
The earliest memories I have of my late father when I was growing up were waking up on a weekend to the sound of the turntable resonating through the house. It will be a Broadway musical or some recordings of Placido Domingo or Mario Lanza. He would eagerly wake me up from sleep, so he would ask me to be his assistant for whatever project he was doing at the time. I'd be all grumpy and resentful on waking up too early on a non-school day. Thus, he'd call me teasingly his Mr. Aburido. Looking back, though, I can understand his eagerness. During the weekdays, he would get up very early in the morning to go to work, long before we in turn would wake up for school, and he would go home each day rather late. Weekends are for family time, and for his mini projects around the house. He'd always try to recruit me as his assistant (I'd reluctantly agree to do it, but I guess my heart wasn't really into it). I was so glad that eventually that role passed on to a cousin.
My father loved to tinker. He would often bring home all sorts of things, presumably from in-house company auctions of furniture and equipment for disposal. He brought home a big drafting table once, he has a collection of old typewriters (he loves his typewriters), a multitude of industrial-looking fans, and even a 6- or 8-compartment locker cabinet similar to what you will find in school locker rooms. I remember the first time I went to a store (I think it was called HMR) that sells secondhand items and returned products that had minor defects in them. I remember thinking, "Oh wow, my father would have loved this place".
Over the years, I have maintained that arms-length attitude towards him. Don't get me wrong, I harbor no resentment or animosity towards him. It's just that we never really built up that easy rapport towards each other. It also didn't help that, being the mama's boy that I am, when my mom had to go back to Iloilo for work when I was about to enter high school, the thought of not joining her in Iloilo was not really an option. So there we were, my siblings with my father in Manila, and my mother and I were in Iloilo. When I attended university, my father had since retired and joined my mom in Iloilo. I would often call home, and when my father would answer, it would be either that he would automatically say I'll go get your mother or that I would immediately ask for her. We didn't really give each other the chance to catch up.
When I started working after graduation, I'd still go home to Iloilo at least once a year, around the end of October to the first week of November, so I could be there for my mom's birthday and also accompany them to visit the tombs of our relatives during All Souls' Day. We would of course talk about things going on in our lives, but only for conversation's sake and not really delving deep into the details.
This homecoming routine ended when I got sent out to Malaysia for an overseas assignment. I'd still go home on occasions, but the norm would be to either take them somewhere on holiday or invite them to stay over where I am, especially for Christmas and New Year. Sadly, my father at this time has started to show signs of dementia. His long-term memory was fine, but his short-term memory was starting to fail him. One time during a trip, he woke up confused and was convinced that he was somewhere in Laguna, and he was just going to visit his friend a few blocks down the road. In reality, we were in Singapore at that time at a hotel. Good thing the hotel staff alerted us that my father wanted to wander off in the middle of the night. There was also that one time when my parents were staying in my rental house in Malaysia, and my father became so obsessed with cleaning out the yard. My mom and I kept scolding him to get out of the scorching hot sun since he was hell-bent on pulling off all of the weeds. Slowly, I realized that there was a shift in the relationship dynamics between us. Sort of like a role reversal. I'm no longer that grumpy little boy who doesn't want to be his assistant. I was now the one taking care of him, and he was the one that needs reminding and guidance.
To stimulate his mind, we would often make him recall past stories, like what it was like when he was working. It surprised me that we had a lot of things in common after all. We both worked in the Oil & Gas field, albeit his job focused on warehousing and inventory management, but I can definitely relate to what he was talking about. Through these trips and interactions, we slowly created new bonding moments and precious memories that I can now, in turn, treasure.
And of course, I took photos. Photos to remind me that loved ones will not always be by our side, but their stories, memories, quirks, and even their musical influence can live on in us.
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