PAPANG

Just didn’t wake up one day calling this man “Papang” - it was a Creator’s ultimate plan – we were predestined to be father and son - neither one of us nor destiny can refuse.

 

No, I did not!

Each day the unfolding continued like an unfinished tapestry slowly forming a colorful picture, an endless story, a life between two creations – to justify the truth - to accept who we are in the name of family more than just resemblances.

I used to call him “Papang” for countless times, a Chavacano’s addressee to a father, but not anymore. He passed away years ago, and so this custom now remains a memory - a wonderful remembrance to testify that I once had a father.

My siblings and I know that he wasn’t a perfect head of the shelter - no one is anyway, but maybe he tried his hardest without our knowing. Then, it leaves to God to conclude the real thing.

Yet it was in his imperfection we learned tolerance. One response I have not even realized as a playful and naïve kid. We tried to understand believing that all this was just part of trials in life. I believed it myself.

When he failed us with our expectations, left promises gone with the wind, I remember being hopeful still for many years. Sometimes, he wouldn’t come home for a long time, leaving us having no food on the table.

That’s when I developed a real patience, and was patient enough to wait night and day amidst hunger. Maybe he was just somewhere with a pouch of rice and a kilo of fish in his hands. I trusted him because he was my father.

Like the rest of the fathers in the world, he was very transcendent at times. That’s because he worked hard like a carabao, and was very busy tending his little business. He was a businessman, and so we’d only got to see him during meals and bed times.

That’s when room was wide-opened for consideration because we truly appreciated his provision to keep his own family going not dying hungry. That’s the only thing we needed this time, so it didn’t matter when he wasn’t around to play with us or to help us with our homework or to admonish us around the table.

Again, in this imperfection and transcendence and unfulfilled promises I’ve grown up becoming what I am now. And when understanding over and over again wasn’t enough, we extended more and exerted deeper.

I am not saying it was an easy thing to do, it took struggles, pains, heartaches, longings, wonderings, and wanderings, but in the presence of my father served a life’s lesson - I learned to be a forgiving son – one thing, the  grace of God was evident at all times.   

He wasn’t my best friend either – it’s not our cultural thing – that’s a valid reason for sure. Ironically, I am the other side of the coin because deep in my heart I believe in the possibility of that all, like one normal kid wishes for. 

Another factor was our age gap – he was already in his forty’s when I was growing up as a kid – and I was the youngest among his twelve children. Or maybe not because he was actually kind to his two children, my half-siblings, taken cared of pampered.

That’s when I learned to distinguish between what’s real and not – it is true to others, but not for me. And no matter how I tried to win him over, he was just so unreachable. Only in my later years I’ve realized that he was actually an introvert person and doesn’t show any emotions.

Then I stopped thinking about having been deprived from having a good father. As I moved on, I prayed for more grace, for unconditional love, and for unending mercy although life wasn’t that fair honestly.

After all, I have grown up a lot - instead started looking at the bright side - what life ahead had to offer.

I was right.

By now, one can predict that he wasn’t an ideal father – but he was my father and that can never change a thing. And so, so, so thankful still to the Creator for giving me him – he may not be the best in the world in someone’s eyes, but then God has a reason why.

Yesterday, I browsed my sister’s album on Facebook. One picture took my breath away – it almost killed me. Then good memory after another with my father flashed before me – memories I called “once” if they are to be written in poem – memories have kept for many years to remove prejudices, judgments, condemnation, and sentiments towards my Papang.

Once he carried me on his shoulders from home to his work when my mom left home to her Creator for good. Then it never happened again.

Once he went to school with me to register me in first grade. That was the first and the last. I registered myself the next grades and in all my academic journeys.  

Once he bought me a pair of white socks in second grade so I can join the school’s big affair. No more second time since then.

Once he taught me the differences between “on and in” at young age, which other teachers didn’t teach the same way. He could have been a good teacher. And yes, he was an intelligent man. But he only taught me once my whole life.

Once we traveled together for the first time going to my eldest brother’s house. But then it never happened again because he didn’t recover from his sickness.

Once he affirmed me and bragged about me when I was admitted to a dream university – taking Mass Communication – maybe his first child to have such an accomplishment. Then I was the proudest son for the first time, for once in his presence. Then he left goodbye forever.

It’s almost two decades in the absence of my father, but it doesn’t mean he’s long forgotten. We still talk about him in small and big family get-together, but in a different point of view. After all, we’ve matured enough to let go of things and set aside those broken hopes.

If only he’s still alive, things will never be the same again. It’s a big regret! But we were only given little time to mend that up – I thank God for the healing so I can move a step - that was true deliverance for me.

I wasn’t around in his last breath, but we were already OK and back to pieces again – where God’s grace overshadowed every hurting heart.

So there was only one Papang in my life, my biological father, although I was fostered by many spiritual fathers after that.

Thanks Papang with all my heart, at least I wasn’t a fatherless for quite sometime. I can still tell a story about life is having a father.

Thank God I had a father - my Papang.