To Pepz, The Coolest Dad in the World (or as I Say the Kool-itest Ever)

I wrote this way back in 2008 and while some things may have changed, the sentiment remains the same....

 
THE other day, I woke up to the sound of my cell phone. It was my dad.
(My parents recently moved to Bataan -- Puerto Rivas, a small fishing
community, to be exact -- to serve as a pastor to a small Methodist
church there. (They've moved back to Quezon City and are busier than ever administering to a larger flock.)

       "We watched the sun rise as the fishermen came from the sea," he
texted. "We bought shrimps and are having them for breakfast."

       That's my dad, always finding something new to discover, always eager to
learn. It can get dizzying at times, but I must confess I've learned a
lot in the process.

       He's collected and done creative (posters and murals) things with matches, dabbled in the kitchen and produced delectable delights like adobong puso ng manok,
siopao (that we had to eat for a month because he got so enthusiastic
he whipped up a whole month's supply), he's succumbed to the lure of
Shopping TV and bought one of those chopping things to supply us with
chopped veggies and fruits galore, he's done the carpentry stuff and
fixed a few leaking pipes as well. But beyond the usual household
things, my father is relentless in his quest to learn new things.

       Let's see, there was a time when he  trained in Acupuncture and
Acupressure and I ended up with needles in my arms and hands to ward
off fever. Don't worry, I got my own back by sticking needles in
between his eyebrows and forehead. (They were used to cure a fever.)
From that experience, I learned to rely on massage and pressure,
instead of medicine, whenever I feel a headache or fever coming.

       From my dad, a staunch environmentalist, I learned to value the seeds
that come from the fruits that we eat. I don't throw the seeds, instead I've
learned to put them away so that we can plant them in the future. My
father is so infectious, that he has gotten my son to do the same
thing only worse. Naki now refuses to throw anything away and instead
lectures me by shouting, "Recyle, Nay!"  whenever I'm headed towards
the garbage can.

       At times, I think I'm the laid back type because my dad is so active,
so full of ideas that I get tired just looking at him pounding away on
his computer churning out books, sermons, songs, poems, recipes,
prayers and more. By the way, along with my mom, they have a column,
Bahay Kubo, every Sunday (morning edition, Una Sa Balita) in Abante. Right smack in
the political section, they're a breath of fresh air discussing seeds,
 the pleasures of planting and other environmental concerns.

       But perhaps one of the most important things I've learned from my dad is to never
let problems affect my life. From him, I've learned to try and look
for the things you can get from the hurting process and use them
positively. From him, too, I've learned to rely on prayers and depend
on love to see me through. Most of all, from him, I've learned that it
matters not if you are rich, as long as you have integrity and do what
is right. The Lord will take care of the rest. Amen to that.

     Happy Father's Day, Pepz!!

 

Blondie

Ever since he was a little boy, my son has been my No. 1 “hair” critic. He tells it like it is and has never   pulled back his punches. He has raged, he has ranted but he has never raved about it.  More often, he’s   been horrified or amused.  When I cut my hair when he was four, he would cry every time he so much as caught a glimpse of my short ‘do. Another occasion, he refused to talk to me for a week, except to say, “ang pangit!” and then point at my latest hair style.  His reactions have been so tragic and funny, I’ve actually chronicled some of them. (http://nanayninaki.blogspot.com/2011/04/hairy-discussion.html).

Recently, after moaning endlessly about my increasing number of white hair I just couldn’t hide them any longer, i decided to do something about it. I went to the parlor near our house and picked a nice dark brown color and agreed to some highlights as the parlorista said, it would help camouflage the whites. Call me naive or stupid, but I mistakenly said yes. The effects were, even to my standards, quite disastrous. To put it nicely, instead of a deep chestnut brown, my hair was so light, i didn’t need to buy a gift for the golden wedding anniversary we were attending the following day. I could, in fact, be the gift! Neither was my sister kind in her assessment. She said bluntly, “parang cross ka between Aegis and laos na Japayuki." (My apologies to both)

And so it came to pass that when we got home, my son looked up from his computer, smirked and then chortled uncontrollably. Thankfully, that was it and no other verbal reactions came forth. “Nag-mature na ata,” I thought to myself. My sister and I then tried to undo the damage by buying a much darker color and applying another round of chemicals on my hair and then, prayed for the best. No such luck. When I woke up, my hair was still as bright as sunshine. When my son woke up, he had another round of hysterics when he saw my new ‘do and said, “Well it was much better than last night.”  And I thought that   that was the last of it. 

Boy, was I wrong. 

 A week after that hair color disaster, we had dinner out and the truth was revealed. I caught a glimpse of my reflection bouncing back from a store. 

“Ang blondie!” I groaned in dismay. 

My son, the one  I had just treated to dinner twice that day, shook his head, and said,  “and I thought you'd never top  the melon head'. (the short hair I had that he said made me look like a melon.)

 

  He then followed it up with, “Why on earth would you want to color your hair?”

 In my defense, I said, “Ang dami ko na kayang white hair!” 

“’Nay,” he said, “Weren’t  you the one who told me that white hair’s a sign of maturity? Well, it's about time you acquired some."

Maybe I should just get one of those blue or pink wigs in Divisoria….