By: Iris P. Concepcion
A father is someone who would go a mile getting your right shoe size; buys you Serg's that tastes like Lindt; sends you out to know what it is like to be in.
As previously scribbled, I have essayed enough about my real father who passed away last 1996. At my tender age, that was what loomed heavily like a an impromptu moral legacy when growing up. He went home once, bringing me a pair of shoes he had bought in a faraway city (about four hours ride from home). It did not fit my feet though. I wailed like a killer whale and threw a tantrum much off-kilter than Tatum O Neal's father. I could not be pacified. I cried a lot. He sat. Then, even when tired from his daughter's bratty performance, he left the house and went back to the city to replace my shoes. Travelled far to appease his daughter.
Little things like this do mark forever in one's mind. Somehow, it shapes forever the fact that you are genuinely loved even if the whole world tells you otherwise; when everyone tries to make you look like a pathetic person had better keep this in mind: they could never reproduce a childhood that had fortified this character.
That is when you know you are made of sterner stuff deep down inside. Yes, it is because of my father---the ultimate sacrifice of getting my shoe size after bungling it the first time even when he was already tired and overtly spent with all his road travels. That is affection that could not be measured by any mathematical equation.
It is my deduction that children who may have moments like these with their parents turn out quite well when growing up. Punched maybe, but they always get up for a fight to preserve their souls.
Having lost him who had sired her, this writer acquired a million male figures that had kept on goading her to excel more. In all these instances, I am drawn to them since they resemble the disciplinary way of how my own father would put me in line; of protecting me; of voicing out my cause when I find my vocal chords already lost in the wilderness of optic translations.
For the several modules of ascendants that had graced my way, thank you.
Here is a poem:
You did say
A bird ought
To be protected
You did say
I should change my dress
Since the label is out there in front
You did say
I am
Better than the rest
You did say
Confoundingly
That I can write
You did say
That I must
Chase the man of my own heart
You did say
I shall have
A voice when I find mine gone.
All of these continue
As scepters to
A life lived, loved and fulfilled.
Happy Father's Day to all men without whom life will be unmerciful. Much gratitude and respect.
That is when you know you are made of sterner stuff deep down inside. Yes, it is because of my father---the ultimate sacrifice of getting my shoe size after bungling it the first time even when he was already tired and overtly spent with all his road travels. That is affection that could not be measured by any mathematical equation.
It is my deduction that children who may have moments like these with their parents turn out quite well when growing up. Punched maybe, but they always get up for a fight to preserve their souls.
Having lost him who had sired her, this writer acquired a million male figures that had kept on goading her to excel more. In all these instances, I am drawn to them since they resemble the disciplinary way of how my own father would put me in line; of protecting me; of voicing out my cause when I find my vocal chords already lost in the wilderness of optic translations.
For the several modules of ascendants that had graced my way, thank you.
Here is a poem:
You did say
A bird ought
To be protected
You did say
I should change my dress
Since the label is out there in front
You did say
I am
Better than the rest
You did say
Confoundingly
That I can write
You did say
That I must
Chase the man of my own heart
You did say
I shall have
A voice when I find mine gone.
All of these continue
As scepters to
A life lived, loved and fulfilled.
Happy Father's Day to all men without whom life will be unmerciful. Much gratitude and respect.