A Father’s Birthday

By Josa Bernadette A. Piñol

Every father is a daughter’s first love.

It is his love that will lead every girl to the woman she is destined to become.

In my childhood, I barely had an inkling that I had a father. He was like a ghost to me, a figment of my imagination, a perpetually tired Santa Claus who would drop by the house every once in a while to leave me barbie dolls, pretty dresses, chips and yakult.

I only got the chance to to know him more as I got older, and I realized the idea that although I couldn’t always see him, it was not only my mother who was raising me. It takes two to raise a child. And I fully believe that fathers are just as important as mothers.

Mostly he is known as a cabinet secretary, government worker and a leader, but to me, he was simply “Papa”.

The Papa who drove me to school.

The Papa who taught me how to fly my first kite.

The Papa who taught me to ride my first bike.

The Papa who taught me to cook, even if I was freaking out at the boiling mantika.

The Papa who taught me to drive and troubleshoot my car, even if I was alone on the highway.

The Papa who taught me how to properly deliver a speech and how to write articles.

The Papa who taught me how to properly count money and change.

The papa who gave me the last piece of food on the table.

The papa who taught me to swim.

The Papa who left me letters on my birthday.

The Papa who put his college degree on hold so that he could see me finish mine.

The Papa who strived to make ends meet so that he could see me become a doctor.

But most importantly, he was:

The Papa who taught me to stand tall, despite my small stature.

The papa who led me back to the family, when I would start losing my way.

The Papa who taught me to treat everyone, including people who are annoying, with courtesy.

The papa who taught me that public servants are SERVANTS, not MASTERS, and not GODS.

The papa who taught me to always stay curious and ask questions.

The papa who taught me the value of education.

The papa who taught me to always be inspired.

The papa who taught me to share my talents.

The Papa who taught me to toil and work hard for the things that matter.

The papa who taught me to apologize when I am wrong and to always try to make things right.

The papa who taught me to fight until I physically can’t anymore.

The papa who taught me to crawl if I must, as long as I do not give up.

The papa who wiped my tears and taught me to be strong.

The papa who taught me to protect the ones I love.

The papa who taught me to love unconditionally.

If I can have half the strength he had, I think I’ll be set for life. But seeing the mountain he has become, I know I still have a long way to go before I can be the person he is. Although he is as flawed as any man, part of loving is giving our loved ones space to evolve while also loving them as they are. I’m sure at his age, he still has a lot of things to learn and new skills to develop.

We may not be together on his birthday, as his duty requires him to be with the people, but I understand now that the ones who truly love us never leave. They are intertwined with the entirety of who you are. And as his daughter, I am excited to see what new visions he can conjure for our family and for this country.

So to the man I call Papa, the happiest of birthdays. You are loved. I am honored to be your daughter.

Every father is a daughter’s first love.

It is their love that will lead every girl to the woman she is destined to become.

(My second daughter, Josa Bernadette, a young medical doctor, posted this article on her page today. I am sharing this with the followers of my page. The old photo shows me teaching her how to cook.)