Yesterday was my dad's 72 birthday and I told him I loved him. These spontaneous declarations of love are a brand-new development. Hard to believe, right? But it's true.
It never used to be this way when I was growing up, these lovey-dovey professions of affection. But now that I'm married with three children of my own, times have changed. I'm finally comfortable blurting it out whenever the mood strikes.
I tell him I love him on the phone, I tell him I love him when I say goodbye, I tell him I love him after he gives me a compliment, his now-famous words of advice or talks of pep…. Love, love, love. I suspect he is getting tired of it, but too bad. I'm enjoying it and have waited a long time for this. I take comfort in that he always replies he loves me, too.
Throughout my entire childhood I don't think I ever told Daddy I loved him. Not once. Of course I did and with all my heart, but it was not in my vocabulary, growing up. My dad was a very stern, authoritative figure -- still is -- but he simply wasn't the mushy type nor was he the type to tolerate any such tenderness.
Nevertheless, my dad is my hero. He is the first man I ever loved and I suspect no man loves or will probably ever love me more, with the exception of maybe my husband. Daddy is without a doubt the gold standard against which all other men who've come into my life are judged (my apologies to any ex-boyfriends who may be reading this and who know first-hand this to be absolutely true. Those were some cruel times, for sure).
My two sisters and I got our hugs and kisses from our mom. When it came Daddy, however, we were too busy being scared of him, always keeping our requisite distance. Looking back, I realize three things: 1) There was nothing to be afraid of; 2) That fear was, in fact, respect and we, as children, were always working to win his and my mom's approval (in a good way, not in the way that needs therapy); and 3) I was blessed with the most terrific parents anyone could dream of.
Growing up, I wanted to be a good daughter. I wanted them to be proud of me. A touch of sibling rivalry? Maybe. A good dose of trying to live up to their high academic expectations? Most definitely. Please don't judge. I think this is a good thing. When your parents believe that you are capable of doing your best, you start to believe it, too.
With their unconditional love, no challenge was insurmountable. They taught me to believe in myself, a very powerful tool with which I armed myself as I navigated dental school, residency, and now my private practice. This is invaluable and hopefully I can do the same for my own children.
Occasionally in my youth, however, I found my myself paralyzed with fear of failing -- and worse --- disappointing them. Did it make me a super-nervous kid? Probably. Did it make me realize that results are directly proportional to preparedness? Indubitably. So do I resent them now that I'm an adult for their method of parenting? Not one iota.
I'm sure many people can relate to this, especially the children of immigrants, as my sisters and I were. Mommy and Daddy brought us to the United States from the Philippines exactly 40 years ago this year, when I was… well, never mind how old I was. They traveled half way around the world in search of better futures for us, better educational opportunities. They wanted to live the American dream.
Both college graduates and newly married, my parents built a pretty cushy life for themselves and their three daughters in Santa Cruz, Laguna, the beautiful town wherein I was born, world-famous for the majestic Pagsanjan Falls. My dad was an accountant for a major pharmaceutical outfit there and mom was a schoolteacher. We lived in a spacious, luxurious home subsidized by my dad's company and even had employed a household staff. I have vivid memories of our my nanny and our housekeeper.
Oftentimes I fantasize of having domestic help now-- a cook and a maid would be splendid, indeed -- as well as a personal assistant. My plans are rudely interrupted by my reality of private school tuition, payroll, a couple of mortgages and, umm… electricity, not to mention a an outstanding student loan from dental school. When the twins were babies, I had a full-time, live-in nanny for three years. Now that was heaven, to come and go as I pleased. Unfortunately, so did the cash, and ever more swiftly. Plus, she got kind of annoying and didn't pick up after them as well as I would've liked. But I digress.
In the Philippines, my parents were living the life. They both came from large families and had a vast circle of friends. So for them to leave that all behind, move to another country and start over from scratch… well, to me that is just plain terrifying and blows my mind. I'm not sure I could ever be that brave.
Mommy and Daddy worked day and night when I was growing up. My dad always had two or three jobs to make ends meet. My mom worked the 11pm-7am shift at Doctors' Hospital for 30 years so she could be there during the day when my sisters and I got home from school. Now that's love. Talk is cheap, but the graveyard shift screams personal sacrifice.
I will not go into excruciating details about how lean those years were. But make no mistake, they were. We may not have had a lot of fancy toys or frilly dresses but what we did have was infinitely more important: love and laughter. Suffice it to say that our Barbie dolls were second-hand and I remember on a couple of occasions not telling my parents that my school shoes were getting too tight because I knew there was no money to buy new ones.
Even still, I smile when I reminisce about my childhood because there was always an overabundance of love. Mommy and Daddy taught us to love and to take care of each other. To love God. To respect everyone. As an adult, I appreciate these lessons are paramount to leading a life worth living..
So as I sit here, typing on my MacBookPro, wearing my Gucci pumps in my office in a center hall colonial that I help pay for every month because of my profession that was made possible by educational opportunities afforded to me by my parents' moving to the U.S, leaving behind the life they knew and their extended family, you can see why I feel indebted to them and feel the need to tell them I love them. And after all these years and their continued, unwavering support of everything I do, my respect for them continues to grow.
Happy birthday, Daddy. I love you.
No comments:
Post a Comment