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BY PETER SOLIS NERY
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Wednesday, January 11, 2017
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MY RELATIONSHIP with my late dad was not ideal. I hated him for most of my growing life because he was just freaking irresponsible. I vividly remember us children, city college-bound, asking him for the week’s school and living allowance and he would just shrug his shoulders and leave us without a word.
I also remember him pushing the 10-year-old me away with verbal insults and humiliation when I asked for the family’s dinner money that he forgot to give before he started playing mahjong. And on the account of him hurting my mom (or was it really because of my long hair; like, was it my long hair, and then my mom taking my side, and then…), I floored my dad at age 14. Imagine a gay son sitting on his dad’s chest boxing the old man’s face. That’s so mean! I mean, that’s so me!
My dad wasn’t the world’s best dad. But he was there when I got married to another man. I mean, my whole family skipped the ceremony, but my parents were there at the reception. And my dad was ever so nice to my spouse until one of them croaked first. They talked a lot about a lot of things. For one, they both were history buffs and a little alcoholic. Talk about marrying your father! Or marrying your father-type.
And once, just once, my dad actually, verbally — and that is most uncharacteristic of him, thanked me for taking him to all the places he wanted to see while he was in the US. See what my money and success can do?
Then, dad passed away on Nov. 5, 2009. I have no unfinished business with him. I was told that in his delirium, he was looking for me. He was calling out my name again and again. Whether it was because he loved me the most, and he wanted to apologize for all his sins against me; or whether it was just to assign to me all the funeral expenses, I couldn’t care less. It makes me proud that mine was the last name that crossed his lips. Not his wife’s, not his other children’s.
My father knew me. My father understood me. My father recognized me for the great person that I have become. Worse comes to worst, my father understood that I am so successful that I can afford to bury his sorry ass; and so powerful as to send his soul to heaven or hell. Perhaps he truly understood that I’m the only one that can send him straight to heaven. And I’m not even talking about my namesake saint who is supposed to hold the keys to the pearly gates. I’m talking about a son’s true love and forgiveness for his father so that the father can have eternal peace.
Here’s the bigger picture: within the week before my father died, he accepted the award for me as a Distinguished Son of Dumangas. If the local gay beauticians’ community can be trusted, it was the first time ever my father asked for his hair to be dyed and groomed. My dad was a barber guy. I even think he is a homophobe, and would not have wanted some parlor queen transie touching his hair!
Well, that’s not really 100 percent true. His co-teachers may have gotten him drunk to do it, but my dad did participate in a teachers’ macho-gay contest in his high school. Luckily, he was too drunk to finish the pageant, and could not even walk up the stage for the Q & A portion. I mean, can you imagine my humiliation if he ever went home with the crown?
My homophobic father, a beauty queen; and I, the supposedly gay son, didn’t even ever try as a candidate? I mean, I’ve been to a lot of gay beauty pageants in my life… but as a judge, not as a contestant.
So, anyway, my father’s proud and beaming smiles as he received my award as Most Outstanding Dumangasanon was what most people recalled to me during his wake. And how can I choose to doubt their stories? I didn’t ask these people about my father’s last days, they volunteered the anecdote to me! All 36 of them told the same story of the one incident that happened within a week or so: My. Father. Died. A. Happy. Man. And. Proud. Of. His. Successful. (Gay.) Son. What else can a son ask of his dad?
I didn’t see those smiles exactly, but I can imagine them. Because in September that year, my husband insisted that my father attended my book launching in Roxas City and see my hero’s welcome in the hometown of Jovita Fuentes, the subject of my Palanca-winning play and book.
From the congratulatory streamers from Gov. Victor Tanco Sr. and the Capiz Visitors & Convention Bureau, to the marching band and welcoming personnel, to the reception at the Hall of Governors, to Gov. Tanco’s personal appearance… I mean, Roxas City and the Province of Capiz, the Capiz Historical Institute and the Capiz Provincial Tourism Office, they pulled all the stops in welcoming me, who they proclaimed as the Ilonggo Living Icon and Literary Celebrity.
I stole many glances at my father during that trip, and I saw some of those proud and beaming smiles even as we went home on a very expensive cab ride from Roxas City to Dumangas because my own town was giving a public ball, a decreed celebration in my honor, that very same evening.
So yeah, I had a cold and testy relationship with my dad. I tolerated him, he tolerated me. And when he finally showed that he has accepted me, I started to accept him. My dad wasn’t perfect. Neither is… the world. In a very strange and unconventional way (some insist “unconditional”), I love, and did love, as I continue to love and honor, my father. Please don’t question that./PN
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