My septuagenarian father weathered yet another bout of hypertension last week that, according to my Nanay, almost killed him. It was so severe that Tatay already said goodbye to my mother while she was embracing him inside their room. But because God – the lone witness to this scene aside from Nanay – is always good, Tatay survived the attack in just a matter of hours.
Had I not called the house to check on them the other day – six days after that hypertensive episode of my father – I would have not known about it. My mother mentioned it to me in passing, so casual was her tone I could feel she didn’t want to push the alarm button in me. But an alarmist in matters pertaining the welfare of my folk, I probed deeper and found out my father requested every member of my family – including my precocious nephews and nieces from whom I always learn the happenings in our house in Laguna – not to tell me because he didn’t want me to worry. Anyway, he said, he survived. What’s the point of telling his son who lives and works in Manila?
"Bakit ba ayaw nyo ho akong mag-alala (Why didn’t you want me to worry)?" I asked my father on the phone with my voice registering urgency.
"Dahil ayaw na kitang gumastos pa sa ospital. Nakakahiya na sa iyo. Ikaw na naman. Ikaw na lamang lagi (Because I didn’t want you to spend anymore on me for my hospitalization)," my father told me.
Next thing I knew, I was talking to my mother again, enumerating to her a litany of things to do – including a checkup for my father with his cardiologist/internist.
The minute I put down the phone was the moment I was reminded again of my role in my family: the breadwinner. A title that goes with a responsibility that I lovingly do. An opportunity to show my family how much I love them. A chance to serve them without counting the cost, even if it means giving them the whole bread. It’s not heroic at all to be a breadwinner. It’s just that the situation calls for it and I take it upon myself to wear the badge, come hell or high water.
I am the breadwinner at home. When my parents were younger, they earned their keep by farming. They raised their five sons by tilling the land, unmindful of the scorching sun or the inclement weather. They never complained. Why should I complain now that it is my turn to be of service to them?
I save up money for my family. If I want something for myself, I have to save up for it, too, by saving the more than 10 percent of my salary that is all left to me. Yes, 90 percent of what I earn is already earmarked for my family. In times of emergency, I am there. I am always involved in whatever they do at home whether or not I am present.
When the children of my two elder brothers get sick, I always come to the rescue. What they earn is just enough for them, for their respective families. We all combine our little savings to pay for the hospital bill. It’s almost automatic among us brothers to help one another. When they have exacerbated all their resources, I volunteer to fill up the gap before they can turn to me for help.
I cannot turn my back on my brothers because, once upon a time, when we were in the prime of our youth, they passed up the opportunity of bettering themselves because they helped in shouldering the responsibility of seeing our family through. They had the chance to study college but they let go of that opportunity and worked as factory workers (to this day they still are) so my two younger brothers and I would be able to go to school. Their overtime pay was my baon in high school. Part of their Christmas bonus was the money I used to pay for my boarding house dues in college. My break in life could have been theirs. Unselfish that they are, they paved the way for me to find my fate.
And now it’s pay back time. They did not tell me to pay them back – not my parents, who labored enough for all of us; not my brothers, who gave me the opportunity to shine. I took it upon myself to pay them back – by being of help to them whether or not there’s a need for it – even if I know that no matter what I do I just simply cannot bring back the opportunity they passed up.
Perhaps a breadwinner’s tale is all about responsibility as opposed to obligation. It is with a willing heart that we share ourselves to our loved ones. It is a responsibility in our part because we feel the need to be of help. It is not an obligation because no one dictated on us to do what we do now.
Being a breadwinner, a non-breadwinner friend once told me, connotes power because as he bluntly put it "He who has money is king." He forgot to see that money is just one of the many elements that is involved in making your family happy. He was oblivious to the fact that beyond the financial help a breadwinner gives his or her family is a son or a daughter who still has to follow the rules set by his or her parents at home.
I may give more than what it takes for my family but that does ensure me of sitting in the throne in the kingdom of our home. At times, I enjoy perks like the best part of pork or chicken at mealtimes but that does not guarantee that my food share will be more than the rest. I get to excuse myself from washing the dishes but that does not mean I will not handle the broomstick and sweep our backyard littered with dried leaves. I may have the chance to do whatever I want to do in Laguna but that does not assure me that my mother will not call my attention if I go overboarding. I may have the chance to talk man-to-man with my father but that does not erase that he is still my old man; and between the two of us he is still the one who silently calls the shots.
All things in life should be done lovingly. Even if it is your own life that you’re giving, everything will still be a breeze when it is done with a loving heart.
(For your new beginnings, please e-mail me at bumbaki@yahoo.com. You may also snail mail me at The Philippine Star c/o Allure Section, Roberto Oca Jr. cor Railroad Streets, Port Area, Manila. Have a blessed Sunday!)