A life full of father's days

As a self-confessed cynic, I would say that Father's Day was a creation of greeting card companies out to make a quick buck out of this natural tendency of people to melt into romantic idiocy at every sign of affection.

Having said that, I feel very guilty, of course. Only a fool would persist on being at odds with something that gives warmth and comfort. Selfish motives notwithstanding, I refuse to be the brilliant disaffected fool left out in the cold. No blessing is greater than fatherhood.

In my family I am the only father. Now, if you find that statement odd, or one that does not seem to make sense, just let it be. Let it go. I said it in the context of a Filipino family where a father can be everything.

In a family where the other people are a wife and three daughters, being the only father means you are in the center of their universes. If you do not feel it, you have not been thrust into a situation such as one induced by a phone call in the office from a familiar young voice.

That familiar young voice tells you, both frantically and apologetically, that you must not forget to stop by a grocery or botica on your way home that night to buy a packet or two of feminine napkins.

In other words, in case you still do not get it, the worlds of the other people in your family revolve around you, that these worlds will collapse without you. Not that I mean something dire, but when I say collapse, I mean little collapses that still matter in their lives.

If you forget those feminine napkins, the young voice will be incapacitated and school will be missed, grades affected, failure a likelihood. Then you will have to spend again for the subject to be repeated.

And all because you forgot an errand.

It is not an errand you relish. Still vain at 50, though with failing eyesight, it places you awkwardly in a supermarket section for young women who look at you strangely as you pore over the fine print of a feminine product to make sure you got it right and did not have to go back.

As you go over the wide assortment on the shelves, you dread the thought of someone jabbing a finger to your side and, whipping around, discover it to be the grinning jolly face of a long lost female classmate from high school.

Or, please Lord please, not the far worse fate of getting bumped absentmindedly by someone sidling up to you and, as you just-as-absentmindedly look to see who it is, discover it to be a male friend on a similar errand.

Ha, there is bound to be a couple of red faces if that happens. And you can bet that, as you tell the story to your officemates the next day, you are going to lay it on more thickly on the embarrassment of the other guy than on your own, the reverse of which will be his version.

Deep inside, however, you know that the humiliation and embarrassment are just part of the natural protestations of your vain self, that if the truth be told, your breast really swells with love and pride in enjoying the continued opportunity to go on caring and serving.

There is perhaps no more immense pride and joy a father feels than on first seeing his daughter shortly after she is born. This continues through her growing up years even if, as the years go by, circumspection in the display of emotions increases.

All too often this is very hard on a father. For while before he can cradle and hug and kiss his daughter anywhere anytime, he has to let go and give her her space and privacy as she grows. Where before touch meant love, now you just watch, and often when she is already asleep.

This makes each opportunity to show and be shown love a private father's day to me. Like, because I usually cook on my day off, it is that one day in the week my daughters come home early and it really makes me feel important and loved. No card can ever wish me a feeling like that.