Thank you, Dad

My father Frank Mayor died on July 6, 2010, exactly a week before his 78th birthday. Thus, in seven days every year, we relive memories that swing from the saddest to the happiest ends of the spectrum, and back again.

Last Saturday, Dad’s third death anniversary, I decided to post a photo of him on Facebook taken when he was at the prime of his life. He was in his mid-forties then, a top executive at a multinational firm, in good health, blessed with a loving wife and four daughters and a fairly good crop of black hair to frame his handsome face. He was vain about his hair, that’s why he always had a trusty, tiny comb in the back pocket of his pants.

Dad was smiling. He rarely smiled in photos that he had to pose for, not because he was the melancholy type but because a picture-perfect smile wasn’t automatic for him. My first cousin Dawne Both says it is probably because my grandmother Mary Mayor didn’t smile for the camera and so neither did her mom, Maryanne Ancheta nor my dad.

But Dad was smiling in that photo, taken during a wedding reception, those occasions in five-star hotels when photographers would later sell you instant photos framed by a wine glass. It was a good year for Dad. I wanted to remember him like that, smiling.

I wanted to be happy last Saturday, because a dear friend Michelle Dayrit-Soliven once shared that one shouldn’t mourn so much the day a person passes away because that day is his birthday in heaven. So Dad’s death anniversary is also his birth anniversary in that happy place beyond the stars. Thus, my Dad’s two birthdays are a week apart — July 6 and July 13.

So, happy double birthday, Dad!

***

Dad always celebrated his birthdays (which he shared with my sister Geraldine) with big parties, unlike my mom Sonia who preferred romantic dinners with Dad to celebrate hers. Once, we even had a dance in the empty lot behind our house to celebrate his big day (July 13).

We had just moved to our house in Las Piñas, when one of Dad’s birthdays approached. That didn’t stop him or his staff from planning a birthday party for him. The workmen were still gluing the floral wallpaper in our bedroom when Dad’s guests started trickling in. He had so many guests some actually took their meals in our freshly wallpapered bedrooms.

Having birthday parties was one of the few luxuries that Dad, who inherited my Grandma Mary’s frugal ways, allowed himself in his younger years. When we were growing up, whenever we would ask for something pricey or trendy, his ready answer would be, “Can’t afford it!” It became a private joke among us sisters, every inflection and accent in that three-word sentence we knew by heart, like it were a recording in an answering machine.

I was a frontliner in the battle of the bulge for most of my teenage life, constantly looking for ways to lose weight the easier way. I so desperately wanted to enroll in a slimming salon and since I wasn’t earning my own money, I asked dad if he could spend for it.

His response upon seeing the slimming salon’s rates was this admonition: “You don’t have to spend money to lose weight. Mag-diet ka na lang!”

***

We were often arguing, he, the rock, and me, the hard place. Few wanted to be caught in between us when we were having a discussion. He once confided to Mom that my temperament reminded him of himself, so that’s how he forgave my headstrong ways. Even with the little things, we didn’t get along. Once, when I kept him and my sisters waiting too long in the car as I was applying makeup, he sighed, “Ay naku, si Joanne, kulang na lang ibaliktad ang mata niya.”

So imagine my happiness when, as my 18th birthday approached, Mom told me that Dad was going to give me a party at the top of the Hotel InterContinental in Makati, at the posh Petroleum Club of which he was a member.

We weren’t well-off so I knew that that debut would punch a hole in his pocket.

During my debut, I remember looking out at the lights along EDSA from the dance floor at the top of the InterCon and thinking to myself the lights down below looked like stars from the heavens lighting up the road to my party. I was reveling in the joy of a dream come true. As a single girl, that was the happiest day of my life.

***

Good grades were the shortcut to Dad’s heart.  That he memorized my grades, down to the digits after the decimal point wasn’t surprising. What was amazing was that he knew my “rivals’” grades as well.  To the last digit. He would spend his last peso on study aids and reference books  and would even take time off from work to look for research materials that would win academic honors for his daughters. (On his deathbed three years ago, he was still reminding Mom about the math book he wanted to buy for my sister Val’s daughter Tricia, who is a candidate for summa cum laude when she graduates from the University of the Philippines next year.) Looking back, I realized that Dad made us work for our dreams (like good grades and a svelte figure) but gave us the stars when he could afford it.

***

Dad truly mellowed in his twilight years, and they say so did I after marriage and motherhood. I don’t recall having had an argument with him after he walked me down the aisle. I practiced much of what Dad preached and practiced himself (except the frugality) as I was building my career, and I found out his formula of hard work and a distaste for being second best was a winning combination. I had always loved my father but it wasn’t till I was an adult that I truly appreciated him. He became my idol, this man who always walked his talk.

They say children learn more from how a parent lives his life, not just from what he preaches. My Dad’s life was and continues to be my roadmap.

After Dad died, my sister Mae was helping Mom organize the documents he left behind and among them they found this letter, which I wrote to him in 1986, the year he left to seek greener pastures in the US. (Mom would follow a few years later.)

Feb. 22, 1986

Dear Daddy,

I hope this letter will make you happy, not sentimental.

A few years ago, you made an 18-year-old girl very happy. She had always dreamed of having a debut, just like some of her friends. And her Daddy made that dream come true when he gave her a birthday bash at the Petroleum Club at the InterCon on March 4. Dad, you made my dreams come true on that night. I had always wanted to write you a letter, thanking you for that debut. Now I have.

You have always been very supportive of us, your daughters. You always went out of your way to help us with research materials, resource persons. You always made the car, the driver and the secretaries available for us. My sisters and I always felt that one of the rewards of our doing well in school was the look of pride in your face when you learned of our achievements.

Enjoy your trip, Dad. You deserve it. You’ve worked so hard all these years. We’ll be missing you.

We love you!

Love,

Joanne

And now I say, “Thank you, Dad,” from your debutante.

(You may e-mail me at joanneraeramirez@yahoo.com.)