Remembering Fathers

June 23, 2009

My Dad.

My Dad is one beautiful experience.

I grew up with this tough guy in his prime. I still could trace his face but then what I remember most of him are his good deeds to people. Truly, our sad and happy times together.

I remember him with the food we eat, and how he braved every situation unprepared.

I remember him when he pays for all his friends at the bus.

When we go to the province and he brings something to his poor cousins.

When he offers bountiful food to our rich and poor friends alike.

I remember him when he challenges me to render a declamation in front of his friends.

And when he tells me not to cry, and just let my tears flow.

I remember him when he tells me not to ASK from anyone, and just be contented of what we can have because GOD would provide for our needs.

I remember him the last time he went to church, the last time he fetched us from PNC, the last time he walked out our home and never did come back.

I remember him with my innocent siblings around his coffin, telling me to raise my head to GOD alone.

And more, more, more

At 38, bullet wounds caused his death, and what returned to us were only his bloodied maroon shirt, and some trash from his pockets.

In the times we’ve been together, I couldn’t ask for more. And until now… I live his strong convictions, in the way life goes - I never cry.

And thank GOD, St Hannibal has adopted me because I am an orphan.

And thank GOD for letting me see the beauty in all finite and infinite spaces of life.

Rose Flores – Martinez
6:56pm, Philippines


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