In His Own Way

(1st of two post-Fathers' Day entries)

I am not a Papa's girl. Everyone knows that, including me and my father. If only for the fact that everyone in the family is not at all expressive. Well, that's except for my sister who's really malambing despite her being a brat. Such is why she's branded as Papa's favorite.

But being quite aloof and a bit more independent does not mean I don't adore my father. I do, in my own little way. And because of his own little ways, too.

My mother, me, and my father on Graduation Day

Papa is not the type who shouts at you. In fact, he's scarier when you barely hear him. And especially when he does not talk at all. Like the times when you go home late and you sort of just slip behind him not bothering to say where you've been. You just know you're in trouble when he does not even look at you.

The cliche scene of a parent being barely home and up to talk to his children is also a classic to us. My father is one who naps on the living room floor while waiting for his turn to use the bathroom. He's one you can hardly tell stories to especially when he's tired. Then he's off to officially sleep. And before you know it, he's off to work the following morning.

Despite of all these, I cannot deny my father's got superb parenting style.

You can talk him to allowing you to attend birthday parties (though I don't ask as often cos I don't like attending much parties myself). He's also someone who agrees on overnights (of course, only when it's reasonable to do so). And he lets you be wherever you are.

Plus, you can talk back to him.

Papa's also not the kind of father who demands from his children. We're never pushed to be tops of our classes. We're even saved from the expectation of graduating on time.

Personally, I benefit a lot from that style of his. Not to mention that we're most alike in some ways. Like not talking too much at home. Not being too confrontational when we're really upset. And that grave, grave shyness from cameras (the photo included in this post is actually our first since . . . my baptism? Yeah, 'round that time.)

He's also one to greet me first on my birthday. He drives me to places I cannot reach by public transpo. He fetches me from the highway when I go home late and am not able to catch rides from the jeepney bay.

These little acts of his are what makes me smile every time. My father may not be the best there is, but he's as good as he's gonna get.

I am not a Papa's girl. But I am certainly my father's daughter.

P.S.

By the time I get to write this, it's also my father's birthday (June 21st). Thus, my greetings 'Pa. :>