His Cup of Coffee (June 17,2008)

His Cup of Coffee
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia


Faint footsteps can be heard across the hospital lobby, no one knows
for sure how many times he has walked back and forth anxiously
waiting. He tried imagining how it would feel to have a bald and
toothless creature locked up in his arms. Sweat dampened his trembling
hands as he could only peep by a small window and inside was his wife,
agonizing in labor. He tried imagining how it would sound to have a
goggly-eyed salivating creature call him dada. The door creaked slowly
and stood ajar for some seconds, the smell of antiseptic made him even
more worried than he already is. The nurse came out greeted him with a
smile and shared the news that he has been waiting for all day. He
sighed in relief and put himself together, because after that day,
because after that very moment, things will never be the same. And
yes, He became a father.

A few weeks ago during my enrollment period, the same anxious man whom
I have come to known as my father, proved that he was still perfectly
doing his job even after seventeen long years. I gravely
miscalculated my tuition fees for this semester, and ran out of cash.
Thinking only of myself, I texted him in the middle of lunch time
politely forcing him to kindly bring me extra money before one pm. The
next thing I know my coffee smelling father was enumerating every
fault I had committed that day, not to mention the other mistakes I
have carelessly done some weeks ago. I wanted to cry my heart out,
just like the very same day some doctor slapped my butt for the first
time. But, I realized that moment how a selfish dumb-headed
insensitive daughter I could become.

My father taught me three valuable lessons that day, that whether he
will believe me or not, I shall treasure forever. Resilience, he told
me that I should have been more resilient with my feelings, not to
jump into actions without much thought of its effect on other people.
I never realized he was still looking where to find the extra cash I
was asking for. I should have opted to continue my enrolment the next
day or just paid the down payment, but since I was being too carried
away I messed up and ruined every one's seemingly perfect day. Then he
mentioned Responsibility, I should have double checked my fees before
I started with the enrolment. I thought I was being responsible for
texting him right away I ran out of money, but it wasn't how
responsibility should be. Responsibility takes meaning when everything
else is difficult and confusing, but you still know what the right
thing to do. Almost every parent goals for their children's
independence, and so did my father. He wants me to stand on my own and
figure things out for myself, the kind of skill that would let me
survive in the real world later on.

Yes, a few weeks ago I was scolded in front of a crowded university. I
swore I felt those judging eyes melting me gradually, but somehow I
felt different deep inside, not everyone in my university has a father
who will drive all the way from his mountain pile of work and spend
some half an hour lecturing me until I got the baseline. My father has
his imperfections, I'm sure every father has. He could be quite rough
and too strict sometimes, or occasionally he could be annoying and
childish. But the love and concern each parent, each father has is
certainly a flawless one. Each father would want their child to grow
up much better than he did, more successful than he is. Besides, your
father has once been a son of his own dad, and thus he knows very well
how you feel.

I guess being a father is more than drinking coffee early in the
morning while reading the newspaper. I guess being a father is waking
up in the middle of a night and sing ridiculous lullabies cradling the
crying baby to sleep. Being a father is giving up a highly awaited
basketball game championship for junior's favorite daytime cartoons.
Being a father is wearing the same group of clothes for several years
while your teenage daughter gets to have a new set of dresses every
week.

I wished everything else was quieter seventeen years ago in that same
hospital. I would have heard his faint footsteps.

I'm sorry Tatay.

Happy Father's Day!