Dear Dad,
Initially, I wrote this for a school exercise, but since I wanted to tell you this for a long time now, maybe now is the right time. I cannot say this in front of you. Men don’t like soap opera confrontations. You told me that.
The last time we really talked was a year ago. I do not take that against you, because I understand. Mom always tells us you have to be away most of the time because you have a job to do and you have to do it not only because you get paid for it but because you do it for personal reasons. I think, you do it more for us than for yourself. I am older now, and I understand that a man must be moved by a higher value to take risks and put his life on the line. I’d like to think, you have to go because we need it.
When you’re at home, us, your children always relish the time we can bond and talk and while away the hours just being us – you, a father and friend and my brothers and me your personal “band of brothers’ ready to rumble. You know, I like it when we both go to the kitchen and cook. When you are away on duty, what I miss is our long talks while we show Mom our skills in the kitchen. Remember? You taught me how to cook a mean “Adobo” that became a family favorite. It still makes me proud the first time I demonstrated in our high school HE class and my teacher was floored because she doesn’t know anyone my age who knows the intricacies in the kitchen. Looking back now, I relished her open-mouthed reaction when I told her “my father taught me to cook”.
I dread the times you have to leave home to be away again on duty. I especially have to doubly appear nonchalant about it because I want to look cool and collected – totally “in-charge” like you instructed. You always reminded us to look after Mom and Nene when you’re away. My siblings and I watch you as you carefully tie the lace on your combat boots. I don’t like that pair of boots – to me, it symbolized the life you chose to tread – constricting, exacting, regimented. If only for the heavy boots, I said to myself I will never be like you. Don’t get me wrong – to me, to us, you are our hero. But you appeal to us more when you are in your “Dad” attire all geared up to work in the garden than dressed up for battle. You know, you are the smartest Dad in BDA uniform. Still, I don’t want to be a soldier. My young mind do not agree with the restrictions, short hair, the endless orders. I can’t imagine how you cope…, but then…
You will retire tomorrow. On your 60th birthday, I feel you have lived a life well spent – in the service of God, country and people. And to us, your family, we welcome you back and we look forward to having you in the house with us all the time. I’m sorry to disappoint you. I may not be around when you begin to have the rest of your life relaxing and enjoying retirement. I ‘m sorry, I will be away most of the time when we could have been spending more time together. Now that you’re settled, I will begin a life of risks, so much like the life you have lived for so long.
Tomorrow, I will leave for my very first assignment away from home. I will make my family sad, like you did to us every time you left for duty. I have chosen this life and I feel you have influenced me in a way. Maybe, through the years, I wanted to try it out – how far I could take everything, like you did. I will call you as soon as I’m settled. As always, when you leave home, I say an earnest prayer for your safety. Now maybe you have to do that for me.
Bye for now, Dad. I will see you in a month’s time when we wrap up operations. Save your stories of adventure; I will share my own stories when I get back. Until then, take care.
Your loving Son
Initially, I wrote this for a school exercise, but since I wanted to tell you this for a long time now, maybe now is the right time. I cannot say this in front of you. Men don’t like soap opera confrontations. You told me that.
The last time we really talked was a year ago. I do not take that against you, because I understand. Mom always tells us you have to be away most of the time because you have a job to do and you have to do it not only because you get paid for it but because you do it for personal reasons. I think, you do it more for us than for yourself. I am older now, and I understand that a man must be moved by a higher value to take risks and put his life on the line. I’d like to think, you have to go because we need it.
When you’re at home, us, your children always relish the time we can bond and talk and while away the hours just being us – you, a father and friend and my brothers and me your personal “band of brothers’ ready to rumble. You know, I like it when we both go to the kitchen and cook. When you are away on duty, what I miss is our long talks while we show Mom our skills in the kitchen. Remember? You taught me how to cook a mean “Adobo” that became a family favorite. It still makes me proud the first time I demonstrated in our high school HE class and my teacher was floored because she doesn’t know anyone my age who knows the intricacies in the kitchen. Looking back now, I relished her open-mouthed reaction when I told her “my father taught me to cook”.
I dread the times you have to leave home to be away again on duty. I especially have to doubly appear nonchalant about it because I want to look cool and collected – totally “in-charge” like you instructed. You always reminded us to look after Mom and Nene when you’re away. My siblings and I watch you as you carefully tie the lace on your combat boots. I don’t like that pair of boots – to me, it symbolized the life you chose to tread – constricting, exacting, regimented. If only for the heavy boots, I said to myself I will never be like you. Don’t get me wrong – to me, to us, you are our hero. But you appeal to us more when you are in your “Dad” attire all geared up to work in the garden than dressed up for battle. You know, you are the smartest Dad in BDA uniform. Still, I don’t want to be a soldier. My young mind do not agree with the restrictions, short hair, the endless orders. I can’t imagine how you cope…, but then…
You will retire tomorrow. On your 60th birthday, I feel you have lived a life well spent – in the service of God, country and people. And to us, your family, we welcome you back and we look forward to having you in the house with us all the time. I’m sorry to disappoint you. I may not be around when you begin to have the rest of your life relaxing and enjoying retirement. I ‘m sorry, I will be away most of the time when we could have been spending more time together. Now that you’re settled, I will begin a life of risks, so much like the life you have lived for so long.
Tomorrow, I will leave for my very first assignment away from home. I will make my family sad, like you did to us every time you left for duty. I have chosen this life and I feel you have influenced me in a way. Maybe, through the years, I wanted to try it out – how far I could take everything, like you did. I will call you as soon as I’m settled. As always, when you leave home, I say an earnest prayer for your safety. Now maybe you have to do that for me.
Bye for now, Dad. I will see you in a month’s time when we wrap up operations. Save your stories of adventure; I will share my own stories when I get back. Until then, take care.
Your loving Son
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