(For my Father, who died on January 16th, 16 years ago)
Who is this man
who was thrilled over his first grandchild
because her skin was "so white!",
yet felt the one who gave birth to the same child
a traitor to her own heritage
because she married an Americano?
Who is this man
who signed himself with the cross
before he left his house
because the Lord will surely send His angels
to watch over a man devoted to God.
(He saw no irony in his faith
while he tucked a gun into his waistband)
Who is he, this man who despaired
over the Americanization of his daughter,
the one who forgot to kiss his hand and say "Mano po".
Ay naku! Over the noise of clacking mahjong tiles
and the crowing of his beloved fighting cocks,
hear him boast proudly to all his compadres
about "my good daughter, the one who now lives in America".
This is the man who came halfway across the world
to see for himself this daughter's new life
who marvelled at the new generation of young ones
and lamented their lack of modo ...
who praised newfangled things like riding mowers
yet, on his knees, took a pair of scissors
to painstakingly shorten the grassy lawn---
because scissors cut so much better, iha!
This is the man who ate peanut butter and sugar sandwiches everyday
because it is what he liked best
even if "it sticks to the mouth like putik "...
who faithfully dressed for church in his distinctive barong Tagalog
and smiled serenely at the priest and nuns
who talked in English that was "too fast" to understand.
This is the man who did not require much
except a little respect and dignity in his final days
and perhaps a short epitaph that will remember his passing.
Untutored, uncompromising, a man of honor,
a simple man.
Rest in peace, Itay.
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Mano po ~ I kiss your hand, bless me.
Ay naku ~ phrase depicting surprise, as in - "Oh my"
Modo ~ Respect. Can also mean "manners".
Iha ~ address used for a little girl
putik ~ mud
barong Tagalog ~ the loose, sheer, embroidered national dress shirt of Filipino men.
Itay ~ Father
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Comments: 38
My father, although born here, didn't speak English until he went to school. He was such a mixture of pure American and traditional Lebanese, he could drive me crazy.
Even while describing his inconsistensies, you honor him and show how much you loved and respected him.
Beautiful!
My Itay was a traditional Filipino, through and through. His uncompromising habits and beliefs drove us ALL to distraction. We loved him, but distantly. He never hugged any of us. But we knew he cared for us. He never married again after my mother died even when he wanted to, because we cried when he told us. That was that. He never brought it up again.
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Tonia, thanks, hon! I know that not everybody understand or speak Tagalog so I added the glossary to help people. Macaronic poems always leave me feeling too stupid when I can't find translations for the foreign words.
Now you can yell at Bogie and tell him to quit tracking putik into the house :-)
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Ivy, thank you!
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Thanks, Ina. Your Mom, huh? It's a hard job trying to raise parents :-)
The anniversary of his death is tomorrow... it's already tomorrow in the Philippines.
Sometimes I think children can leave their parents behind in another country without moving a single mile away. However this common generational estrangement must have been felt a hundred fold for your family given the cultural and geographical distances that developed. I really appreciate you sharing your father with us in this loving yet honest poem.
Did I miss the meaning for 'modo'? In context I guessed it to mean respect.
Thanks for giving this a read. I love what you said, that "children can leave their parents behind in another country without moving a single mile away". You said a world of truth about estrangements.
You got the meaning right! Sorry, I missed that word modo in my footnotes. I just added it.
Thank you for sharing this piece of your life with me.
And this is a great poem: a real sharing of culture, centered on this one man your father, the whole unforgettable packet threaded together with love. In my belief system, your Itay is feeling this, each time someone reads it, like a garden of flowers bursting into blossom. You did him a good deed with this.
You have given us a glimpse into beautiful memories and a poem to read again and again.
A well-thought out, deeply felt poem. Thank you for sharing this with us.
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John B ~ Yes, I am of Filipino heritage. Having lived in the US longer than I ever lived in the Philippines, I now have dual citizenship. The US... IS home to me.
"People Power" makes me smile. With our propensity for claiming familial relationships, thus enlarging our Barrio power base, my relatives back home always try to remind me that our maternal grandmother was the cousin of Cory Aquino's grandmother... remember Cory? She became the icon of People Power, enabling the people to wrest government power from Marcos, the dictator.
In my belief system, your Itay is feeling this, each time someone reads it, like a garden of flowers bursting into blossom
That is the loveliest gift of thought that anyone can give me in response to this poem. Thank you.
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John W, your reading of any of my articles is a pleasure. This one is a special honor. Thank you!
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J ~ when I read your comment, I got goose-bumps. It is always a treat to connect with someone through our stories and histories. The similarities make our human bonds stronger.
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Elizabeth ~ your kindness is gladly accepted and recognized. You're a sweet, grace-filled lady. Thank YOU!
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Gale, your words have more meaning for me, knowing that your Asian connection is strong. Thank you, my fellow-Illinoisian.
I love the micro look into Filipino heritage, meeting my daughter-in-law to be's family will happen someday!
Thank you for the lovely post!
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Melinda, thanks!
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Ed ~ I am touched by your kind words. A wow from the Gather Poet-in-Residence is humbling. Thank you!
About the picture, it was part of the article from the start, John. You must have missed it the first time you were here?
Lizzie, I took the picture on our last trip to the Philippines. The cross was behind a glass wall used as special effect for the lighting and as a splash guard for the waterfall. As the focal point in the Meditation Room, the "altar" with the huge forest of plants around it took up the whole wall. There were soft locally woven mats on the floor with lovely pillows. Candles, subdued lighting, and the sound of the waterfall... everything in there was designed to help one achieve serenity.
The designer was my cousin Roger T. In fact, he designed the amazing mansion and the whole compound. Roger incorporated many traditional values and material into the making of what I call his trademark design. There is a floating spiral staircase that is exceptional and unusual in the islands. The whole house is filled with art work by well-known native artists. The separate "dirty kitchen" and Servants' Quarters are nicer than my own house here in Illinois :-)
It's good that you included a glossary, but in this case it wasn't absolutely necessary--I don't think any of us felt confused before we got to the end and saw it. For me, everything was clear in context, except the exact meaning of putik.
(Edited for grievous misspelling of poet's name in the first version.)
except a little respect and dignity in his final days
You have certainly given him all of this as well as the added respect of your readers..
OUr dad was similar in his ways. We knew he loved us, but he never was one to show affection.
Your two cultures are so different and yet, you've managed to fit yourself into both worlds.
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Sonia ~ thanks, I appreciate your input, my friend!
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Linda ~ thank you!