My father’s footsteps
My father’s footsteps are gentle, like his voice.
I listened as he ascended the stairs. As I finished brushing my teeth, he entered the master bedroom. In his youth, my father had played with a firecracker that eventually exploded in his face. Thankfully, he retained his eyesight, but you can see until now, when you look closely, how his right eye is pushed back further into its socket than the other.
Maybe it was the firecracker. But it was more likely than not his genes. My father had poor eyesight and consequently wore a pair of glasses that rested on his very round face. He had an even rounder head. Ball caps rarely ever fit him well. My mom’s best friend, in their younger years until now, would say to my mom “Andito na naman si Plato,” as he arrived.
Anyone who saw him often wouldn’t have believed he owned more than three shirts because he always wore the same ones. A fitted blue cotton V-neck for Church, shopping in his favorite hardware stores, and everything in between; a white sando full of holes for days spent tinkering with random gadgets and gizmos in his garage; and a black t-shirt that has “Blacktivist” printed across it in bold letters for when he goes out for comedy open mic nights. I don’t even know if he knows what a Blacktivist is.
He’s 65 years old now. He’s wanted to do stand-up comedy ever since he was in his 40s, but only had more time for it recently. He’s known as Doc Ramon Cabochan, and often makes jokes about my mom and being a senior citizen. He was very happy when he found out his video on The Filipino Channel had garnered over 130,000 views. Aside from a big, round head, I seem to have inherited my father’s penchant for jokes. I think my jokes are quite funny, though my friends like to disagree. They say they only laugh at how I find myself so funny.
My jokes are often self-deprecating ones. When I was younger, I didn’t really like anything much about myself. I never felt pretty or smart enough. I measured my worth by the letters on my report card and the medals around my neck. I desperately wanted to be beautiful and tall and have all the awards and achievements I could possibly have. That’s what I thought living a happy life looked like, and I believed people would love me more if I had those things.
It took me years to realize the truth about life, though he had been eating dinner by my side, driving me to school, and giving me good night hugs all the while. My dad made me realize that a person can be great by being gentle, kind, loyal, understanding, and patient (which is often far easier to say than do). I didn’t need to be a beautiful overachiever to live a good life or be a great person.
I realized that greatness isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s fixing a lightbulb so your kids can study. Sometimes it’s wiping the tears off of your daughter’s face with your handkerchief as she bawled her eyes out after fighting with her sister, or after tearing her hair out over her math lesson. Sometimes it’s keeping your composure when others speak harshly. And in other times, it’s being patient with your family when they’re all tired or cranky. Greatness can be found in a warm embrace, or a kind word. There’s a little greatness in everyday life.
We’re raised to think that we need to be tough to survive. We hesitate to show vulnerability. We are more inclined to speak loudly than to listen quietly. We think that being kind or acknowledging our mistakes is equivalent to being weak.
But the result of such beliefs is a world where channels for communication are often filled with the chatter of countless misunderstandings, violent rhetoric, political polarization, vitriol, and hatred. We respond to anger and pride with more anger and pride. No one is willing to stop and listen to the other. No one is willing to compromise.
While it’s fine to be strong and assertive when the situation demands it, sometimes we need to bend. On my afternoon walks, I like to gaze up at the glowing blue sky and spot the airplanes soaring high, onward and upward to their destinations. Did you know that airplane wings are designed to bend? While it makes them look flimsy, especially during turbulence, it’s actually a sign of their durability. If their wings don’t bend, they would break. Amid the cacophony of life in the modern world, it is gentleness that speaks the loudest. And in the most tumultuous of times, it is softness that can soothe the aching heart, or encourage the doubtful soul. Sometimes, being kind is the bravest—and strongest—thing a person can do.
My father’s footsteps are gentle, like his voice. He never raises his voice. He always listens as well as he can. He always wears the same clothes, but would buy me new ones. He happily pursues his dream of being a stand-up comedian, regardless of the fact he’s the oldest person at the open mic nights. In my lonely and discouraged moments, when I lack belief in myself, he encourages me to keep going. He teaches me how to be kind through his own example. I think my dad is the greatest man I’ve ever met.
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Margarita Beatrice Uy Cabochan, 18, is an incoming second-year student studying political science at the University of the Philippines Diliman.
