Girl Dad

Yesterday, I assisted an accused during his inquest. He was charged with violation of the Safe Spaces Act. He drove around the downtown area then stopped and grabbed a woman's breasts. He was apprehended minutes later and brought to jail. He was a small guy and relatively young, only twenty-three years old. During his inquest, he never once looked at me. His head was always down and he almost sounded like he was sobbing.

After the proceeding, the accused's father came to our office to ask for assistance in filing a motion to post bail for his son's temporary release. I looked at him and saw sadness and shame in his eyes. I told him to inquire at the City Prosecution's Office how much was the recommended bail amount. Then a security guard who was listening to our conversation said that he heard it was thirty-six thousand pesos. I turned to the father and asked, "do you have this amount?" I explained to him that we can wait until the case is filed in court so we can move to reduce the amount. He asked how long will it take. I said I'm not sure as it will depend on the CPO, it might take a day or two. He fell quiet. After a moment, he told me he will be back with the money.

A few hours later, he came back looking for me. I found him drenched from the rain with the same sad eyes I saw earlier. I told our staff to let him fill out our interview sheet first and went to the CPO to confirm the bail amount. When I was done with the motion, I gave him the document and instructed him what to do next. However, he looked so out of place that I thought all that I said just went through his ears. I took the document back and delivered it to the concerned office myself. When everything was done, I looked into his eyes, told him that this is where my service ends, and thanked him. For the first time, he smiled.

I've met a lot of pitiful clients since I took this job. But this was the first time that I was moved by a father's love.

Oftentimes, we fail to notice our fathers. How could we? In the morning they would get ready to work and when they come home, they would sit on the couch, watch TV, and ask what's for dinner. They don't speak much. They don't show their emotions. They don't ask questions. It is always the moms who would interact with the kids. When we lose something, we'd ask our moms. When we need something, we'd look for our moms. When we are scared of something, we'd tell our moms. Dads are just there. The stereotypical dads, at least.

But have we even spared a moment to have deep conversations with our fathers? Have we even spent the time to know more about them? 

I have always been fond of my own father. Papa is not the brightest but he shines radiantly in many other things. He always makes sure that there is food on the table; most times, he literally prepares it himself. He'd come to us if he can help it, even if we are miles away. He hears our stories, asks our opinion, and considers our apprehensions before making a decision. He listens to the music we play and watches the movies we like. He is so easy to please; you will seldom hear him complain. Even when the shoes you gave are a size bigger, he'd still wear it to show his appreciation. He is funny and so comfortable to be with. He is even friends with everybody.

When I was younger, I would always turn to him when I wanted something. With Mama, I'd get nagged at first before I get what I want, that is if she agrees which is occasionally. But with Papa, it was always easy. I never had to defend myself or go through endless interrogation.

In my last year in law school, I called my parents and vented (for the nth time) how everything was just so difficult. How I feel like giving up. Mama, who was perhaps already sick of my constant whining for the last four years, answered bluntly, "okay, quit." Then Papa took the phone and spoke, "you are not the first one to experience such hardship. Many before you went through what you're going through now. They survived it and came out triumphant. If they can do it, who says you can't? God has put you there because He knows you can make it. You can make it. Believe, pray, and persevere." I cried so much after hearing it, even now as I'm typing it.  He never once gave up on me. He has always been proud and supportive of me. And I, too, him. I will always be grateful to be my father's daughter.

Sometimes, we tend to do whatever the hell we want to do, especially in our younger years. Very rarely do we consider the consequences of our actions and the people who might suffer from our wrong decisions. When our friends say jump, we jump. Because it's fun. Because we only live once #YOLO. We use our youth as an excuse to commit unimaginable things. "We are young, we didn't know it was wrong." Just because our parents let us be, we see it as consent. On the contrary, when they tell us off, we take it against them. We rebel and defy them. We ignore their sentiments and accuse them of not understanding how we feel. And then what happens when we get in trouble? We call our parents. Then our poor folks would come running to our defense. Even after we have forsaken them. Even after we have dishonored them. I did not have to imagine my client's heartbreak due to what happened to his son, it was visible on his face.

I hope we grow into someone that our parents can be proud of. I hope we shed our rebellious selves and learn from our mistakes. I hope we realize our parents' worth sooner rather than later. I hope we do good.