A Father’s Day

Manila Bay’s iconic sunset | Photo by Lawrence Ruiz via Wikimedia Commons

After shopping at the Mall of Asia in Pasay City, I hailed a taxi to return to my hotel in Malate, Manila. An elderly driver pulled over, and as soon as I hopped into his cab, he greeted me with a request to pay him extra on top of the regular fare. “You’re asking me for a tip even before I reached my hotel,” I said, quite annoyed. “Only if you want,” his reply.

As I settled down to enjoy the brief ride to my hotel, the driver tried to strike up some light conversation with me, a common ploy by taxi drivers to soften the hearts of riders for a tip. “Why are you shopping alone? By the way, how old are you, sir,” he asked with no hesitation. “I’m 75, how about you?” “I’m 61. You are still strong for your age,” he said. The man looked ten years older than his actual age. “It’s Father’s Day, why are you alone?” he asked. “I’m single . . . now,” I answered in a jest. “How about you?” I inquired. My question opened the man’s painful life story that he readily spilled over to me with little restraint. I noticed he took a longer route to give himself time to tell me more, or he wanted to run the taxi meter. I said nothing; instead, I asked him why he was single.

What followed was a long story of a man’s life filled with failures as a husband and a father. He revealed he had been twice married, but only legally with his first wife, with whom he had four children. He said his wife and he became parents in their teens, dropped out of school, and struggled to support his family. He signed up to work overseas as a driver, and while away, his wife dumped him for another man. Soon after, he found another woman to live with and had two children with her. Like his first wife, the woman left him for another man.

What came next was a litany of excuses for his failures. “My father died when I was 17 and I had to work, so I stopped going to school,” he said. “For poor people like us, making the right choices can make a difference,” I said. “A good education and hard work can get us out of poverty. It requires a lot of sacrifices to achieve that goal,” I continued. “My only consolation is my eldest son, who among my children is the only one who finished college. He now runs his own accounting firm,” he said with pride, which briefly stumped me. “How did he do it?” I asked. “He was always an honor student. He graduated with honors in high school and was a cum laude when he graduated at PLM,” he said. “You mean he graduated at the Pamantasan Ng Lungsod Ng Maynila?” I asked in disbelief. “Yes, that’s it. The university that gives scholarships to poor students.” He confirmed.

The University of the City of Manila was the first city government-funded free university for Manila’s poor. “I was one of the first student scholars when PLM opened in 1967,” I said, still reeling at the uncanny coincidence. “It wasn’t easy to get in unless you passed the entrance test,” I said. “My son was the studious type and always knew what he wanted,” he said. Curious, I asked, “Do you get along with him?” “Yes, and he lets me live in one of his rental apartments,” he replied.

Feeling more comfortable now with me, he asked, “Where did you grow up?” “I’m a Tondo boy . . . the slums,” I answered. “I’m from Tondo too, where all my children grew up,” he enthusiastically said as if he found a kindred soul. “Where do you live now?” was his final question. “New York, where I’m going home to my wife.” When his taxi pulled over in front of my hotel, the taxi meter registered twice the usual cost of the trip. I gave him a small tip, which made him happy. “Happy Father’s Day!” he said as he drove off.

In the afternoon of the same day, I walked over to Roxas Boulevard to watch the sunset at Manila Bay. In the hazy afternoon sky, the setting sun peeked through the translucent orange glow that bathed the sky and the sea. Dusk is settling in. It was another 20-minute walk back to my hotel. Along the way, I bought some Pinoy, boiled aged duck’s egg relative to the proverbial Balut, from a street vendor. It was dusk, and I could hardly make out the shape of an elderly woman sitting alone, her head bent low, as if embarrassed to sit by the sidewalk beside a black bag of what looked like her belongings. I stopped before her, pulled out one duck egg, and offered it to her. She looked up, and the strained face of a 60-year-old stared at me quizzically. “It’s Pinoy for you,” I said. She took the egg, still befuddled that I was giving it to her. “Happy Father’s Day!” she called out as I walked away. “Thank you!” I hollered back.

When I arrived in my hotel room, I thought she could not be an ordinary homeless person for knowing what day it was. I figured she was a transient, perhaps just passing the night before a long trip somewhere. I felt terrible for not doing enough to help her with a full meal to pass the night.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR   Dr. Fernando B. Perfas is an addiction specialist who has written several books and articles on the subject. He currently provides training and consulting services to various government and non-government drug treatment agencies regarding drug treatment and prevention approaches. He can be reached at fbperfas@gmail.com.