I was 12 when I found out my parents had separated; no one told me or my siblings. When my eldest son was 12, I told him how his mother and I had decided to uncouple. We began a conversation that tells me I am raising good sons.
There are things that happen in our childhood that, when left unexplained by well-meaning adults, cause us confusion. In our attempt to make sense of these situations, we also unknowingly do damage to ourselves and our relationships.
I’ll never forget that night. It was an ordinary Saturday evening in the late ‘80s, I was 12 years old in the home of a family friend in Manila. After my dad left to work abroad, my family started hanging out with them on weekends. That night, one of my younger brothers had just quarreled with their daughter. She started to wail and called out for her mom. I think she wanted to play with the boys but we were busy with the G.I. Joes and Transformers so we were ignoring her. Her mom shuffled in to console her.
Children need to have reliable, well-meaning adults who can provide explanations and insights to help them navigate their experiences and emotions. My constant aspiration is that I will always be that adult for my sons.
I’ll never forget her words. “Wag mo na silang awayin. Kawawa naman sila kasi wala na silang daddy,” she whispered in her daughter’s ear but loud enough that I heard it. They looked at us like gossips on TV in a hushed conversation about someone.
I’ll never forget my feelings. Confusion and loss, fear and panic. Did my dad just die, what was going to happen to us, was it my fault? Optimus Prime fell from my hands. And I’ve had this heavy weight on my shoulders since that damned night.
I was confounded and deeply burdened but I never told anyone about it. The next phone call from my dad cleared up that he was alive. But no one ever really explained to me or to any of my siblings that my parents had separated. I just pieced it all together from fights over long-distance calls or my unanswered, worse, rejected collect calls.
Writing this now has triggered a memory of some really good people, phone operators at PLDT 108 and 105-12 USA Collect Mabuhay who came to recognize my voice and took pity on a desperate, anxious boy making those frequent long-distance calls late on many a night.
“Let’s try again in a few hours, iho. I’ll wake you up so we can call,” they’d say. And they would call. Whoever, wherever you guys are, thank you for the kindness.
Connecting the dots
As a child, I often found myself grappling with doubts and insecurities, searching for answers in a life that didn’t always make sense. Fortunately, this constant quest for understanding gave me the ability to connect the dots, fill in the blanks, and create stories that bridge the gaps.
Now, as a father, I see how children need to have reliable, well-meaning adults who can provide explanations and insights to help them navigate their experiences and emotions. My constant aspiration is that I will always be that adult for my sons, Noah, 19 and Moses, 12.
Before the year is over, I will have been a father for 20 years. It has been a profound adventure which sometimes feels like the universe conspiring to repair my childhood through my own sons. It sounds incredibly self-centered but I’m learning to parent and heal my inner child through my children.
For me, this simply means happily doing things for my sons that I wish were done to me. These are also moments by which I intentionally plant seeds of goodness in their hearts.
Fatherhood, I’ve learned, is much like storytelling. When telling a story, a writer must know how to plant details that connect and matter to a satisfying payoff in the end.
Like being present for every check-up before and after they were born. To this day, I enjoy and even benefit emotionally from being with them on our visits to our pediatrician of 20 years. Only these days, us parents do less of the talking as we encourage the boys to verbalize their concerns and their needs.
Listening to them as they talk about their day, taking the time to give context, ideas or possibilities about what they experience without judgment but purposefully giving them encouragement and affirmation. Especially when they still had high-pitched voices and chubby cheeks. Their voices are deeper now, deeper than mine. They have baritones that honestly make me feel they need me less and less.
On Noah’s 13th birthday, I dressed up as Darth Vader so I could duel a cosplayer I hired to play Rey Skywalker who was in search of the next Jedi. I got a cosmic kick from saying, “I am your father” when Noah, the chosen one, took off my mask and hugged me. He’s a geeky chip off the old geeky block which I’m always happy to celebrate.
To remind them to have fun (and that I can be fun!), I once got inside an inflatable T-Rex costume to chase a screeching Moses around the park. His happy shrieks still ring in my ears which make me smile.
I love taking them surfing and camping even if I abhor the beach and hate hiking. But it’s always worth it seeing them ride the waves on a sunny day or watch the stars on a clear, cloudless night. Through these adventures, I plant seeds of courage and curiosity.
Seeking out and introducing them to people who can mentor and encourage their interests. Back when he wanted to be a DJ, his mom and I set Noah up for lunch with actor and musician Tom Taus who, along with his sister, generously gave our son tips on producing and composing music. At a vacation recently, I met an ADB executive who’s led missions all over the world. I knew he’d hit it off with Moses who was interested in geo-politics at the time. I was grateful to be proven right as they bonded over world history, country capitals and politics over dinner.
Uncoupling
One night in 2016, after I realized I had spent my life doubting and searching for answers, I decided my sons would not waste their time and their lives that way. On a walk around the park, I spoke to my eldest who was then 12 about the truth of who I was and how his mother and I had decided to uncouple. I promised my constant presence, love and support, and was rewarded with acceptance and then we hugged.
It was the start of a conversation we would keep having in order to build trust, I said. And then, six years later, I did that all over again with my younger son who responded with the same love and acceptance. These conversations assure me that I am raising good sons, and I relive and relish them privately.
No one comes out of a childhood like mine unscathed. While I am not perfect, I do try to be a reliable father every day. As a dad, I do not just plan on being a character in the lives of my sons (hoping I’m not ever the villain). I am also the architect of their earliest memories and the shapers of their values, the connector of the dots between their experiences and possible ways forward.
Fatherhood, I’ve learned, is much like storytelling. When telling a story, a writer must know how to plant details that connect and matter to a satisfying payoff in the end. The seeds a father plants must be those of goodness, love, trust, courage, connection and integrity—that will one day pay off and blossom into lives full of meaning and joy.
