Silent Nights

Ever since I left home for work, I have never stayed in my hometown nor be with my parents for longer than a week. My mother always fly here but my father, not a fan of city life, prefers to stay behind.

Lately though, they come here often and stay with us. Sad as it may seem but my father's sickness is the reason why for days my son wakes up to see his grandfather in our home and at bedtime he visits first his grandparents' room before proceeding to ours. If there's someone who likes our current set up, it's my son. Just this morning before we left, my mother said her goodbye and my son told her to come back. 

After dinner my father and I stay outside and talk. While he sips Sustagen, I drink my coffee. It's quiet outside and sometimes cold. I tell my father some things that my mother prefers not to talk about and he tells me things that he often observes. My father has never denied me of his support. He's a quiet man, cool and very generous.

I look back at my childhood and the man I know to be strict, but generous; my adolescent years and the man who bought me my very personal things every month with no fail; one weekend when I was in pain and didn't know what to do and the man who checked up on me and went to the drugstore to get my medicine; and once in college when I went home to see a motorcycle in our driveway. My father taught me a lesson that day. I was very persistent that he teach me how to drive the bike, despite his hesitation and my mother's too, he drove me to a street going to the farm with less traffic.He taught me the basic and let me drive. I didn't get past first gear. The thing was heavy and  my fear got the better of me. My father's friend saw what I was doing and asked him about it. He said, "She's very persistent. It's better for her to know personally how hard it is than to just tell her that or she won't stop." That day, I learned from experience.