Loooong Baths

He took looooong baths, Kring definitely got that from him. He called his bath, 'general cleaning', which he did at least once a week. Other days, they are just quick showers, literally. Mama used to tell their friends about his baths, and he would smile through it all. At home, though, he would tell Mama it upset him that stuff like those are told their friends, as baths are 'private'. He would poke fun at others, not entirely about them, (well, almost) and got a kick out of that but when it was about him, he did not take them well. That, I got from him. 

He got even with Mama when there was a time my sister was asked who he was walking with somewhere in town, 'Was your Papa with his Mom?'. About which Mama got really touchy and cried lots. Around the dinner table, we would laugh at how Mama was so sensitive about what others say about their looks, because as far as we are all concerned, and Papa especially, she was Ms. Universe. Mama had creamy, flawless skin, arched eyebrows (just right), a nose set high on a bridge, thin lips, small chin, nice legs. She never really stretched to my kind of 'fat', she was just right on. Papa, however, always looked, 'young'. Not that he did not have wrinkles, the strain of politics did show here and there. But he had a positive disposition, no matter the shambles there were after EDSA. Our lives were turned upside down after the 86 revolution, but it was his strength that served as our anchor. 

Aidan, my son, was running through his speech skills last night by the dining table, where we are both usually seated when we talk on weekends. He was showing me only snippets of how he would approach a competition his school asked him and a group of his friends to join next week on extemporaneous speaking. While he was at it, I could not help but see Papa in him: his accent, his confidence, his knowledge on international issues (the expanse of which as always, make me look an an idiot next to him) and his 'swagger'. I was thinking, my son got that from Papa: this gift of speaking like he was saying all the right things, and even if not, then he could get away with it just the same because of how he said the stuff. Papa  was about 'it was not what he said, it was how he said it'. Of course it did help a lot that Papa was handsome. And he carried clothes like a million bucks, he had a wardrobe of extremes: cotton shirts with holes here paired with shorts at home, his Jo Sasson Barong Tagalog or  Oscar De La Renta plus what-not in his evening affairs. He smelled really, really, good. Oh and his smile. That smile charmed many. 

So I will remember that smile, on his birthday, the only man who has my heart. Midway through a century of my life, it was your hand always, Papa, which held mine. It was your strength which was my rock. It was your smile I carried with my lips which curves were drawn to my face to copy that of Mama's. Sometimes my hands are so full of responsibilities, I forget to be thankful for the small things both of you have left me, like your smile through Mama's lips. That is a treasure I keep.