Stories Of My Father (8/10)

There he would stand until his curiosity over the peking ducks roasting was sated, enclosed in clear glass in front of Star Cafe, that icon of a restaurant in Baguio which recently closed after decades of service. Papa's version of Ma Mon Luk in Baguio was Star Cafe. Always, when Papa and Mama would come visit us in Baguio while we were in school there, Star Cafe was on the itinerary. I was always amused at Papa's obsession over those ducks, and stranger still, when we ordered food in the restaurant, no peking duck was ever ordered. It was always Ho-To-Tay, Lumpiang Shanghai, Pata-Tim and Camaron Rebusado. 

We would meet there after school and find him looking up the ducks, held by metal poles poked through the poor things, twirling slowly until brown. He had his grey beret on, some sweatshirt, his jeans, and his loafers, rubbing his nose. He looked like a kid, really. We would eat, then walk along Session Road in our berets; we all had one, except Mama, of course. He liked walking in Baguio, taking his time, away from the politics even just for the weekend.

There was one time we had to cross the street via a pedestrian lane from the city market to the other side of the street where the old Tsong San stood. That was the only go-to place to shop in Baguio then. Papa crossed the street in haste, and did so in gay fashion, as in arms fluttering, hips swaying side-to-side. We were all laughing behind him, but caught by surprise. He reached the other side of the street, panting, out of breath from his antics and his laughter. Then suddenly he thought aloud, 'what if someone from Caba saw me do that?' I replied: 'they would think they elected someone crazy.'