The Things I Could Have Done

For My Father

Before my father died, I usually dropped at my parent's house on my way to work to spend some five or ten minutes tinkering on the piano keys. I took a short cut at the back of the rice mill leading to the store. The family piano was transferred to my brother's house at the back lot years ago due to a flashflood. It was a separate house facing the backstreet which was vacant when my brother's family moved to Pagadian. It became a resthouse for Papa and my younger sister Ness.

As soon as I started playing, my father would appear from behind humming softly, walking till he reached beside me. A music lover , he then sat near and made some comments on my accompaniments. My piano studies before was on and off and I had a mixture of oido playing with notes. The rest were self study. My sister Ness and Rudy were better players. Though Papa was not a pianist, he was a good guitarist. He played the banjo and bass well. I remember him play the guitar at bedtime with Mama singing old love songs before the advent of television in our town. After supper Papa would play the banjo with my brothers, Nening and Rudy on the guitar and bass. I was already married when a piano was added so I practiced when I had time.

He made corrections on my accompaniments simply by asking me to strike a note forward and backward until I hit the right note. He would ask me to repeat and repeat till I mastered it. Then we break . He loved to talked of many things until I stopped because I'll be late for office.

This went on every working day. Papa would time his appearance when he hears the first chords and especially when he had something to tell me. There were times when I didn't want to be delayed, so when he appeared, I tell him. "Pa, I would stay only five minutes." to which he would smile in approval. It was like saying, "don't delay me" and he won't persuade me to stay longer.

One day, I played so softly so he can't hear me and when he arrives I'd be gone. When I finished, I stood up to find him just watching silently by the door. How we laughed together because I was like a child caught doing some mischief. A very understanding person, he respected our rights and privacies so much. He knew I was a working woman and he would delay me no more.

When he died, I realized why Papa relished every single minute with me. My mother was gone, my elder sister was gone. I was his only link to the past. My younger brothers and sisters were living far, except Ness, who was still single. She took over management of the store and rice mill when Mama got sick and later died. He needed someone to talk to.

My heart warmed up to him, my belovesd father, the most upright, most understanding father in the world! How could I have denied him even the ten minutes extension of my time. I felt so bad.

I recalled the many instances he supported me. The time he gamely sat up to listen to my stories the first times I read pocketbooks in my first high school days because I had no more audience, all the others had fallen asleep and I was so excited to continue. The times he checked on us at bedtime and tucked in our mosquito nets; the times he hovered over me when I was sick, feeling my forehead so lightly while I pretended to sleep. The times he sat on the stairs reading comics when I was on labor for my first child just to ease the tension of waiting.

I'm sorry Pa. I'm sure you're still watching over me with understanding.