What our children will never know

Yesterday was Father’s Day. What was originally an afterthought that evolved into a commercial event had the unintended effect of actually making Dads feel good about themselves. And even after receiving repeated e-mails and private messages filled with the same generic Talking Tom videos, electronic Simpsons greeting cards and other recycled notes from people who didn’t even create them, the feeling finally sank in. For a day, fathers take a deep breathe and look at what they have done. And God said, it was good.

My world has always been sports, the conundrum of seeking perfection and knowing you will never reach it, or if you do, it will be in those rare, distilled moments that mark your lifetime, like bowling a 300. You ask yourself “How on earth did I do that?” Sport has a way of giving you purpose, a direction, a goal. But when those first mountains have been conquered, the Almighty pulls back the curtain to something even more wondrous, mysterious, challenging and endless.

Fatherhood.

You know my story. My Mom and my biological father separated before I was born, and she brought me from Chicago to Manila when I was two months old. Falling in love, wanting more stability and seeking a father figure for me, she married my stepfather when I was seven. That began a tempestuous and later, placid relationship of 37 years with someone I never really got along with. But now that both Mom and Dad are gone, I look for the gold in those moments, the learnings that I probably wasn’t prepared for, and the opportunities I missed for Dad and me to help each other heal and get closure. Mom was my rock, Dad was the sculptor. 

The past week also celebrated how many father figures in my life lived theirs full of purpose. Onofre Pagsanghan, to me the greatest high school teacher the world has ever known, celebrated his 90th birthday. Wow. Mr. Pagsi put the soul in my creative pursuits of writing, acting, singing and sports. He forged the template of my life. Everything I did from the time I met him, I have looked for meaning in. Throughout my career, I have been called many unfavorable names for simply wanting things to be done at a higher standard, and truth be told, I have rubbed some people in authority the wrong way, and have lost a lot of work in the process. It has been a lonely, painful crusade. But would I have done it any other way? No.

Meanwhile, the man who opened the door for my becoming a sports producer, Bobong Velez, passed away, stirring up many shiny old memories. After four years as a field reporter and on-camera talent for ABS-CBN, I was invited by my college professor Sev Sarmenta to join Vintage Enterprises’ brilliant television coverage team for the PBA. There, I quickly rose from halftime announcer to executive producer. It was the first (and probably only) time I pretty much had free reign to create without having to finance the production myself. With Bobong’s insistence on constant improvement, that led to a slew of innovations that viewers take for granted today: replays from all camera angles (previously, we could only do it from two floor cams), overhead shots (I took one acrophobic cameraman to the ceiling of PhilSports arena); end-of-game highlights, and others. Bobong is the father of sports broadcasting in the Philippines; let no one tell you differently.

When I became a father, the balance shifted. I took less risks with my personal safety, and more risks with my career, in a gamble of earning more. I gave up being a military correspondent, and sought out opportunities for growth, though it took a while to swallow my pride and learn to ask for work. But back then, sports broadcasting as an industry was in its infancy, so things were very challenging. Try as I might, there were times I could not protect my two sons from my failures, and the pain of their disillusionment still haunts me, as I know it does them.

Our children will never know how much we try to be better, regardless of our track record. When they slumber peacefully, they will never know the fitful nights we toss and turn or get on our knees to pray for a miracle of a new job, a windfall, anything to get us through tuition, school supplies, their sports equipment, new shoes, medical bills, anything they need. They will never know, and must never know, what we gave up for them, because they didn’t ask us to. Most of all, they will never know the times we sat in the dark, forcing back tears of anxiety and fear, because someone has to be strong to plod on, and that someone is Dad. One of my favorite quotes says the first man through the wall always gets bloodied. Exactly how I feel.

Our children will never know how a father’s heart stops when he hears something bad happen where his children are, or when he sees his child sick, injured or crying. A father prays to take on the pain the world inflicts on his children, and when that fails, prays his children are stronger than he would have been. And each time a father feels rejected or resented or neglected, as his children fly off to pursue their dreams, he sheds a silent, three-sided tear. A tear that reminds him that he did that to his father, and one that scares him into thinking his children no longer want to know him, and the fear that it may one day be too late. He wants to be part of it, to fell needed. That is one thing they will never know. Until they have children, too.

I have never interfered in my children’s choices, and I hope they realize it. I always knew I had to let them follow their unfulfilled dreams and not mine, even if it means missing them terribly. And wow. Vince made his first attempt on Mount Everest. Daniel is working his way through his MBA in Australia. Alex got herself accelerated in school. They are doing greater things at an earlier age than I did. It was all them. I can take no credit. All I can do is hope they let me stick around, and love them with all of me. I am infinitely proud.

That, they will always know.