Parenting 101: A Post-Fathers' Day Reflection

One of my favorite Father’s Day gift from my children is an unusual grouping of four photos in a single frame that I fondly call “The children of my yesteryear’s dreams”. The photos show each of my four children with me – Pizza and me while dipping in a beach somewhere; myself as I hold Nico up high near the seawall in Luneta; Dana and me; and finally Mae and me at the porch of our old house in Valenzuela. Each photo was taken in a different year and place while each one of them was still a toddler. The frame of photos now sits here before me in my computer desk.

I still do not know what made my children give this unique gift to me as a present. In any case I always take delight looking at them in these photos as the realization of my yesteryears’ dreams.

Now, as I see myself holding my children as infants/toddlers in my arms, I realize with a tinge of remorse, however, that I had them only for so short a time wishing I can go back in time to do what I failed to do then...

They have since grown up and left my embrace, either physically or emotionally, and have started to live lives of their own as in the case of Nico and Pizza, or about to live her own life as in the case of Dana. And as for the teen-age Mae, she already has started trying her wings!

I am not complaining. I realize that parenting’s goal is ultimately looking at separation of children from their parents. And I remember something from Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet: “Your children are not your own”, he reminds us. This means that my children do not belong to me! They belong to somebody else, God, and even more to themselves than they ever belong to me.

It is just that, I suppose, like most parents, I have always found myself resisting to understand and to accept this truth although I have always taught and preached even as a priest that the best gifts we can give our children are roots and wings.

I kind of resolved this dilemma when I recently read Fr. Ron Rolheiser, OMI, discussing in a column (Not Our Own Children, 2006) that accepting it can both be a challenge and a source of consolation for us parents.

Fr. Rolheiser says that if we accept this as a challenge, “we will be less inclined to act as ‘owners’ of our children and we will be less prone to manipulate our children for our own ends, to see them as satellites within our own orbits, and more inclined to love, cajole, challenge, and correct even while giving them their freedom”.

If you remember, Rahim in the The Kite Runner says the same thing as he admonishes Baba regarding his relationship with his son Amir: “Children aren’t coloring books! You don’t get to fill them with your favorite colors.”

And in a similar vein, Amir also in The Kite Runner speaks of our children’s disdain when we parents act like we “own” our children: “(Baba) molded me to his own liking, in the same way that he molded the world to his own liking seeing the world as black and white and deciding too what was white and what was black”.

Fr. Rolheiser then focuses on the consolation part: “When we realize, in the healthy sense, that our children are not really ours, we also realize that we are not alone in raising and caring for them. We are, in a manner of speaking, only foster parents. God is the real parent and God's love, care, aid, and presence to our children is always in excess of our own. God's anxiety for our children is also deeper than our own”.

He then concludes that there is no such thing as a “single parent” since God is always there with us whether we have a spouse or not! “God, like you, is also worrying, struggling, involved, crying tears of solicitousness, trying to awaken love. What is consoling is that God can touch, challenge, soften, and inspire at levels inside of a child that you cannot reach.”

Then he says finally: “Moreover, your children cannot, ultimately, turn their backs on God. They can refuse to listen to you, walk away from you, spit on your values, but there is still another parent from whom they can never walk away, whom they carry inside all the time and for always.”

Consoling thoughts indeed!

Allow me now to go back and glance once more at the children of my yesteryears’ dreams.

"TATANG", My Father

We never celebrated Father’s Day before when he was still alive. And so today, Father’s Day, on the centennial year of my father’s birth, I want to pay tribute to my “Tatang”, my late father, DOMINGO CRUZ MENDIOLA.

“Tatang” is what he taught us to address him. The title may now be considered by many as outdated, but for us, his children, the word “Tatang” speaks of the ordinary and simple man who fathered the seven of us.

Tatang's Early Years

We know very little about Tatang’s family and his life before he married Inang, my mother. He was born in Aliaga, Nueva Ecija on May 12, 1908. He is the only child from his father’s third and last marriage. His mother, Maria Cruz, died when Tatang was just a kid. He had older half-siblings from his father’s first and second marriages.

Tatang must have moved with his father Paulino to San Jose from Aliaga after his mother’s death. His father died and was buried in San Jose when Tatang was still a young boy. So apparently, Tatang was left alone in San Jose where he grew up to fend for himself. Because he never talked about it, we could only guess that he had had an unhappy and difficult childhood having been orphaned early and ignored by his half-brother and half-sister.

Being bright and intelligent, however, Tatang the orphan apparently supported himself and finished high school. It must have been around this time too when Tatang got close to the Bunag family of San Jose who was then operating a photo studio in town. He worked with them as photographer and somehow became an adopted son of the family. The Bunag’s daughter, Honor, eventually became my ninang (Godmother) in baptism, while Ninang Honor’s mother was “Mama” to all of us. Looking back, Tatang must have gotten close to the Bunags, especially “Mama”, because he found in them the family love and caring he never had, especially since he grew up without a mother and a family he could call his own.

Tatang as a Person

Tatang was a simple man with simple tastes and simple pleasures. He never touched cigarette and alcohol. He was always physically clean from head to toe, dressed neatly and smelled good even at home. He was short and on the heavier side because he likes to eat. He was also a musician (trombone player) so he naturally loves to listen to music, especially band music. He would stay all night just to listen to the Serenata Ng Mga Banda (Serenade of the Bands) during town fiestas in San Jose and Pulilan. Ah, yes, he likes to go to the movies, but English movies only! His weekends usually would include a good movie or a haircut in town or simply staying at home to catch up on his reading.

Yes, he believes that reading is educational. Although short in funds, he would always have a daily newspaper (Bulletin) which he reads upon coming home from office. He also had a regular subscription of the Readers’ Digest and the Philippines Free Press. I still remember his large collection of Readers’ Digest and Philippines Free Press at our old house in Ramos Street.

He was not a religious person as Inang was in the early days. He would lead us all to church on Sundays but he never went to confession or receive communion. He would explain later that it was all due to his experience with the priest who officiated at their wedding. He was also not too keen then about joining any civic or religious organization. He would say he just did not want all the socializing, but we knew he was just afraid that he could not afford the expense. But he would make up for it later when I had gone to the seminary. He eventually joined the Knights of Columbus, made the Cursillo, and started receiving the sacraments
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And finally, how he loves children! When we were all grown up already, I remember how he loves to borrow a neighbor’s baby to coddle and play with. I can imagine how he must have been the happiest Lolo (Grandfather) when his first grandchildren came.
Memories

I have many fond memories of my Tatang. My earliest recollection was that of a blue shirt neatly tucked near my pillow as I woke up one Christmas morning. Tatang said it was from Santa Claus and I believed him then! The next Christmas it was a toy jeep made from tin can and pulled by a string. I also remember how he surprised me one day with a ball of string for my kite, except that the string was too heavy for my small kite. I remember too the movie “The Sullivans”, the first English movie he brought us to see at the old Cine Celia complete with peanuts and candies. I remember most of all the time he accompanied me to school when I was in Grade 1 after I refused to study anymore because of a bully in school.

Tatang’s parenting was conservative. As head of the family, he would let Inang do the spanking when we misbehaved. He did not dare punish us unless he had to. I guess because he knew he had a temper and he really would explode when he got angry. He was also strictly a homebody, a home-to-office-to-home sort of person. He was also not an expressive type of person, except perhaps with babies and small children, but not with us his grown up children. I do not think he bonded deeply with any of his children, except perhaps with Ateng, his only girl. But I remember that unlike Inang, he wrote me often while I was at the seminary to tell me about happenings at home.

His Death

Tatang had just recovered from a stroke that partially debilitated him when I was ordained priest in December 1968. He told me then that he just waited for my ordination and that he was “ready to go”. I ignored his remark and went on to my new missionary assignment in Cotabato. He did not recover anymore when another stroke came on June 29, 1969 – some six months after my ordination and a little less than two months after his 61st birthday. He passed away with only Inang, a son and a granddaughter at his side. He died peacefully, without too much effort or pain. His funeral, people said, must have been one of the largest gathering ever seen in our town. It was truly a testimony to Tatang’s goodness as a person and to the legacy that he had left behind -- that of a faithful family man and an honest civil servant.

Tatang was already gone when I left the priesthood in 1976. But I am sure that like Inang, he would have also wholeheartedly agreed with and respected my decision to leave.

That was the kind of father he was – wanting only what was best for his children.

That is Tatang, my father.

A different father and son story

I am sure you have heard of the father and son story in the Prodigal Son narrative as told by Jesus in the gospel.

This is a different father and son story that happened on Father’s Day, one Sunday morning in June, more or less than 20 years ago.

******

The only son was probably about 10 years old then – a bright, intelligent yet sensitive boy. He was at that stage perhaps when he was trying to establish his own identity as he was starting to break away from maternal strings, looking up to his father as a male role-model, and maybe seeking a piece of his fatherly affection.

The father, however, was aloof, cold, and non-demonstrative of his emotions – parental traits which he must have gotten from his own father himself. Furthermore, his educational training had been in a regimented institution (aka a seminary) where rules and regulations reigned supreme and where every major activity was on schedule.

Thus, in their household, there were rules for his children (1 boy and 2 girls who were all in grade school at that time) to follow. Non-compliance with the rules entails corresponding punishment for the violator.

One of these rules was that the children were not to leave the house without permission from the father even if they were only to play games outside with their playmates in the neighborhood.

That Sunday morning, which also happened to be Father’s Day, the father was quietly sitting and reading the Sunday newspapers. He noticed that he already had received Father’s Day greetings from his wife and 2 daughters but not from his son. He asked for his son’s whereabouts but nobody could give him any answer. The son apparently left the house without telling anybody and even without greeting his father first. The father then instructed the household helpers to let the son come to him as soon as he arrived.

Soon the son arrived and came to him sheepishly and seemingly afraid. Without any warning, the father started shouting at his son angrily asking why he broke the rule and left the house without asking permission first. The boy, already overtaken by fear of his father, could not answer and this angered his father more. The father started shaking him by the shoulders until tears fell from the boy’s eyes. He then pushed the boy hard away from him and told him to stay in his room the whole day as his punishment.

Just before lunch, his wife approached him with a Father’s Day card with his favorite candy inside. The card and candy were from his son, his wife told him. He learned too that his son went out to buy the card and candy only that morning and did not asked permission because the boy had wanted to surprise his father. The father did not know then what to say at that moment. Shaken, he slowly stood up and went to his son.

What happened next was a reverse of the gospel scene in the Prodigal Son story. Instead of the son going to his father for forgiveness, the father humbly went to his son, embraced him and tearfully asked for his forgiveness.

That day was the start of the father’s gradual and painful awakening. He changed his parenting ways towards all his children and became a more loving, more understanding father from then on. He and his son started doing things together whenever possible. Slowly but surely, they developed and nurtured a relationship that helped carried both the boy and his father later on through the rough times in their respective lives.

The boy grew into his teen age years and early adulthood until he decided to be on his own in the United States. Meanwhile, the father watched closely and with pride as his boy metamorphosed into a fine young man that he is today.

I know this story only too well. It is my story and of my only son Nico

*******

Today, Nico and I are oceans and thousands of miles apart, but we continue to communicate regularly. And for some reason or another, we chance to find ourselves together when we need each other most.

Thus, by quirk of circumstances and perhaps by God’s design, I happened to be in California in 2005 visiting with Nico and doing a unit of CPE in San Francisco when Nico decided to get married. And so it was that there were just the two of us representing our family who did the “pamanhikan” with the family of Cecille. Then by God’s plan once again, it was Nico who first rushed to my side to give me company when I needed a loved one due to my life-threatening open-heart surgery in Hawaii last year.

Today Nico is a father himself to a lovely daughter – my first grandchild Nicole. I am sure that someday he will remember this story and pluck a lesson or two from it when he starts raising his future son.

Then perhaps, another different and a much better father and son story will be told when Father’s Day comes around.

All about "other" fathers

Recently, as I was reading on the Fatherhood of God and the role of fathers
in people’s lives, it occurred to me that sometimes God sends into our lives,
for some reason or another, other men to make up for the inadequacy of our
own fathers.  God as a Father shows himself to us in the many "fathers" He
sends to us along the way.  Nice thought as we are about to celebrate Father’s
Day this month of June, isn’t it?

They actually come in all forms. I remember I had my own “spiritual” father during my growing up years in the seminary, some have foster fathers, others have step-fathers, and others too may have what they call surrogate fathers -- all father figures from God our Father. Come to think of it, even God sent a foster father for His own son in the person of St. Joseph!

Mr. Tiu

What comes to mind now is a chat I had recently with my son Nico on the internet. He goes, “Hey, Pop! You remember Mr. Tiu?” And I go, “Of course! Your principal at Holy Cross in Bronx?” Apparently bewildered, he goes again, “Huh, who is this? Don’t you remember Mr, Tiu? Welworth School?…Caloocan?…Sta. Maria?”, he continued.

Then it all came to me. Mr. Tiu is Ben Tiu, the former administrator of Southridge School who later established his own small school where he could easily interact one-on-one with his students and follow-up their progress individually; veering away from the more traditional school set-up. Nico admires him a lot even then and considers him a big influence in his intellectual as well as spiritual growth.

Our family discovered Ben and his school at a time when Nico could no longer fit into the traditional formal setting of education after he had developed a severe school phobia. (This is another long story). Also Ben came when I was not only emotionally but also physically absent in Nico’s life during my stint with the refugee program in Bataan.

Anyway, during our chat, I learned from Nico that Ben had passed away only last April or barely two months ago. How he learned about it is itself another story of serendipity.

While surfing the net recently, he decided to search friends from Welworth (Ben’s School) in his Friendster account. Sure enough he found Maan’s site, a former classmate who was also Ben’s niece. He messaged her and sent his “regards and say hello to Mr. Tiu”, only to find out later that Maan had a blog about Ben’s death, some sort of eulogy she delivered in his funeral!

It was then when Nico realized how much Mr. Tiu meant to him and how much he influenced his intellectual development. You see, Ben agreed to take in Nico for tutorial and home schooling purposes only as he did not yet have the school’s license to operate. The tutorial was basically in English, Reading, Math, and Science, but Ben injected a lot of religious values in the process. Sometime later, Nico decided to take the Philippine Educational Placement Test to determine his eligibility for college. He subsequently passed and was declared “Eligible for College” even as he technically completed only First Year high school. He then went on to college trouble-free. He now credits Ben for much of this accomplishment.

Mr. Zalamea

In an email letter to Nico I reminded him how good God is to him and how he was blessed with people along the way during his formative years. I reminded him about another father figure in his life, Mr. Ernie Zalamea, his former boss and principal at Holy Cross School, in Bronx, New York who became his mentor at a time when he was new and all alone starting a new life in America.

My wife and I met Ernie during our visit to Nico in 2003 in New York. True enough, he was the kind of person as Nico had described him – caring and supportive of Nico from the time he met him. Despite all odds against Nico (a new comer with no experience at all) Ernie supported Nico’s hiring as a Computer Teacher at Holy Cross. Nico responded to the trust given him and did much for the school in terms of its computer program for the students and staff. Later when Nico decided to move on to California for a higher-paying job, Mr. Zalamea continued to be Nico’s strongest supporter.

Readings

As a final note on all these my musings about fathers, I would like to share two books on fatherhood and fathering. The first is research-based and considered sort of a classic on Fatherhood. It tells “how a man’s life is shaped by his relationship with his father.” Titled “Finding our Fathers”, it is written by Samuel Osherson, Ph.D. The other is titled simply “Fathering” by Will Glennon. It is some kind of a practical book for fathers for “strengthening connection with your children no matter where you are”. Both I consider great readings!

A father's thoughts on God as Father

I do not know who invented Father’s Day and why it is celebrated in the month of June. In any case, as a father, I just thank God for Father’s Day!

The mother of my children, Thelma, will probably dispute this, but I think Fathers make the most influence for good or bad on the future of a child, especially on a son. They say too that a person’s relationship with God as Father largely depends on that person’s relationship with his/her father on earth.

With these thoughts, I would like to start the month of Fathers with a reflection on the Fatherhood of God.

The Prodigal Father

When I reflect on the fatherhood of God, the first thing that comes to mind is the story of Jesus as related by St. Luke regarding a Father and his two sons. It is a story of a single parent family, a father and two sons. It is one of Jesus' best-known and probably best-loved stories. It is full of psychological insight and theological depth. It can get many of us going, particularly the sons among us.

It begins by being a story of a son, about the younger son deciding that he can't wait to get his inheritance. "Why not ask for it now?" he thinks, and does and gets it but spends it all and ends up working at a pig farm. While there, Jesus tells us that he came to himself. He had one of those moments when his mind was clear. He knew what to do: go home, say you're sorry and get a job as a hired hand on Dad's farm. So he rehearses his speech and heads home.

Then Jesus shifts and it becomes a story about the father. The father does not act like a patriarch should. He does not act like a fellow who has been dishonored. The father does not ask for an accounting of how the son spent half his fortune. The story of the prodigal son becomes the story of the prodigal father who is extravagant in his affection. This is not a story about human fathers anymore. Nor is it a story about patriarchs. It is a story about God. With this story, Jesus has shown us the face of God whose unconditional love is ready to accept us with open hands even after we have sinned against him; a God who is ready to meet us with an embrace even before we can say anything.

Then there too is the Father’s response to his eldest son’s reaction of resentment and anger: "When this son of yours comes back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you throw him a party." The Father reconnects with his eldest, while not apologizing for the way he dealt with the youngest. Whoever he is, the message is the same. He/she is always, always welcome home. Sure there may be some among us who will roll their eyes when they see a prodigal brother/sister coming back, but God as the Father loves them too no matter what.

Henri Nouwen’s “The Return of the Prodigal Son”

In talking about the story of the Prodigal Son, I cannot help but refer to the small book of the well-loved spiritual writer. The book is based on his contemplation of Rembrandt's great painting of the same name which hangs in The Hermitage in St. Petersburg. Gentleness, strength, firmness, kindness, balance, and awareness of the other are some of the themes of this book.

The following is an excerpt that I thought might encourage you to read the whole book. What makes it interesting is that it speaks of God not only as a Father, but also as a Mother, of God’s masculine as well as feminine qualities.

"Often I have asked friends to give me their first impression of Rembrandt's Prodigal Son. Inevitably, they point to the wise old man who forgives his son: the benevolent patriarch.

"The longer I look at 'the patriarch', the clearer it becomes to me that Rembrandt has done something quite different from letting God pose as the wise old head of a family. It all began with the hands. The two are quite different. The father's left hand touching the son's shoulder is strong and muscular. The fingers are spread out and cover a large part of the prodigal son's shoulder and back. I can see a certain pressure, especially in the thumb. That hand seems not only to touch, but, with its strength, also to hold. Even though there is a gentleness in the way the father's left hand touches his son, it is not without a firm grip.

"How different is the father's right hand! This hand does not hold or grasp. It is refined, soft, and very tender. The fingers are close to each other and they have an elegant quality. It lies gently upon the son's shoulder. It wants to caress, to stroke, and to offer consolation and comfort. It is a mother's hand....

"As soon as I recognized the difference between the two hands of the father, a new world of meaning opened up for me. The Father is not simply a great patriarch. He is mother as well as father. He touches the son with a masculine hand and a feminine hand. He holds, and she caresses. He confirms and she consoles. He is, indeed, God, in whom both manhood and womanhood, fatherhood and motherhood, are fully present. That gentle and caressing right hand echoes for me the words of the prophet Isaiah: "Can a woman forget her baby at the breast, feel no pity for the child she has borne? Even if these were to forget, I shall not forget you. Look, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands."