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My Tatay, Oden
Part of a series on dads—and being a dad—for Father's Day.
Unlike many of my colleagues here in GMA-7, I don’t have anything to boast about my father’s educational degree or other achievements in life, save for his 10 children—of whom I am the youngest—and his more than 50 grandchildren.
We fondly call my father Tatay or Popsie.
His name was Gaudencio Comia Caguimbal, better known as Oden.
He was born on June 7, 1927, when education was so difficult to achieve because of the presence of Japanese soldiers warring with Filipino guerillas and American troops.
He only reached Grade 3. Despite this, he still had a good command of English and was very good in mathematics, a keen observer/commentator of Philippine politics and economy, and a good singer and an excellent dancer.
Many are saying that we (his children) got our sense of humor from my Tatay. He was also a good storyteller.
Everything that they had was a product of pure hard work. He and my Nanay, Natividad, were able to put up an ice cream factory and a grocery business in Quezon City. That was after years of working as a truck and bus driver then finally as an ice cream vendor.
When wealth and opportunities refused to stay with us following the declaration of Martial Law, Tatay bounced back as a farmer, jeepney and taxi driver, just to ensure our education.
Luckily, all of us were able to finish our desired courses and are enjoying our little gains.
Later in his life because of health problems, he chose to be a househusband taking care of us, the younger ones. He proudly and successfully performed this role.
What I can boast of about my Tatay was the virtue that shone in him whether in times of trial or success.
Relatives, friends and even people not so close to him would usually visit our humble home in Quezon City to meet with him or seek his assistance or advice on various matters—fiesta, local politics, family issues, weddings, funerals, and others.
There were also plenty of times when he was asked to run for public office in his little hometown of Alitagtag, Batangas.
He loved politics all right, but he consistently refused, thinking about our safety, our name—the possibility of him being offered a bribe, the enemies that he would gain if he refused or as he performed his duties. And lastly, the time that he would be away from us, once he accepted the challenge.
He also taught us that a man who is worthy of respect is someone who keeps his word or promise, someone who doesn’t take advantage of his connections, somebody who helps without expecting something in return.
Honestly, I was only able to appreciate all my Tatay’s hard work and teachings when I got older.
I was not that close to him when I was a child because of his being a strict disciplinarian.
I was too afraid to fail or disappoint him, so I opted to keep my distance.
Our father-daughter relationship only warmed up when I was already working and he was already in his 60’s.
Finally, I noticed and learned to appreciate all the support and cheer that he had been giving me and my other siblings.
He was more panicky than I was whenever I was sick or in pain.
He was happier than me whenever I achieved something, telling his friends and relatives about my little achievements in life.
The wall between my Tatay and me had finally collapsed, making me a very contented and proud daughter working on my dreams, to the delight of my parents.
Several years after that, my father was diagnosed with cancer due to too much smoking.
I was right beside him when he drew his last breath.
I know that there was a faint smile on his face while I was repeatedly telling him that I loved him and that I was so proud of him.
I felt the very gentle press on my hand while I was holding his before he bid us goodbye.
I know in my heart that Tatay bid us farewell with a happy spirit.
Hundreds of people showed up to convey their last salute to our Tatay when we buried him February of 1997—proof that he had indeed touched so many lives when he was still with us.
My Tatay would have turned 87 last June 7, but I’m sure that he’s happier now in heaven, singing and dancing with his fellow angels.
Last night, I dreamt about him, telling me never to forget him.
How could I, Tatay? I remain your bunso! Happy Father’s Day to you up there! I sooo love you! — BM, GMA News
The author's parents, Oden and Natividad Caguimbal. Photos courtesy of Sherrie Ann Torres
We fondly call my father Tatay or Popsie.
His name was Gaudencio Comia Caguimbal, better known as Oden.
He was born on June 7, 1927, when education was so difficult to achieve because of the presence of Japanese soldiers warring with Filipino guerillas and American troops.
He only reached Grade 3. Despite this, he still had a good command of English and was very good in mathematics, a keen observer/commentator of Philippine politics and economy, and a good singer and an excellent dancer.
Many are saying that we (his children) got our sense of humor from my Tatay. He was also a good storyteller.
Everything that they had was a product of pure hard work. He and my Nanay, Natividad, were able to put up an ice cream factory and a grocery business in Quezon City. That was after years of working as a truck and bus driver then finally as an ice cream vendor.
When wealth and opportunities refused to stay with us following the declaration of Martial Law, Tatay bounced back as a farmer, jeepney and taxi driver, just to ensure our education.
Luckily, all of us were able to finish our desired courses and are enjoying our little gains.
Later in his life because of health problems, he chose to be a househusband taking care of us, the younger ones. He proudly and successfully performed this role.
What I can boast of about my Tatay was the virtue that shone in him whether in times of trial or success.
Relatives, friends and even people not so close to him would usually visit our humble home in Quezon City to meet with him or seek his assistance or advice on various matters—fiesta, local politics, family issues, weddings, funerals, and others.
There were also plenty of times when he was asked to run for public office in his little hometown of Alitagtag, Batangas.
He loved politics all right, but he consistently refused, thinking about our safety, our name—the possibility of him being offered a bribe, the enemies that he would gain if he refused or as he performed his duties. And lastly, the time that he would be away from us, once he accepted the challenge.
He also taught us that a man who is worthy of respect is someone who keeps his word or promise, someone who doesn’t take advantage of his connections, somebody who helps without expecting something in return.
Honestly, I was only able to appreciate all my Tatay’s hard work and teachings when I got older.
I was not that close to him when I was a child because of his being a strict disciplinarian.
I was too afraid to fail or disappoint him, so I opted to keep my distance.
Our father-daughter relationship only warmed up when I was already working and he was already in his 60’s.
Finally, I noticed and learned to appreciate all the support and cheer that he had been giving me and my other siblings.
He was more panicky than I was whenever I was sick or in pain.
He was happier than me whenever I achieved something, telling his friends and relatives about my little achievements in life.
The wall between my Tatay and me had finally collapsed, making me a very contented and proud daughter working on my dreams, to the delight of my parents.
Several years after that, my father was diagnosed with cancer due to too much smoking.
I was right beside him when he drew his last breath.
I know that there was a faint smile on his face while I was repeatedly telling him that I loved him and that I was so proud of him.
I felt the very gentle press on my hand while I was holding his before he bid us goodbye.
I know in my heart that Tatay bid us farewell with a happy spirit.
Hundreds of people showed up to convey their last salute to our Tatay when we buried him February of 1997—proof that he had indeed touched so many lives when he was still with us.
My Tatay would have turned 87 last June 7, but I’m sure that he’s happier now in heaven, singing and dancing with his fellow angels.
Last night, I dreamt about him, telling me never to forget him.
How could I, Tatay? I remain your bunso! Happy Father’s Day to you up there! I sooo love you! — BM, GMA News
