Happy Father's day to you Pops

My siblings and I were talking about our fond memories of our Pops (that is what we call our father, short for Papa)

We were remembering his wheezing laughter as he tells us one of his dad jokes even before people started calling it dad jokes.

We would remember how he liked cooking and showed me how being a kitchen was not limited to women because men can be excellent cooks.

I told my siblings about the camping trips that we took and the nature lessons he taught me. Of how to catch a dragonfly.

My sister recounted the moments that they sang together during parties and get together with his rich baritone voice. I was apparently too young to remember this.

I recalled watching him shave and he would, in turn, teach me how to shave even when I could hardly grow a stubble even now.

Our youngest has the least number of memories about him and would usually just listen to us as he was growing our Pops were mostly in other countries working.

We would remember the letters that he sent us. He loved writing these long, eloquent letters describing to us what he is seeing. It was his way of sharing his experiences with us.

We remember his eyes disappearing when he smiled that goofy smile of his. My sibling tell me that as the years go by, I look more and more like our Pops. Do you see it? Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't.

Yet not all are happy memories as we also remember those dark times that our parents fought.

These were the times that my eldest sister would bundle all of us and we would go to the mall or the park just so that we would not hear them.

She knew at a young age how devastating that is to children and so she tried to shield us to the best of her abilities.

We would remember his temper and would be at odds with the smiling face we always see.

Lastly, we would remember how he died, away from us, in a lonely land, surrounded by strangers who he was helping create a better future for them. He died in his room, a letter in his hand, one of the many letters we exchanged.

Father's Day is always bittersweet in our memories because of remembering both the good and the bad. It has been more than a decade but we still feel the pain of losing him.

He had so much to give to the world and it seemed it was cut so short. He loved communities and helping other people even to the point that he left very little for himself.

My siblings say that they see so much in Pops with me. Seeing my life as it is now, it is as if I am living our Pop's dream and continuing his legacy of compassion.

I don't see it because I am merely doing what I think is humane. I am merely doing things that I hope that he would be proud to call me son.

If ever I have children of my own I would like to love them as much as Pops gave to us. How we wished that he saw some of his grandchildren. He was only able to see two out of the nine grandchildren we has.

They would have loved his wheezing laughter, they would love to eat the food he prepared, they would have loved to hear him sing and tell his stories.

They would have loved him as much as we love him.