After a nine-month-long Navy deployment to Japan, my father returned home to us, eager to reunite with his wife and three young children. I was not yet 2 years old and he had been away for a huge chunk of my little life.
“Daddy’s home!” he exclaimed as he walked through the door.
“You’re not my daddy!” I cried, quickly maneuvering away in my baby walker. But it didn’t take long for me to warm up to the strange man being showered with hugs and kisses from everyone else.
The story is a family favorite my parents love to repeatedly share at our get-togethers, and it makes us laugh every time. It’s especially funny to me because I am a Daddy’s Girl through and through.
I’ve always admired my dad. A Filipino immigrant, he left his province at 20 to join the U.S. Navy in search of a better life and to help support his parents and siblings back home. He is a hardworking, generous and kind man.
He raised me, my older sister and brother to work hard and study harder. He encouraged us to pursue our passions and supported our choices, which made it easier for us to confidently spread our wings.
Most important of all, when he wasn’t working or pursuing a college degree (another thing I admired about him), he was very present in our lives — cooking us pancakes or French toast drizzled with warm syrup for breakfast before school, and taking us to the beach or movies on lazy weekends.
When I was a sophomore in high school, he helped me with a science project by driving me to beaches around the island and collecting water samples to test for pollutants. Although the trip was long, it was pleasant with his company and our simple conversations. It’s one of my favorite memories with him.
That’s my dad, helping us however he can. After I gave birth to my first child, he drove to my apartment in town from the west side nearly every day to check on me and baby. These days he gladly picks up my three daughters from school when my work days run long.
A kidney transplant several years ago gave my dad a new life, but he has definitely slowed down a bit. Now 73, his strides have turned into a sort of shuffle and his hearing is no longer as strong as his Old Spice musk. His noticeable fragility gives me a greater appreciation for everything he continues to do for us.
Since that one homecoming day decades ago, Dad, I have known with all my heart that you are my daddy. And I’m so thankful. To you, to my husband and to the other awesome daddies who give their children all the love, support and time in the world — Happy Father’s Day.
“She Speaks” is a weekly column by the women writers of the Honolulu Star-Advertiser. Reach Zenaida Serrano at zserrano@staradvertiser.com
