My Father: Some Poignant Recollections

After I completed elementary grades, my father left farming and worked at a timber company in Bayugan, some 60 kilometers south of Cabadbaran. The timber company provided free housing for its employees and soon my mother and my siblings moved to Bayugan to be with my father. I was left behind to pursue my high school education in Cabadbaran. I stayed with my aunt who owned a store in the public market. We agreed that when I’m not in school, I have to help her tend the store in exchange for board and lodging.                                                              

                          

A few years later, when I was already in college, my father got wind of a farm lot for sale in the vicinity of the company’s housing compound. My father got interested and bought that piece of land out of his meager savings. He resigned from the timber company and became a farmer once again. We vacated the company housing and moved to a farmhouse which was part of the purchase. As we gave up our housing privilege, we also encountered new kinds of problems like our mobility in transporting our farm products to the market or buying our groceries.

 

As I wrote in my piece, My Mother’s Ordeal, “…in those days, no public transport reached our place for the road was owned by the timber company and only company vehicles were allowed to use it. But the mobility problem of the farmer residents was somehow eased by the generosity of the company drivers who gave rides to people they pass by hiking on the side of the road or waiting at some designated areas.” But not always, depending on the mood of the driver or the company guards manning the checkpoints.

                                   

One day, I accompanied my father to town to sell our farm produce. On our way back home, as the usual practice, together with the other farming families and company workers, we hitched on an empty dump truck that would pass by our house bound for the forested area where the company were cutting the trees.  All went well until we passed a company checkpoint about a kilometer away from the town proper.

 

The truck was stopped and the guard started inspecting. The guard must be having a bad day that day. He decided that the truck was so overloaded and that some of the hitchriders have to get down to lighten the load. Then he made the announcement: “Those who are not company workers should get down from the truck. Nobody moved. My father was  a former company worker, the guard was his friend, we were neighbors in the housing compound and he was hoping that the announcement was not meant for him. Still nobody got down. Then the guard shouted: “Herbolingo!, you are not a company worker anymore, get down.” I was shocked. I could feel the humiliation my father felt of being singled out.  We started to get down without saying a word. As soon as my father and I  got off the truck, other hitchriders followed. As the truck started moving toward its destination without us, we carried our groceries on our back and started hiking the 10-kilometer distance towards our house.

 

Many years later,  I graduated from college and started working. A friend of mine, offered to sell his car to me--- a 1989 Mitsubishi Mirage. It was a compact car but the TV ad guaranteed that it could accommodate 4 giants (meaning, Sumo Wrestlers). It was in good running condition---good enough for my regular commuting to and from the university campus in Marawi where I was teaching and residing and a number of industrial companies in Iligan City who hired me as consultant. Came Christmas time, I called my father (we had cellphones already that time but still the bulky ones) and told him that we are coming home for Christmas. I also learned that my brother Joey who was working in Davao would also be spending Christmas with his family at home. What a family reunion would that be!

During this time, the timber company had already ceased its operations and the logging road which was our only connection to the town of Bayugan was turned over to the government. But the government had its hands full with a budget shortfall for road repairs and the road was not properly maintained.

 

A few days before Christmas, we were already on our way. As we were a few kilometers short of reaching our home, the road was muddy and my compact car with low chassis stuck. I called my father for help and he assured me that help is on the way. In less than an hour, he arrived hiking. My father positioned himself at the back of the car, I revved the engine and my father pushed,  the tires turned and turned and we made a slow but steady progress. After our car was extricated from that muddy pool, I turned to my father to thank him, I saw his entire body and clothing covered with mud but he was beaming with smiles seeing his eldest son back.

 

When we arrived home, Joey’s family was already there ahead of us. The muddy road was no match for his jeep-type vehicle with high chassis and probably with a 4-wheel drive. That was the time that I saw my father the happiest. Our neighbors came by gawking and admiring at the two vehicles parked in our yard. My father was proudly telling our neighbors that his two sons were at home showing off the vehicles which he knew our neighbors could own only in their dreams.

 

The next time we had family reunion, my brother asked his son, Juztin, about me, “Teng, do you remember who he is?” Juztin, who was just a toddler when we first met promptly replied,” That’s Uncle Shem---his car got stuck in the mud!”