The Man I Became

Inadvertently, I was beating the bass drum with the drumstick. He beckoned me so I can take glimpse of the sliding motion with the stick's head. Having two drum sets in the house is technically noisy and incommodious. He was sweating, he asked my youngest sibling to fetch a towel while still making invisible half-notes in the air. My father never had a proper music class training but I admire how he learned to write notes for his drum rips.

"Okay, ganito yan Joe, lalagyan mo ng friction para magawa mo yung tunog pero bago ka mag-half note itatas mo na yung stick kasi nagva-vibrate pa yung string sa baba, kaya may tunog pa rin. Subukan mo," then he would beat my stick so I could tap out just in time. "Yon! Nakuha mo, sige ulitin mo yan hanggang mag-chorus, tapos 'yung dalawang tom tapos yung cymbals sa kanan."

He is a perfectionist. He should be, after working for almost ten bands in more than twenty years. Being the only son, he wanted me to follow his track. I needed to learn how to play the violin, piano, drums, saxophone, lead and bass guitars.

A consequence of his job is to be abroad most of the time. According to my Psychology professor, the absence of an older male figure in a boy's early years paves way to the boy's attraction to other boys. Attention was pivotal to gender accountability. This is how I became. It was, probably, because of him.

I never deprive him of the right to be lauded, though. He is my greatest music mentor. He worked for us to live decently. He never lacked for our provisions. He is the best man that I know. To me, he is the greatest drummer. He is the second best provider, next to Him. He is my father.

We barely speak for the past years. Maybe, because I don't know what else to say whether on the phone or at home. We were never tie-close. In the course of time maybe he too, noticed that I was dodging conversations with him. To me there was little to talk about.  I always admire those cool father-son relationships I see on TV, wishing I also have that to brag. I always had hope that we will reach a point when both of us will engage in a conversation not relating to music or school, to give us a tighter bond. He is getting older and so am I. But these never materialized. There are what-ifs.

There are a few ocassions wherein I could have told him this but there is a brevity in the courage of my tongue to release the words. Words which might have been the only thing that he needs to hear to weaken our differences, if not erase them:.

I love you, Pa.