an article from Ricky

In Memory of my Father

Justiniano Palcimon Tucay

January 01, 1920 – March 23, 1995

 

He jumped out of the house not minding the five steps of stairs, thrusting a bolo in one hand, facing heavenwards, challenging God himself. He had just learned that one of his sons had died of bronchial asthma attack. There was no time to say goodbye, no time to say he loved him, no time for anything but curse the heaven above.

 

My father barely had a fourth grade education but had the skills of a master and the know-how of a genius. He traveled across the northern provinces mindful of the heartaches he left at home, earning a hard and honest living to support the needs of his burgeoning family, which came first and foremost. Respect and family values were ingrained to his brood of nine, now eight, next came education, which came with a hefty price. He was a jack-of-all-trades and a man before his time. He pampered his family with a house he built himself, furnished it with furnitures he carved out of Narra, and ran indoor plumbing when there was none in our barrio, at least not for the likes of us. He was harsh on discipline as well. One look, the set of his lips, the tone of his voice made us kids hunker down to do our homework or went running doing our chores. But often, he would also have that look when the younger ones would gather around him or sit on his lap while he listened to his favorite radio station, our high tech entertainment.

Neighbors either respected him or were terrified by him, but they also knew to turn to him in their hour of need. His house was always open to all the manongs, manangs, and adings alike. He would call people from the street and feed them our food, which was almost never enough to begin with. He would loan his last peso even if it meant placating the nuns with our tuition bills. He had one pair of black pants, white long sleeved shirt, and a pair of shiny leather shoes, which he often loaned to graduating young men in need of ceremonial attire.

When he finally made it big and ended up acrossthe Pacific, his American dream was realized again through backbreaking labor. He cut lettuce, leased his own farm and grew peas, and through word of mouth was hired to do carpentry work. The proof of his diligence, determination, and bright mind came through as he passed and received his carpentry license with a fourth grade education to boot. His claim to fame was being one of the people responsible for building Vandenberg Air Force Base’s rocket launch facility back in the late seventies.

 

In the early mornings of Christmas days, when life in the barrio was much simpler, before our parents would take us to Misa de Gallo, my brothers, sisters, and I would race out of bed to find our knee socks hanging by our living room windows filled with the much sought after Tootsie Rolls, Curly Tops, Pop Rice, and loose change, and if we’ve been really, really good, a red shiny apple still wrapped in a tissue paper. Santa was never found out. My father was never one to take credit for anything. Ninoy simply did.---#

submitted by Ricky