A Father's Day reflection on memory, inheritance, and the quiet lessons that stay with us.
Father's Day is coming up soon, and like Mother's Day, it always seems to arrive faster than expected.
It has made me reflect on my dad, Godofredo Sr., or "Gody" as many of his friends called him. He passed away a few years ago at the age of 89.
My father had a strong personality. He could be quick to react and was not always the easiest person to be around. But he also had moments of tenderness that became clearer to me as I got older.
Being the youngest in the family and much younger than my siblings, I know I was a little spoiled. My parents both catered to me in their own ways, and some of my fondest memories with my dad were the simple outings we shared together.
He loved Jackie Chan movies and going to the theater whenever he had the chance. I would almost always tag along. Sometimes we would even do a double feature where we watched something I wanted to see too. Surprisingly, even at a young age, I already liked horror movies more than cartoons.
Looking back now, I realize those outings were never really just about the movies. It was about getting out of the house, sharing popcorn and snacks afterward, and sitting in an air-conditioned theater escaping the Philippine heat for a few hours. We did not have air conditioning at home back then, so even that felt special.
My dad had many hobbies and quirks. He loved crossword puzzles, billiards, cards, Scrabble, bowling, singing, and dancing. He was also meticulous about his appearance. He ironed everything, even his jeans. When he was younger, he liked looking sharp wherever he went.
Over time, I started realizing how much of him quietly stayed with me.
I love puzzles and word games. I play billiards. I enjoy card games and still appreciate the competitiveness of Scrabble. I joined choir when I was younger and enjoy music and dancing. I even inherited some of his neatness and attention to detail.
Some things we inherit are obvious. Others slowly reveal themselves over the years.
Some of my favorite memories growing up happened during the frequent brownouts in the Philippines, when electricity would suddenly go out at night. We had no television, no internet, no smartphones, and not even a landline phone at home.
So we adapted.
We lit candles and kerosene lanterns, gathered around the table, and played cards or Scrabble together as a family.
I remember getting frustrated because I could never beat my parents at Scrabble back then. Our Scrabble board was homemade by my dad using particle board with hinges in the middle so it could fold up and travel with us. Looking back now, that
handmade board says so much about him. Resourceful, practical, and quietly thoughtful in ways I probably did not fully appreciate as a child.
Life eventually changed.
My mom and I moved to the United States while my dad stayed behind in the Philippines. My brother was already too old to immigrate with us at the time, and I think those years created a loneliness in my father that stayed with him for a very long time.
As life moved forward, visits became less frequent. My brother later married and had children, and although there was family around him, I do not think my father ever completely let go of certain disappointments in life.
My brother passed away during the height of COVID, and a couple of years later, my father unexpectedly passed away after what was supposed to be a simple medical procedure.
When I created a memorial video for my dad, I found myself crying while going through old photographs. Despite the sadness and heaviness he carried in his later years, I could still see tenderness in his eyes in those older pictures. Joy. Humor. Warmth.
It reminded me that people are rarely just one thing.
As we grow older, we sometimes begin to understand our parents not just as parents, but as people. People who carried their own fears, regrets, pressures, and hopes while trying to navigate life the best way they knew how.
This Father's Day, I find myself reflecting not only on the complicated parts of my dad, but also on the pieces of him that continue to live on through memory, habits, laughter, games, creativity, and everyday
moments.
I also dedicate this reflection to my brother, who was a father to my nephews and is deeply missed by all of us.
To all fathers, father figures, and families remembering loved ones this Father's Day, I wish you moments of peace, reflection, and connection.
And if you are fortunate enough to still have your loved ones with you, hold those ordinary moments a little closer. Sometimes those become the memories we carry the longest.
If something here resonated with you or if you're looking for a meaningful Father's Day gift, I'd love for you to take a look at what I make. Every piece starts as my own original design, made to be part of everyday moments like the ones I described above.
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