Tea at Wimpy's

On one December day, a man and a woman walked into a Wimpy’s restaurant in London. (I don’t think they had much choice back then. I don’t think McDonald’s was in vogue back then. (Though I might say, the “beef burger with a sliced, grilled sausage on top,” is one of the Wimpy’s signature dishes. If you can find one, do try it,). Knowing the man, if he had a choice, he might have gone for KFC, his personal favourite. But this story has little to do with fast-food dining. In fact, the two quietly had a cup of tea. He would have had two sugars. The lady would have declined. They probably shared a joke or two as the rest of the world around them remained oblivious to the importance of the day. You see, this couple had just gotten married, that very afternoon.

My parents.

This story has become part of the folklore of the family. It is still a bit head scratching to be fair. Two people, both from the Philippines, but different islands, leave to see the world. They strike out separately, seeking their fortune. They go half way across the planet, end up in the UK and then meet.
I don’t think meeting each other was part of their plans. I believe the priest who officiated their weeding even asked them if they were sure about getting married.

Twice. During the ceremony.

Sometimes, I wonder about the story of my parent’s wedding. They always seem to have a chuckle whenever they tell the tale. The Wimpy’s is a fact because no one admits to dining there. (Except for one who shall remain anonymous).
What is also a fact is that they both knew, even then that they hadn’t figured it all out. They still haven’t figured it all out. They didn't have a big wedding, but they have been having an interesting marriage. It’s not been perfect, but they are OK with that.

They are still working on it.

So, to my mother who taught me grace and my father who taught me patience, a very happy anniversary, Mama and Papa.

I love you both.

(Belated, I know. I’ve been having trouble with the writing!)

That must have been a very good cup of tea. I hope I meet someone to share tea at Wimpy’s too.

And that's why dad gets the big piece of chicken.

So one day, I'm crazy enough to agree to babysit my nephew M. I must have been drunk or just not thinking straight at the time. Now I love my nephew, but at the time the prospect of watching him scared the heck out of me.

Have me face a charging mob? Been there.
Get pummelled in a basketball game by guys twice my size? Done that.
Be responsible for the little boy (cutest there is, but still)?

Can I face the charging mob again?

Taking full advantage of the Orange Wednesdays (a weekly two for one movie ticket promo), my brother and sis-in-law asked me to watch my nephew for the evening. I couldn't hold it against them. It had been months since they had seen the inside of cinema an after watching the wee man 24/7, they deserved a break.

Scared out of my pants, i still agreed as I had a trump card.
Pa was in town on holiday!

We get to their house, my nephew all fed, bathed and dressed up. A quick hug and last minute instructions and they were out the door,literally  leaving me holding the baby.

Now my nephew takes one look at me, looks at the closed door and realised that he was stuck with me.
What does he do?

Now I could tell you how I gleefully bounced him in my arms, pulled a dozen funny faces and sang completely off key to entertain him, with great success. Except the last part would be a lie. He just kept on bawling loudly, tears streaming down his cheeks.

At this point, I am desperate and pretty much freaking out, when a voice from the couch rang out.

"M, look over there." 

I half-turn to the couch and see Pa, pointing  casually into space. As one, both M and I follow his pointing finger. I raise my eyebrows as I can't see anything in particular. So I keep looking back and forth, all this time M is staring intently in the same direction.

And then it dawned on me. I spent several minutes trying to calm my nephew down, pulling out every trick I had and failed.

Pa used one sentence and one wise index finger.

We spent the rest of the evening watching Disney movies until we all fell asleep on the couch.

So the lesson learned?

There is so much that I yet to know. Especially about being a dad.

So  this is my salute to the fathers.

To the professional dad, Pa who will always end up teaching me something new. Thanks Pa!

To the novice dad, my brother whom I one day bug endlessly if and when its my turn. I apologise in advance!

To the new dad, my best friend Paul. Congratulations on becoming a dad! ( you are a brave man than I!)

And to all the dads, raise a glass, pat yourselves on the back and look please with yourselves.

Happy Father's Day!

Perhaps one day, I, too will join ranks.

(But not yet!)

Ink on Pages (or "how I love the smell of books in the morning... and other times as well") Part 1.

Remember Buffy the Vampire Slayer TV series? It made a star of Sarah Michelle Geller, propelled Joss Whedon to fame and pretty much defined a generation of young adult TV entertainment?

This has nothing to do with that.

Season One, Episode 8, “I Robot, You Jane, ” Giles, (Buffy’s watcher. Again, not important at this junction, just stay with me on this. ) gets grilled over his attachment to books.

He replies:
“Books smell musty and… and rich. The knowledge gained from computers has no texture… it there and then it’s gone. If it’s to last, then the getting of knowledge should be tangible. It should be, uh… smelly .”

For as long as I can remember, I have been surrounded by books. Growing up, the bookshelves of our home lined with a complete set of Encyclopaedia Britannica. My Mother’s handbag would always have room for a battered, dog-eared paged paperback novel, perhaps a Sidney Sheldon or a Judith Michael. A quick glance in the glove compartment or car seat pocket and you would find a book stuffed there by my dad. My brother would painstakingly spend hours on end making catalogue cards for our meagre library and sorting them respectively. (Of course I never put them back in order.) As for myself, I never went anywhere without several books on hand. Even if we went around the corner to shop.

As a family, we have always been reading. Growing up in England, my brother and I were only aloowed a limited number of hours watching Tv during the week. Reading on the other hand was allowed all the way till bed time. Of course, we were not beneath sneaking a flashlight to bed to read another chapter.
This trend continued even after we moved to the Philippines. Whether it was the cramped apartment in the city, the creaky bamboo and concrete bungalow in farm or the current homestead of the family, the Apura library has followed and continued to grow.

Even in our darkest days and lowest points, we have had our books and kept on reading. When the flooding waters would enter our homes, we would scramble to take them to higher ground. When the typhoons would ravage the landscape, shatter our windows and rip off our rooftops, we would grab our blankets and cover our collections the best we could. We mourned at the loss of any book as the loss of an old friend.

I have read the books on our shelves several times over. I’ve read by candlelight when the power has gone out. I personally bought enough books to fill several crates. (On that note, they did fill several crates. Thanks Pa.)

And yes, I have moved on to e-readers, mostly out of necessity. But I still prefer the weighty feel and smell of a good book. It takes me back to when I began reading. Today, my Shakespeare is next to my Pratcett, my Cromwell snuggled next to my Gaiman (I never put them back properly.) And did I mention my comic book collection?

I guess that is a story for another time.

P.S.
This is for my brother who would read to me as a kid,

Ma, who would haul several books for me on her trips home,

And lastly for Pa, on his Birthday, who would carry me to be countless times to bed long after I had fallen asleep reading.

And at times, even when I faked being asleep.