PROMPT - a phone call

This morning, I called my father.

I had been feeling depressed over something I remembered and been mulling over.

There was the familiar ringing tone of an overseas call. A sleepy woman's voice answered "hello?". His wife. I cleared my throat. I said, "Is Tatay still up?" She said yes. "How is he?" "Still have chest and back pains, but not as bad as when you last called." That was 2 or 3 weeks ago. She handed him the phone because it was his voice that I heard next.

"Hello, I'm so glad you called. How are you?" he said, the voice had become more subdued, the dictatorial voice of long ago no longer evident.

"I just remembered something." I didn't answer his question, nor did I return it. "It happened a long time ago, and every time I remember it, it makes me angry and I want to cry."

"What is it?"

"About Wahoo," I said. "She was still little. You slapped her and she fell. She hit her head on the cement block. Then you sent her to sleep without eating, she was dirty from playing outside."

A pause. "I don't remember," I heard him say.

"She had a small cut on her head, and it bled. How could you do that? She was just a little girl. Maybe that caused her to be the way she is. And I have to remember all these, and bear the guilt because there was nothing I could do then. You hated us. Me and Leng and Wahoo. You only loved Erick and Vilma."

"I don't remember it anymore." His voice was softer. "Perhaps I was drunk then?"

"No, you're just temperamental. You wanted us all to be perfect - to be smart, to do all things correctly. You were so unfair to us." I wanted to say "To me," but somehow I said "us".

"And I'm sure you don't remember the same incident with Lengleng at the supper table. Well, I sure can't forget that."

"You should forget these things." I could picture him, weak and old. And probably scared that if I continue to remember and get angry with each memory, that the money would stop.

That is my problem, I couldn't forget these things. When the memories are triggered, everything else comes like an avalanche. A deluge of emotion overcomes me everytime. The anger awakens. Haven't I told myself that I have forgiven him for everything? Is that not why I am doing the daughterly duty of supporting him? I sit and I cry some more. I have to search my heart rather carefully to ascertain that I have really forgiven. Are there things so offensive that no matter how much you say you forget and forgive, you really don't? Does remembering them everytime and feeling the anger mean that the forgiveness is really not fully earned? Or is it just my attempt at justifying my guilt over some of my own repressed transgressions?

Then I said, "I heard there's a shortage of rice over there. Are you coping?"

"Oo, konti," he says, probably surprised at the switch of emotion. Did I show him too much of my own vulnerability? "Beyo buys rice for us."

"It's Nanay's birthday today. She'd be 75 if she was alive."

"You remembered...that's good. That's good."

I said bye and hung up.

c.v.summerfield - april 21, 2008