Measure of a Man.

I have seen you shed tears twice, and both involved me. First, when I didn’t push through with Accountancy despite three semesters left to get the degree. Second, when I came out. As a kid, I have always seen you as an inspiration, from your love for reading to your ability to spew words out of thin air. You seem invulnerable, yet you remain humble. You are strong, yet sensitive. I sometimes think you are a walking oxymoron.

You love Mom to the fullest, never lifted a finger on her. You remain awfully quiet when Mom is saying words that slice your heart. You know how to deal with a woman, without surrendering your masculinity. At the end of the day, you will always be the first to embrace Mom, kiss her, and tell that everything will be fine.

You are part of a dying breed: a gentleman, a loyal husband, and a loving father.  You always tell me to never make someone feel alone, especially if you can be there for that person, be it someone special or a friend. The measure of true relationships, as you would remind me, is to build trust and honesty. It’s not always love that move mountains. Sometimes, it involves faith in each other’s commitment.

I can never forget the night when you and Mom asked me about the secret I had been keeping for so long. You told me that you already knew, that you felt it, but if I am not yet comfortable talking about it, you can wait until I am ready. You and Mom’s reassuring words made me think that it was the right moment. I started to cry. I wanted to say the right words, but it would not come out. I hate disappointing you, most of all. You have been more than a good father. You have been, and will always be, the reflection of everything that I hold dear.

Instead of drowning me with words, you embraced me tightly. I felt it, for the first time, the meaning of true freedom. I realized that everything will be okay. That no matter what life throws at me, you and Mom will always be there, as cliché as it sounds. It’s a scary world out there, but knowing that I am not alone in this struggle makes everything a tad breathable. Whenever I recall this scene, I cry. I am even crying now as I struggle to find the words to complete my sentences.

I will never be like you, not even close. You are the true measure of a man, with the only fault of loving people close to you too much. So much love that some take advantage of it. But you still carry that mantra, constantly telling us that it is better to help someone than turn a blind eye on him, particularly if you have the means.

And someday, if I too would be a father, I will tell him about the story of a boy who grew up in poverty, learned his way around, studied hard, married the most beautiful woman on Earth, and became one of the most loved people in our town. I will narrate to him the tale of an Accountant who spews poetry and short stories. I will tell him about the Teacher who has the patience of a thousand men. I will fill him with stories of love and hope, of dedication and perseverance, and of humility and success.

From this moment onwards Dad, on this special day of yours, you are infinite.