This
little encounter yesterday gave me a good deal to ponder about today. Today,
being Fathers Day.
I
was out yesterday to purchase a few things from a computer shop and was driving
through the exit of a paid parking lot when my car conked out the minute I
reached the guard post. I was helpless to put the car to first gear and far
more helpless to assuage irate motorists from behind. Finally with the help of
the guard who redirected exiting traffic to the entrance, my car was pushed off
the driveway back to the parking lot.
Failing
to reach my regular mechanic on the cell phone, I tried looking around the adjoining
road for a car mechanic. This road is lined with motorcycle, bicycle and related
supplies and spare parts stores. Right along the sidewalks you’d find makeshift
repair shops for these two-wheeled conveyances. So obviously there wasn’t any
shortage for their sort of mechanics but finding a car mechanic thereabouts was
providential.
After
asking around, one and only one name surfaced “Boy Ilong,” but I was
cheerlessly warned I would be lucky if he’s not off to some repair engagement
somewhere. As it turned out, luck was on my side as I came across him seated on
a long wooden bench talking with some men in a run-down tricycle shop at the
far end of the road. Case heard, he grabbed his tool bag and together we walked
back to my car.
Sixty,
shabby, sooty-faced with scruffy silvering hair, a burly physique, a firm
stride and a bulbous nose which he said, earned him the alias “Boy Ilong.” It was
people’s way of identifying him from two more mechanics he used to work with,
sporting the “Boy” name.
I
was captivated by how he got my car fixed in no time, knowing exactly where and
what’s the cause of the problem and working on it with the dexterity of a
master. You’d know it’s his thing because he does it excellently. “Comes with
forty years of experience,” he said self-effacingly. “I’m nowhere near
retirement yet but maybe I will think about it at sixty-five.” Even as he
declared it, I could see that he will keep on doing his thing as if it will
never end.
We
got a bit chummy and our conversation was carried over a serving of pansit
guisado, loaf bread and soft drinks in a nearby restaurant. I wondered whether
he has gotten to pass on his expertise to anyone in his family. Well, he’s got
a son he tagged along as a child who picked the tricks of the trade.
Then
suddenly he told me something that made me think more highly of the person in
front of me. He said he was hoping his son would take after him and his beloved
profession but it was not for him to choose. He told me that from his
honest-to-goodness job as a mechanic, he was able to send his son through
college, graduating with a degree in Criminology. His son did not turn out to
be a policeman either. According to him, his son is now a rising basketball
coach of high school and college level students in one of the universities in
town. He spoke with profuse fatherly love and pride for his son’s
accomplishment.
Somehow
I realized here was a man who knew that his being a mechanic was secondary to
his being a father. He did not push upon his son the tools of his trade but
instead had given him the tools to succeed and be happy in life. He did not
deprive his son the right to decide for himself, knowing it was his son who was
going to live with that decision. He gave his son the freedom to dream his
dream. He allowed him to find his thing.
