Daddy’s Gone :( Daddy’s Gone? From a Son in Honor of His Father: In Memoriam – A.A.S.K.

(written for the funeral mass on April 25, 2013)

My phone emitted a familiar beep as I got to church last Sunday before 10 am, Canadian Eastern time. When I checked, it had a terse message from Manila: “Daddy’s gone.”  ……   Although I was expecting that for a long time, there’s really no easy way to accept the death of someone, especially if that person is your father. It becomes all the more difficult when you’ve just spent two weeks at his bedside, witnessing how he was slowly but surely fading away. Still, I didn’t see it coming. During my two week stay, Dad’s situation actually became more stable and the dominant thought I had as I flew back to Canada on April 17^th was: Daddy’s eventually going to be discharged from the hospital. And then … he was gone, just like that. When you live half-way around the world, it’s not the easiest thing to travel again and be present at his funeral on the spur of the moment for many reasons, hence, my absence today.

Since then, I’ve just been trying to wrap my mind around that one liner “Daddy’s gone.” The reality of death is blunt but, unfortunately, very real, although for me Daddy’s death is still surreal. It’s like I’m in a dream where the border between reality and fantasy is blurred.

Daddy’s Gone?

However, as I look more deeply into the matter, something tells me that, in another sense, the line “Daddy’s gone” is profoundly untrue because the truth of the matter is that, when seen through the eyes of faith, Daddy has actually moved on to a higher dimension of existence. Daddy’s not gone; he has just “gone beyond” or transcended the limits of a frail, sick body and the chains of time and space.

The day after daddy died, our four year old daughter, Haj, woke up with the words, “I had a dream about Lolo. He became a superhero! He was flying in the air with you, mommy and me.” It hits me now that little Haj just expressed in her own way what I just said: her lolo was no longer constrained by the normal restrictions that limit our existence as humans on earth – lolo was now, as she put it, a “superhero.”

We’re All Connected

Daddy’s land, Japan, is one of the great Buddhist nations on earth. So let me dig into this tradition for enlightenment. One of Buddhism’s main principles is what is known in Japanese as Kū (空) or Mu (無) “Emptiness" "Nothingness”. The Principle of Nothingness teaches that nothing or no one exists as a completely separate thing or person. No, everything and every single person exists only as part of a whole ‘matrix’ or ‘web’ or ‘network’ of relationships with other persons and other things. In short, we’re all interconnected. Everyone lives on in everyone and everything else!

To put that in a simpler way, when you look deeply at a sheet of paper, you realize that you can see lots of other things in it. You see the tree from which we made the paper. You see the logger who cut down the tree (now that I’ve mentioned that, yes, daddy was some kind of logger at a certain point in his life!). You see the water which made the tree grow. You see the soil which provided the right environment for the tree. You see the air; you see the animals; you see the forest; of course, you also see the sun without which nothing can grow. In short, when you touch the sheet of paper, you touch all the other things connected with the paper. So just because the sheet of paper is on your desk, it doesn’t mean that it and only it is present there and the other things connected with it are gone. They’re not gone; they’re actually also there in the paper. In short, when you hold the paper and it is night, you still touch the sunshine in the paper.

Now look at all of you gathered here today. You’re here because your lives have connected in some way with the person we knew as A.S.K.. He may have been your spouse or your father, your grandpa, or your uncle. He may have been your friend, your boss, or your associate. You may not have known him personally, but you may have only known his wife, his son or daughter, his grandson or granddaughter. You might have only known his niece or his friend. It doesn’t matter. The Principle of Nothingness states that whatever the circumstances, you still have touched A.S.K. as well. And you are here because of that.

So look around you, not superficially but deeply. And you will see that daddy is not gone at all. He is still all around you. He’s very much present within us, among us, here and now.

Here I am in London, Canada, typing away at my computer, far removed from where the action is in Manila, wishing that I could be there with you at my father’s funeral. Now let me pause a bit and look at myself, at my face, at my heart. … Wait! Who did I just see there? I blink and stare again. Didn’t I just see Daddy? But of course! His genes are in me.

More importantly, let me look at my heart. For all my faults and limitations, I see some things that make me happy – like the capacity for friendship, love, affection, dedication, caring. Having been trained to be a celibate, I wasn’t confident about myself in the spousal and parenting fields. But ever since I myself became a spouse and a parent, I pleasantly realized that there were vast resources for love and caring within me. Where’d all this come from? Yes, of course from God. But there is a venerable Catholic tradition that says “nothing can be present in the mind unless first in the senses” (Nihil in intellectu nisi prius in sensu) and my very loose paraphrase of that is: You cannot really learn anything unless you have first experienced it yourself. So I look deeply again and … whoah! …. Who did I just see there? Again, it’s the face of daddy that I’m staring at.

Daddy’s Subtle Gestures of Caring

  As many of you know, the Japanese are not good in showing their emotions. That doesn't mean though that they have no emotions. They just express emotions more subtly, hence, one should be very observant of the slightest actions or smallest gestures because they may contain very profound messages.

  I remember two subtle yet profound gestures of Daddy for me. The first is a Christmas memory. One Christmas season, Dad, my younger brother Allan and I went for Christmas shopping. While we were going around the stalls looking at different things, a GI Joe doll caught my attention. Since I was old enough to take note of prices, I noticed that the GI Joe seemed a bit too expensive. I'm pretty sure daddy was observing me as I continually looked with longing at a toy that I knew was out of the budget because of its price. So it was daddy who finally made the move and asked, "Do you like that?"

  Of course, trying hard to be a good boy, I dutifully answered, "Yes but it's too expensive."

Daddy's response to that as far as I can remember was, "Di bale na (the price doesn't matter), why don't you get it?"

That may seem like an insignificant incident from long ago but for some reason, as I think about Daddy now, this memory keeps coming to mind. I distinctly remember feeling profoundly moved and, in my own boyish way, I felt that I mattered more to daddy than money or the budget.

  The second memory is more significant, significant because, as many of you know, when I decided to enter the seminary at 12 years old, I broke daddy’s heart. If you recall, he wanted me to go to Japan, learn Japanese and eventually succeed him in the family business. Now when I was ordained a priest in Tokyo in 1995, after the ordination day festivities, at a certain point, daddy and I happened to be alone, walking to the hotel room where my mother and youngest brother were waiting. As we were walking, daddy just very off-handedly and nonchalantly remarked in Japanese, nay, in his native Kansai-ben (the Kansai area dialect), "Mukashi, iro-iro attan ya kedo, kimi wa yo-- yatta wa' (to translate, We've been through a lot but ... you've done well." Of course, in proper Japanese style, I just grunted, "ah..." In keeping with traditional Japanese emotional sobriety, that doesn't seem like a big deal, but there and then I was aware that in those few words, all the time of my stormy relationship with daddy had been forgiven. Daddy had given me the most significant sign that he was very proud of me, that he was giving me the greatest encouragement and approval that he could ever give. Again, as I look back, this memory makes me profoundly grateful.

I’m sure my mom and my siblings have more interesting stories to tell. It would be worth asking them in the days to come.

So when I catch myself looking at my wife or my daughter now with love and tenderness, sometimes I ask myself: Where’d this come from? I wasn’t trained for this … And then I sense a presence, the presence of someone who was a hard-working spouse and father, who always tried his best to get whatever was good and useful for his wife and children, who helped us in our homework, covered our books, treated us to great meriendas, gave us travel tips, was overly generous with his treasure, gave us an example of a solid work ethic, stuck it out with us through all the ups and downs of life … all this because he loved and cared for us … Oh yes, I feel very strongly this presence it almost gives me goose bumps. No, daddy’s not gone; he’s here … in the love I’ve experienced, in the love I feel. Nothing else to do but bow Japanese-style and say, “Arigato!” or in his native Kansai-ben, “Ōki-ni!”

Continuous Presence

This principle I’ve been describing is not only Buddhism, if you have a taste for country music, check out the song from the country band Lonestar entitled “I’m Already There.” (click link to hear music and see lyrics)

I'm already there 
Take a look around 
I'm the sunshine in your hair 
I'm the shadow on the ground 
I'm the whisper in the wind 

And I know I'm in your prayers 
Oh I'm already there 

I'm already there 
Don't make a sound 
I'm the beat in your heart 
I'm the moonlight shining down 
I'm the whisper in the wind 
And I'll be there until the end 
Can you feel the love that we share 
Oh I'm already there 

Applied to Daddy, it makes so much sense. It expresses what I now feel that makes me say, Daddy’s not gone. He’s here, there, everywhere; he’s in me, with me, around me. He’s here particularly when I feel and practice the love and caring that he extended to me, to our family.

Of course, it is actually a happy occasion that Daddy’s death took place in the Easter Season because the principle of continuous presence beyond death is not only a Buddhist teaching or a Lonestar song message. It is above all part of what Resurrection is all about. The risen Christ is no longer bound by time and space and the limitations of human existence. He’s here, there, everywhere. He’s in us, with us, around us. He is particularly and strongly present when communities live in love and harmony.

Daddy and the Story of Easter

I guess I’ll end on a very Christian note (old habits die hard!). If you’ve not yet noticed, I’ve just blurred the line between the risen Jesus and Daddy. St. Paul calls Christ the “firstfruits” (1 Cor. 15:23). In plain language, that means that whatever happens to Christ, will happen to those who hope in him. During the Easter season, we celebrate the following series of events: A much-loved and admired rabbi, wonder-worker from Nazareth was put to death. His friends were heartbroken and disillusioned. They despaired and ran away at first, thinking that their master, Jesus, was gone forever. But was he? The story of Easter from the human side of things is a story of how the friends of Jesus began to look more deeply into the matter and realized either little by little or suddenly that Jesus wasn’t gone at all. He was very much alive and continually present among his friends.

Dealing with Daddy’s death is much like the same story for me. Yes, daddy is gone in a sense. But, looking deeply, I realize that he’s not gone at all. He continues to stay with us …  if we but have the eyes to see him, the hearts to feel him. And for this presence, I say, “Arigato!” “Ōki-ni!”

*****

(Daddy’s Profile)  Need not be read anymore

He was a loving spouse and a great, hard-working dad.

We treasure and love him very much.

We continue to sense his presence in our hearts and in our lives.

We trust that he is with the gracious God, at peace, free from the illnesses that troubled him in his last years, and rejoicing in love.

We look forward to our eventual reunion.

Personally, let me say (although it is not so Japanese to do so) “I love you, Daddy. I’m so proud to be your son. Ee, iro-iro atta n yakedo, Daddy mo yo—yatta wa! You’ve been through a lot, but you’ve done really well, Dad. Way to go!!!”

Daddy, myself and our youngest brother A. This was taken during one of our visits to our oldest brother's boarding school in the early 70s.

.

私は・・・ハーフ？・・・いや、ダブルなんだ！

私はフィリピンのマニラで生まれ育った者の（今までの言い方を使いますと）「ハーフ」です。父は京都出身の人で、母は中央フィリピンにあるパナイ島出身の人ですが、不思議な巡り合いで、大いに異なる二つの世界、二つの文化からきた二人は愛によって結ばれ、私はその間から生まれたのです。

子供の頃、学年のはじめに、小学校の先生が生徒名簿の確認をするときに、私の名前を呼んだら、たいてい、次のシナリオになりました。「サート」（沈黙）・・・「サトウ」？、「君はフィリピン人じゃないよね」という質問がよくありました。

そのような体験から、自分は、多少、他の子供たちと違うのだということに気づきました。自分はフィリピン人だと感じる時もあれば、どうも、そうでないと感じる時も確かによくありました。子供ながらも、「じゃ、ぼくはいったい何者なの？」と自問したこともありました。これは私のような「ハーフ」がよく体験する、いわゆるアイデンティティー・クライシスというものなのです。自分は半分しかないように感じ、自我が中途半端なものに見えることからくる現象です。

その疑問に答えるために、ある人は自分のルーツを探し求めようと決心するのです。私は自分のルーツを求めに、二十年前にフィリピンから日本に移ることにして、その時から、いろいろな形で日本人としての自分というものにも感動しながら目覚めました。

ところが、「自分が半分しかない」という感覚に戻りますが、やはり「ハーフ」という言い方に問題があると、最近よく指摘されます。ハーフとは「半分」「中途半端」というニュアンスをもつ言い方なので、そう呼ばれる人は知らず知らずのうちに自分が半分の人間に過ぎないと考えてしまいがちです。

しかし、考えてみると、普通の場合、子供は特定の文化、環境で育つものですが、私たちのようなハーフの場合はひとつではなく、二つの文化の中で育つものなので、むしろ、普通の人よりも、豊富な体験をしているはずです。そういう人はどうして「ハーフ」、（半分）と呼べるのでしょう。むしろ、「ダブル」（二重）と呼んだほうが正確ではありませんか。やはり、そう考えると、私はハーフ・・・、いや、ダブルで、ホントに良かったと思います！

“Half” or “Double” (“Multiple”)?

(This is an article that I wrote originally in Japanese a long time ago when I was living in Japan. The English translation appears here. The original Japanese version is found above.)

I am one of the so-called “half-(something)” people. My exact equation is, ethnically-speaking, half-Japanese, half-Filipino (to be exact, 43.75% Filipino and 6.25% Chinese). Dad hails from Kyoto, Japan; mom comes from the central Philippine province of Iloilo. Through a mysteriously fascinating coordination of circumstances, two very different worlds and cultures encountered and joined together in love and what came out of it? Me and my siblings!

  When I was a boy in elementary school, at the beginning of the year when the teacher read out the attendance list for the first time, the following scenario usually unfolded when s/he came to my name.

“Sa – to…” “Sato?” (pretend that's my Japanese last name) “You’re not Filipino, are you?”

I remember having had to make some inevitable explanation such as “My dad’s Japanese” or “I’m half-Japanese” or even “I’m Japanese.”

From those experiences, it dawned on me little by little that I was more or less a bit different from other kids. On further reflection, I do remember feeling sometimes that I was Filipino. At other times though I felt I was not. In my own boyish way, I eventually had to confront myself with the existential question: Who really am I? Now I know that many “halfs” such as myself are faced with a similar identity crisis. This is a phenomenon that seems to be rooted in an ambguous sense that one is only “half,” that is, not a complete being.

For that reason, many ‘halfs’ search for their true roots in order to answer the above-mentioned existential dilemma about their identities. I myself went through something like this. At the end of my teen years, I left the land of my upbringing (the Philippines) to move to land of my father (Japan). During the years spent in Japan, I tried my best to plunge into the culture and it paid off because little by little and with much fascination, I gradually began to see myself also as Japanese.

To go back, however, to the sense that one is not a complete being, it is said nowadays in many quarters that the expression “half” is problematic. As mentioned, “half” implies “incomplete” “half-way” and other unfulfilled notions. What is more disconcerting is that the person who is usually called a “half” subconsciously and actually begins to think that s/he is NOT ‘as full a person’ as others.

In my experience, nothing can be further from the truth. Since many halfs are in contact with two (or even more) cultures, their experiences, I’d rather say, are arguably richer than the ordinary monocultural person: Many of us can speak more than one language, move in and out of multiple cultures, shift our mental gears to different cultural worlds, act as bridges between diverse worlds, appreciate and accept diversity readily, etc. If that is the case, how can we be called “half” (in the “incomplete” sense)? Instead of “half” shouldn’t we be renamed to “double,” or even “triple” or “multi”? Just a thought …

My Thoughts on Daddy as I See Him Grow Weaker

I hate to admit it but I have to: I'm "corny" (Nowadays, people say, "cheesy." I grew up in the 70s, so "corny" still strikes home more!). In fact, I actually love 'corny'. That's perhaps due to the existence of a hopeless romantic in me. I like to be showy in my affection, especially to my wife and daughter. I don't cringe when I say, "I love you" to them. In fact, except for some hesitation in the beginning, in our little family, "I love you" has become the most natural thing to say.

Japanese Sobriety

How'd I become so corny? I'm not really sure. It just dawned on me, as I more frequently turn my thoughts to my father as he progressively grows weaker these days, that the reason might be a reaction on my part to how my father related with me and how I related with him growing up. Daddy’s a Japanese born in the late 1920s who emigrated to the Philippines after the Second World War. That already says a lot of things. For one, he wasn’t corny at all. The Japanese, as a general tendency, but more so daddy's generation of Japanese, are not prone to indulge in public displays of emotion, hence, the famous Japanese "poker face," or, the Japanese expressions honne and tatemae, the former being what you really feel deep within; the latter, what you're allowed to express externally in Japanese society. This usually takes the form of a composure that one is supposed to maintain at all times, even when your heart deep within is broken and crying. Even lovers don't usually say "I love you" to each other. In Japanese "I love you" literally translated is "ai shite iru." But even a corny fellow like myself still cringes as I hear that ... it sounds so corny in Japanese. Instead, lovers in Japan prefer the less explicit suki desu, literally, "I like you." Of course, that's awfully unexpressive and unromantic by western or even Filipino standards.

  So, if the Japanese (again, as a general tendency) are not expressive of their affections compared to, say, Filipinos or even Westerners, how do they show affection and (dare I say it?) love … as well as all the other things connected with love, such as care, affection, romance and so on?

  Well, there are different ways. The most basic way to say "I care for you" in Japanese especially for a parent, is to use the word shimpai, literally, "worry." When a parent tells his child in Japanese "Kimi no koto o otosan wa shimpai shite iru yo," it literally means in English "Daddy's worried about you." For all practical reasons, however, it actually means "I care about you (that’s why I’m worried!)." As parents, aren't we constantly "worrying" about our children: Are they healthy? Are they happy? Are they successful? Do they have the right friends? And so forth.

Now "shimpai" when written is composed of two Kanji or Japanese characters, one, "heart" (心), the other, "to give or offer" (配). From that, one can understand that "shimpai" is "to give or offer one's heart to another." Sometimes I wonder whether the usual English translation of "worry" is extremely misleading.

“Thank You” in Japan is to Apologize

  Why am I saying this? The reason is, in Japanese culture, a sign that an immature child has finally grown up is that they can finally acknowledge how much 'shimpai' or worry they have caused their parents. In that moment of enlightenment, can you guess what the proper response is? Gratitude perhaps? Well, gratitude would be the most appropriate response in a western or even Filipino context. However, in a Japanese context, the proper response is to apologize. Again, here we see a quintessentially Japanese characteristic - an apology is actually the basic way to say "thank you" in Japan! Negative perhaps by western standards but that is just how it is in Japan.

  So as I see my father deteriorate, for some reason the Japanese switch is turned "on" in me and I can only say, "Iro-iro shimpai o kakete shimatte, gomen nasai." Literally, "Sorry for having caused you so much worry." This is not merely a pro forma statement because I really have caused my father so much "shimpai" (worry) and "kuro" (hardship) as I will explain below.

I think that one of daddy's most important plans in his life was for one of his sons to live and study in Japan, become proficient in Japanese and eventually succeed him in the family business which had (and still has) lots of connections with Japan. He had told me that plan when I was 10 or 11 and I actually said "yes" to it at the outset. To make a long story short, at a certain point, I changed my mind about our initial agreement. Instead of going to Japan after graduating from elementary school, I chose instead to enter the minor seminary to train for life in a religious order and the Catholic priesthood. That was a huge disappointment for Dad. I know that I broke daddy's heart terribly then. Besides, the event had major repercussions for him, for his relationship with God, but, most importantly, for his relationship with mom and our whole family. I only came to realize what those major repercussions were little by little as I grew up and matured more and I can say that some of them were major and quite painful. As I look back now, I can only sigh, bow my head Japanese-style and say, "Sumanakatta" "I'm sorry it had to come to that." Don't forget, that's my Japanese way of saying "thank you."

I Move to Japan – Daddy’s Reaction

  If you thought that Japan was over for me at 12 years old, I must say that it was actually only the beginning. My life journey eventually brought me to Japan. At a certain point, I began to feel that I was being directed to go to Japan to share the Christian faith there. In fact, I left the Philippines for Japan at the end of my teen years. And although some may have seen my going to Japan then as a subconscious move on my part to atone for breaking daddy's heart previously, at the time, I honestly didn't really think of "pleasing" my father in any way. I genuinely believed God was calling me to make that move.

  At any rate, as I plunged with utmost seriousness into the task of trying to become more Japanese and truly began to put down roots in Japan, as a collateral effect, I realized that this pleased dad immensely. Although this was not exactly what he intended originally (I still had no plan whatsoever to help him in the family business), I guess the fact that one of his four children decided to move to his motherland and had in fact become part of it became a source of joy and pride in him. Daddy used to visit me regularly when I lived in Japan and it seemed to me that he was genuinely proud that his son, although raised in the Philippines, had become in many ways Japanese like himself.

  For my part, becoming little by little more culturally Japanese meant, among other things, getting to know my own father this time "on his own terms," that is, not as the foreigner living in the Philippines struggling to fit into a culture that wasn't originally his, but as someone born and raised first and foremost as a Japanese. As I began even to talk in Japanese with daddy, I began to see him in a new light. Daddy speaking Japanese had a different, more confident, more relaxed aura. In short, he was more "natural!" He was able to express little nuances without hesitation, use idioms and concepts that are quintessentially Japanese and not easily translatable in other cultures.  This was a picture of daddy that I wasn't able to see growing up. In that sense, I really felt privileged to be able to know my father in terms of his own Japanese culture because, as everyone knows, many things simply get "lost in translation."

Daddy’s Subtle Messages in Small Gestures

  I began by saying that the Japanese are not good in showing their emotions. But, don't forget that I insisted that that doesn't mean they have no emotions. They just express emotions more subtly, hence, one should be very observant of the slightest actions or smallest gestures because they may contain very profound messages.

  I remember two subtle yet profound gestures of daddy for me. The first is a Christmas memory. One Christmas season, Dad, my younger brother Allan and I went for Christmas shopping. While we were going around the stalls looking at different things, a GI Joe doll caught my attention. Since I was old enough to take note of prices, I noticed that the GI Joe seemed a bit too expensive. I'm pretty sure daddy was observing me as I continually looked with longing at a toy that I knew was out of the budget because of its price. So it was daddy who finally made the move and asked, "Do you like that?"

  Of course, trying hard to be a good boy, I dutifully answered, "Yes but it's too expensive."

  Daddy's response to that as far as I can remember was, "Di bale na (the price doesn't matter), why don't you get it?" That may seem like an insignificant incident from long ago but for some reason, as I see Daddy’s weakened constitution now, this memory keeps coming to mind. I distinctly remember feeling profoundly moved and, in my own boyish way, I felt that I mattered more to daddy than money or the budget.

  The second memory is more significant. When I was ordained a priest in Tokyo in 1995, after the ordination day festivities, at a certain point, daddy and I happened to be alone, walking to the hotel room where my mother and youngest brother were waiting. As we were walking, daddy just very off-handedly and nonchalantly remarked in Japanese, nay, in his native Kansai-ben (the Kansai area dialect), "Mukashi, iro-iro attan ya kedo, kimi wa yo-- yatta wa' (to translate, We've been through a lot but ... you've done well." Of course, in proper Japanese style, I just grunted, "ah..." Again, in keeping with traditional Japanese emotional sobriety, that doesn't seem like a big deal, but there and then I was conscious that daddy had given me the most significant sign that he was very proud of me, that he was giving me the greatest encouragement and approval that he could ever give. Again, as I see him weak and helpless now, this memory makes me profoundly grateful.

Good-Will for Many

During these days of daddy's illness, I have had numerous occasions to talk with my mother and siblings, as well as other people whose lives intersected with daddy. Thanks to these conversations, I can better put together a more complete view of the man who is my father. One thing that has consistently struck me in these conversations is the fact that, in Daddy's 86 years of life, he has consistently gone out of his way to help so many people, be they family members, relatives, friends, relatives of relatives, friends of friends. It's only beginning to sink in for me personally that Daddy's track record in philanthropy or, simply, charity (if we may call it that way) is simply overwhelming. That may have taken the form of donations to charitable causes or religious projects, an amount given to a needy relative or a generous tip given to a barber, a commitment to support the education of a poor person of promise or the forgiving of a debt that someone couldn't pay, most significantly, providing jobs for many, many people through his business establishments, you name an act of charity, chances are daddy has done some form of it. Even when people did not really live up to the kindness they received from Daddy, in many cases he still continued to help them. I can only aspire to do even a small fraction of good that daddy has in fact done during his life.

How Daddy Showed His Affection

Here we come back to the Japanese being “non-showy” of their affections. Once upon a time, I kind of resented that. Maybe I still do. That’s why I’m rather on the showy side. But as I look at my father and reflect on and celebrate his life, I’m trying my best to see how exactly he showed his love and care for us. As I continue to do this, I realize that, for all his non-showiness, he has actually very eloquently shown us how much he treasured us, his family and friends. I will share here what I myself experienced or what I’ve heard from my family.

One of the major ways daddy showed us his love was through his work ethic. He was of a generation of Japanese who grew up convinced that they had to sacrifice themselves through hard and relentless work in order to achieve success, prosperity and, yes, happiness. Dad was a relentless worker. He brought his work everywhere; he continually thought about new enterprises to increase the prosperity of his family and others. Yes, it is easy to criticize such an ethos by saying he could’ve made more quality time with us but, as I’ve grown older, I’ve learned to look at a particular person’s personal contexts to be less judgmental. I would like to apply that to dear old dad. Many times, that was the only way he knew to show his care.

His relentless and dedicated work ethic made him accrue wealth and status that many people could only admire but not reach. Was he selfish and miserly about this? The answer is a resounding “No!” As a family, we all agree that daddy was extremely—to use a Filipino term—“galante” (gallant)—I’d say sometimes even excessively so—in how he shared his treasure with us and with others. My mother vouches that he never said “no” to anything she requested of him in all their years together. My sister cannot recall a moment when he ever complained about money matters, neither could I. If it was a question of need, or even of a desire on the part of his loved ones, he got it if he was able to. My brother-in-law recalls that he was once asked what type of “defense instrument” among two models was better in his opinion to be used at the farm. After a short while, he was called to daddy’s office and, to his shock, was offered as a gift the very option he thought was better. My GI Joe doll incident above is my most cherished memory. In our times together, he always told me to be generous with tips as they would make people happy and enable them to serve even better. These are just some of the many ways he tried to show us that he loved us in the way he knew best.

In one of the few times that I was visiting home from wherever I found myself in the world, we were having breakfast together and he began to tell me of the assets of the family not as a boast but as a way to drive home the lesson that “your mommy and I worked hard to gain all of this for you and our family.” Again, one can make a case that money and wealth are not everything but given daddy’s contexts – growing up in scarcity in a war-torn Japan, having to work hard from scratch to build up a decent and comfortable life – that was the best way he knew in order to say, “I care for you.” And I honor and cherish that.

Of course, not everything is rose-colored and merry. Daddy had his shortcomings as we all do. But as we find ourselves accompanying our beloved daddy in what could very well be his last moments, I would like to honor what I think are the finest traits in him. I would like to cherish and relish these aspects in my heart and learn from his figure and his life. I would like to entrust him to the gracious mystery we know as God so that this loving parent of us all may soon welcome and embrace our beloved father for all eternity. I would like to tell daddy, ご苦労様“Go-kuro-sama” (thanks for everything!), もう一頑張りだ“Mo hito-gambari da!” (just one last effort!), 心配することなく、安心して、皆、ついているから(Shimpai naku, anshin shite, mina, tsuite iru kara) Don’t you worry, we’re all here beside you!

In the end, as we entrust daddy to the hands of the gracious and loving God, I would like to repeat with the mystic Julian of Norwich, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

Let me pen below a brief summation of the path he has taken up until now according to the best of my knowledge.

A.S.K.

born in 1927 in Kiryu-shi, Gunma-Ken, Japan 

born to A. and K. K.

older sibling of T. 

Studied Wood Technology in Kyoto, Japan

After World War II, toyed with the idea of escaping war-ravaged Japan by going abroad

Went to the Philippines in the early 1950s.

Met Barbara G. whom he married in the late1950s

From the late 50s to the late 60s, four children were born to them, J.A.M., M.S.M., Julius (myself) and A.K..

After a brief stint working in Japan in the mid-60s, returned to the Philippines where he worked at Nippi at the Manila branch.

In the mid-70s, he established A.S.C. which continues to this day (2013).

He is a great, hard-working dad. We treasure and love him very much (yes, that’s a bit corny but now you know why ;) .