valentine girl + eating

Sage turned 7 on Valentine's Day (I keep telling her that she's her parents' love child). Her special request: a rockout party at Red Box where she belted out Katy Perry (it makes me grimace when, at the start of "Hot n Cold", she says the word for the female dog), Shontelle and others. Rowan bounced to all the singing (yet another crooner-in-the-making) while the older kids pigged out (the white fish was delicious).


The next day, we had lunch at my mother's then met all her cousins (on Nikki's side) at Outback where mountains of food were served, then dinner at Pancake House where Sage amazed us with her Speed-stacking prowess.


Bloated and happy, I still find it hard to believe that she's seven. Part of me is a little sad because I feel the inexorable passage of time. But then again, I always feel like this when I think of Sage. I hope to be around for all the other important events in her life.

when your heart is first broken

For Sage, Age Six
(To be read when your heart is first broken)*


Dear Sage,

As I am writing this, you are six years old – already fiercely bright, beautiful and a wonderful conversationalist. We just got back from our regular Father-Daughter Day, our special time during the weekend when we go out to raid the bookstores (you love to read, just like your mom and me), catch a movie (you’ve become quite the little critic) or grab a bite to eat (of course you share my love for fried chicken). Over lunch, you told me about the naughty boy in your first grade class who likes to kiss all the girls, how he’d rush over with his “yucky lips”, and how you and your friends would run screaming away from him.

If you’re reading this now, then you’re probably a teenager already, and you’ve met a boy, fallen in love, but now, for one reason or another, he’s out of your life.

I know you’re hurting right now. It probably feels like it’s the end of the world, of every possible happy moment in existence. In your mind, you’re asking questions – “Who’s to blame?”, “How did this happen?”, and most importantly “Why?” More likely than not, the answers you come up with are unsatisfactory, offering only more pain.

Sometimes, in life, there are no satisfying answers. Sometimes, you just have to move on.

I know how difficult it seems – he was cool, he was smart, he understood you. It is impossible to imagine anyone taking his place, his smile, the way he laughed, the way you two shared a togetherness that was unique in all of creation.

You need to understand two very important things, two very vital truths that I learned the hard way when I was growing up.

First, there will be someone else. Yes, that someone else will not be precisely him – it will be someone better. First loves are powerful things, it’s true, but as you grow older you will meet people who will understand you so much more. You are never alone, unless you choose solitude.

Second, you are worth the universe. Do not think yourself a failure because of your heartache. There are things within you, beyond your looks and smarts, that make you sublime – the beauty of your spirit, the strength of your will, the fierceness of your personality, the memories of every single one of your experiences, your ability to pick yourself up, dust off sadness and live life with joy - everything that makes you who you are. Only the blind, the foolish or the very young are unable to see these things.

Now with all the heavy heady stuff out of the way, here’s a bit of practical advice (you know me, Mr. Action Point, of course):

1. Put away the pictures and videos of him and you, and get rid of the lovey-dovey blog posts. For a fresh start, it is always better to freed from the past. Be strong in those moments when the memory of him threatens to overwhelm you, when something reminds you of the color of his eyes, of the way he looked at you, of the sound of his voice. Whoever he is – whoever he was – forget him and move on. Don’t worry, when you are much older, you can unearth the photos and retrieve the blog cache and have a good laugh.

2. It’s okay to cry. So go ahead and do so. Go ahead and wallow in sorrow – because something did end, and you were invested in it, and no pretty words can take away your pain right now. Go on. Part of being strong is knowing that you’re human too. But permit yourself no more than three days of darkened rooms and sad music. There is the rest of your life, after all.

3. Get yourself something nice. Indulge a little. You deserve it.

4. Write about it. I’ve found that doing so helps me deal with pain and disappointment. By reducing it to words, you not only exorcise your grief but end up with a story or a bit of creative non-fiction (yes, we writers profit from every experience).

And come to me and tell me about it.

And I will beat him up.

You will stop me, of course, embarrassment red on your face.

And we will laugh together, you and I – because we know that nothing in the world can take away the power of tomorrow.

Of hope.


Love,

Dad


*first appeared in Smart Parenting, December 2008

sage, rowan, hector and the bigger kids

In the last few days of last year, Alex and Kate treated us to a pictorial - for our kids (their son, Hector, and our daughters Sage and Rowan) of course; but we bigger kids naturally got into the act as well.



(Just kill the music; something in the way I uploaded must have gone haywire, sorry.)

daughters

There's an old cliche that goes something like "Nakakatanggal ng pagod kapag makita mo ang mga anak mo paguwi galing sa trabaho". And while not 100% true (I'm still tired and sometimes doze off - it seems love can be soporific), I'm always happy to see my girls (siyempre, pati ang asawa). When I get home from work, we all sprawl on the big bed (careful not to crush the infant) and marvel at Rowan's desire to stand, at her powerful kicks, at the way she gazes out at the world and every new thing.

Sage loves holding her baby sister (though I must confess extreme anxiety when I see her walking around the house with Rowan in her arms - natatakot ako na baka mahulog kasi), reading her books, and singing to her.

The impatient part of me wants Rowan to start talking, so we can have a conversation. But another part of me knows to value this time in my youngest daughter's life, when her mother and I have all the answers to her needs and inarticulate questions.

It always saddens me, thinking about the future, when my daughters are fully grown. It's a given that things will change, yes, but I hope that I'll be the type of father who remains relevant in their lives. I know it's too far, way off into multiple tomorrows, but, well...

apologize

Unlike One Republic, it's never too late to apologize, Sage.

daddy's little girl

Sage turns 6 years old today, and I can't help but remember how I felt when I first saw her in the operating room, wrinkled and messy and absolutely gorgeous. Through the years she's grown into a fiercely intelligent young girl with a sense of humor and a love for stories. She brought a new kind of love into my heart (the likes of which people without kids cannot ever imagine), giving me a new role in life - that of a father.

She continues to amaze me, and through her eyes I experience wonder all over again.

Happy birthday, Sage!

sage for dockers

*not the real ad but a dad can dream, right?

stories we tell

Cuddled together under the comforter, Sage offered up the usual challenge.

"It's time to tell stories, Dad," she said. "You tell one and I'll tell one."

"Oh, no," I told her, shaking my head. "I don't have a happy one in mind."

"What kind do you have?"

"Well, it's kind of bittersweet."

She expelled a sigh then looked me in the eye. "I like those too - but they make me cry, Daddy."

"They make me cry too, you know."

"Is it really really sad?"

"Well, not really really sad," I said.

"Ok, then you can tell your story - but mine will be really really exciting. An adventure, okay?"

"Ok," I agreed. "But you go first."

And she launched into an adventurous romp featuring lost crayons attempting to find their way back home, helped by the objects that shared similar hues.

I applauded when she was done, then cleared my throat and made ready to begin my own story when she raised a hand to stop me.

"Why?" I asked her. "Don't you want to listen to mine?"

"I do, Dad," Sage said as she nuzzled her way into my arms. "But I want to be here right next to you because I know your story is sad."

And so I told the story and my 5 year-old listened. When we got to the really really sad part, she looked up to me with tears in her eyes, which provoked my own.

"Can't this story be a little bit happy?"

"Wait and see."

And I finished the story, with a little happiness, and held the little girl I loved so much, and we shared that moment after a story is told when only perfect silence is acceptable.

"That made me cry, Dad, but I really really liked your story," she told me later. "Now let's tell Mommy and make her cry."

sage's first 'must have' cd

Last Sunday at the bookstore, Vin and Charles tell me that Sage has her first must-have CD. It turns out that while perusing the selections, Sage stumbled across the listening earphones and plugged in to Natalie Imbruglia's Glorious: The Singles 1997-2007. She was mesmerized by the singles "Glorious" and "Torn" and "That Day" and shooed away another girl who dared to look at the CD.

Before we left the store, she asked me if she could have the CD to listen to. I realized then that this was the first real music CD she had ever asked for (not counting the soundtracks of various Disney & High School Musical films that I bought both for her and me - the HSM videoke album is my fault, completely).

She had no "music" of her own, outside of songs learned in school, listening to whatever I blasted out of the iPod (hence her love for the Rolling Stones's "Satisfaction") - this was the first music she decided on her own (I hadn't heard "Glorious" though I do love "Torn").

So of course I got it for her. Her joy was doubled when we found out that the CD came with a DVD full of videos.

And now I need to borrow her CD so I can rip it for my iPod.

happiness

Sage, along with the many who prayed for rain, is very happy today. The heavy downpour meant no school for her today.

"Good for you, not so good for me," I told her as I searched for an umbrella.

"Why, Dad?"

"Well, I still have to go to work, even if I have to swim to get there," I told her. "Now where's my giant umbrella?"

"I'll go with you, Dad!"

"What?"

"I'll stay with you in your office so you don't feel lonely."

I looked at my daughter, nodded my head and told her to put her boots on.

We held hands as we walked in the rain, tramping through shallow puddles, protected by my giant umbrella.

At my office, she sat by my side, spelling out things that make her happy on a piece of paper while munching on a hash brown. She laughed at her spelling of "beach" since she missed the "a".

"I spelled "bech", Dad," she said.

"Here," I said, offering the missing letter. "I'm glad the beach makes you happy."

"What about you, Dad? What makes you happy?"

And I was transfixed for a moment, looking into the eyes of the answer.

critiquing mcferrin

Sage, Nikki and I were in bed, just lounging around and listening to the tunes pumped out by my iPod via the new speakers my girls got me for Father's Day.

After a soulstirring singalong with Chantal Kreviazuk (my daughter and I love "These Days"), Bobby McFerrin started singing 1989's Song of Year "Don't Worry, Be Happy".

It was the first time Sage heard the song and she sat up, listening intently, with a strange expression on her face.

Don't Worry, Be Happy
Don't Worry, Be Happy
Don't Worry, Be Happy

After the second verse and the second chorus, she stood up on the bed and shouted:

SAGE: Enough! I'm not worried! I have other feelings too!

And that, my friends, is what my 5 year-old thinks about mindless optimism.

lionheart

Toothaches are part of growing up, but after Sage's visit to the dentist I was in shock. The dentist told us that my 5 year old needed two root canals.

ME: What?

ME (thought balloon): E di ba milk teeth lang yan? Di ba hindi pa permanent tooth yan? Bakit hindi nalang bunutin? Why save a milk tooth? Bakit nung panahon ko hindi ganyan? Kawawa naman ang anak ko. Di ba masakit yan? At magkano naman yan?


Nikki told me that the reason was to prevent future misalignment of permanent teeth, so that Sage would not need braces. Also that we had two options: first, the "traditional way" which costs P8,100. And second, the "painless way" which involves general anesthesia and an additional P17,000.

ME: What?

ME (thought balloon): Ha? Grabe naman! Para namang joke na hindi nakakatawa. Baka raket yan? P24k para sa root canal ng bata?


Nikki got a second opinion and the opinion was the same.

ME: What?

ME (thought balloon): Siguro sindikato itong mga dentista na ito.


Nikki says with the second dentist, the cost is lower - P5000.

ME: What?

ME (thought balloon): .... Sige.


Being the dentally-traumatized part of the Alfar couple (my youth involved kicking a dentist, punching a dentist, shouting at a dentist - all of which bring me deep deep shame), I stayed back while Nikki held Sage's hand. Later, she told me it was good that I didn't see the blood collecting in Sage's mouth (Nikki was so tense with her maternal instincts on fire, wanting to punch the dentist for "hurting" our daughter).

But it was lionhearted Sage who was the hero of the day, braving the injections into her gums and comporting herself with more dignity than I ever had in a dentist's chair. She's a courageous little girl, I tell you.

Later, she told me how painful it was but how she knew she needed it, before telling me with a smile how her mouth was still numb.

SAGE: Dad, look! My mouth doesn't remember how to close right!

ME: What?

ME (thought balloon): Aba! Ididimanda ko ang dentista na yan! Sasampa tayo ng sakdal! Mga kapitbahay! Naparalyze ang anak ko!

NIKKI: It's just the topical anesthetic, husband.

SAGE: Numb, snumb, shnumb!

little big moment

One of the highlights of my week is Father-Daughter Day. Each week, Sage and I go out and spend time at a bookstore and a toy store and mix it up with visits to our pet store, the videoke, a resto, a dept store and so on.

I love taking my 5 year-old out because we get a chance to talk, make up wild stories and songs, try out food, critique toys and skip across the mall like a pair of loons, hurling imaginary stars into the air.

On our most recent FD Day, we chose the new Bestsellers over at Robinsons Galleria as our bookstore of the week. I told Sage to stay in the children's book section while I half-trawled the nearby areas (half-trawled because I'd look in on her every minute or so to see if she had in fact agreed to go home with some other father - "Dad," she'd tell me wearily, "I'd never leave with some other child's father.").

ME: Go ahead and pick out some books to read.

SAGE: Ok, Dad.

ME: I'll be around.

She selected several books from the lower shelves and plopped down in a corner. Every time I checked in with her, I found her studiously reading aloud. I wanted to see if she was actually reading so I finally sat down next to her.

ME: What are you reading?

SHE: Tiny Tim.

ME: Is it good?

SHE: Dad! I'm reading. I'm not finished yet.

ME: Read for me, nga.

SHE: (sighs) Ok, Dad.

And she did, with amazing speed and precison, stopping only to sound out the letters of words that were completely new to her (English is quite the unfair language, with more exceptions than rules), and confirming with me if she got it right.

In that whirlwind of recitation, I was lost in the sound of my daughter's voice. I was so proud of her. I knew she could already read but I thought it was more isolated words or a story that was previously read to her. But this time, with those books on the floor, every story was new, previously unheard by her. And with no help or prompting from me, except to correct pronunciation.

In the middle of the story, she looked up at me after reading the last word on the page, her eyes bright with wonder.

SAGE: Dad! He got turned into a big meatball! This is so funny!

I laughed along with her, sharing the absurd thought of people who turn into food, and watched her turn to the next page.

"my name is sage alfar"

That is how my five year old daughter began her speech at her graduation ceremony last Saturday, on a huge stage, addressing the attentive audience which included her stunned (and nearly in tears) father.

We were told that she was going to read her speech (which, really, was quite complex) but she went up there and delivered it straight from memory. Only part of me was listening; I was more entranced by the fact that Sage was up there and struck again and again by the fact that she was growing up.

I think I am fast approaching that bittersweet time when parents begin to fool themselves with the notion that they can know their children's destiny. I can imagine her as a public speaker, as a creative, as a photographer, as an artist, as a writer, as a business owner, as this and that and more. The serious flaw in this mode of thought is that it neglects my daughter's own ambitions. It is too easy to dream on her behalf - I have all of the parents who ever lived on my side, telling me that it's all right to do so because she doesn't know any better, and that it is my responsibility to push her towards something, some career or craft, that will bring her financial stability and happiness in the future. But I realized for myself that a parent's dreams are not necessarily what a child wants, that forcing one's dreams on someone else is a losing proposition. The best scenario is to live vicariously through her own choices, be there to advise, and hope for the best.

This does not mean I'll be completely hands off, certainly not. As her father there are many things within my control. But when it comes to the big ones when she comes of age, I will not force her choices to align with mine.

I know its too early and perhaps too optimistic to say these things, but I believe that we create our own happiness and that we are masters of our individual lives.

Last week though, as I watched her speak onstage with confidence and grace, I permitted myself to be enveloped by her myriad possibilities, wiping away the tears of pride and delight from my eyes.