Now this is her at 6 years old, singing Celine Dion’s “To Love You More.”

Confirming that she could really sing, my “Idol” brother thought of putting in some movements. He calls it animation. At first, Zee was a bit shy to move her hands. But after a little convincing and inputs, she pulled out quite an impressive amateur show, on top of a makeshift platform.

Not bad at all.

Bonus videos: My little brother singing “This is the Moment”.

Star in a Million:

I terribly miss dad. Before I left for the US a little over four years ago, I promised dad that when I come back home, he will be so proud of me. I said it with a tight hug. He shed a tear — that was a very rare moment because he had never ever been emotional.

Daddy was not the talkative type. Seldom would we hear an angry word from him even if mom was already at the top of her lungs lecturing us siblings for our mistakes. Dad’s ways of conveying his fury at us were soundless, yet effective: stares that pierced the soul and a 5-peso deduction from our baon the following day. In good moods, he was the generous parent. He pampered us with extra coins for snacks in school. Mom only gave us what was enough for a banana cue and juice. But dad wanted us to buy a small pack of “Chippy” and “Bobot” that we could carry around and share with classmates.

When I went home last September for his burial, I saw that dad did some little fixings in the house, especially inside his small quarter. The fixes were visible because they were all tied with soft strips of metal wire. Yes, dad was not fond of hammer and nails or glues. Whenever something breaks, like a leg of a wooden chair, he carefully and meticulously tied the pieces together with a wire. He became so good at it that anyone who used the chair could not even tell that the leg was previously broken. It was just as strong as new.

Dad loved to raise chickens and was a lover of fighting cocks. I asked my older brother where the combative roosters have gone. He said that after daddy became incapable of taking care of his small poultry hobby, some of the livestock were sold and others died of some fowl disease. Dad adored his combative roosters so much that he nurtured them with expensive feeds. But whenever any of us siblings would visit him at home (my brothers and sister used to live and work far from my hometown and we could only visit mom and dad twice a month), he would never hesitate to have his treasured roosters slaughtered so we could have a little celebration.

At the back of the house, just outside the kitchen door was the place dad used to bring his favorite chair and sit there for an hour or two — simply staring at a distance, sometimes looking up to the blue heavens. Whatever he was thinking during those times, nobody really knew and we did not even care to ask. It was our way of respecting his quiet moments.

I miss dad. I miss the times when we joyride with his motorbike to the town’s deserted pier and watched the waves hit the shore. I miss the occasions when he teased and tickled mommy while seated on the sofa watching soap operas on TV. We always had good laughs, especially when mom would move to the other side of the seat to avoid him. Dad was playful and had a one-of-a-kind humor.

I cried many times during his wake. Apart from the one during the last funeral rite in church, no one had probably seen me cried. On few early mornings while everyone was busy doing his/her stuff, I went to dad’s coffin and looked at him lying so peacefully inside. I told dad so many things about my US trips while bucket of tears flowed down my cheeks. He was just there, listening to my stories.

In the cemetery, I had a quick last look at dad. I put my arm over my mom’s shoulder and silently assured dad that I would take care of her.

“Goodbye Daddy, you will always be in my heart,” I said as I threw a stalk of flower into his grave.

Note: This piece was published on the Philippine Star Online [philstar.com] on December 7, 2010.

My older brother is still into it. He is presently a member of the town’s band, him as the vocalist. Whenever his group has concerts, he makes sure Franzine Cole gets the front seat to watch him. The last time I called home 2 weeks ago, Zee sang on the phone, just for me. She is only four years old but when she started singing, oh my, the voice was so angelic. She sang four songs, one was a Celine Dion song. She said she has been singing in school.

I miss my little Zee.

I had these videos of Zee taken when she was still 2 years old.

Unlike Papa whose character could be likened to a silent harp, Mama harps her subterranean emotions out. The day when she defended my older brother from a wrongdoing and said how much she loves both of us and shed a tear afterwards, I cried with her.

Mama is full of love and the abundance of that gift is what I see in her. When I gaze at my mom, I see strength only the strongest person could be blessed. When I gaze at my mom, I see tears that will unselfishly shed wherever, whenever, on my behalf. I am convinced that what a mother cannot do is to abandon her child in grief.

Mothers are awe-inspiring individuals. If God has to dispel all His blessings from heaven, I would ask Him to hand over the lion’s share to the mothers. That is one of the best ways to pay them for their sacrifices.

Take this example. Janice, a colleague, often turned sentimental in the small talks we have had about her son, Johann.

The sacrifices of Janice to making her first child enjoys a normal childhood, is both lightening and heartbreaking. That day when she accepted the truth and knew full well that her son hasn’t been growing the way she hopes for him to be, I felt the pain inside her. At the age of two, Johann would have passed the crawling stage and started walking, or somehow attempted to walk. He would have been responding to noise and the call of his name. He would have been the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed little boy in the house. But, sad to know, he is the complete opposite.

Janice agonizes in the silence of her heart. Her desires for Johann to grow big and run, is far from truth. She wants him to meet her with a smile when she gets home from work. She wishes him to say ‘Mama, I love you’. She yearns for him to feel how dearly she loves him. She wants to experience the delight of hearing his ‘first word’, longs for him to hug her when she says “Come Johann” and wants him to hear what she talks about. Because she talks of love, of patience, of so much love, so much patience!

Patience is what Janice needs and Johann needs it most. It might be a battle to fight to the finish, but every battle can be won. This is no basket case, as far as I know, many have survived and ended with big happy stories to tell. Janice’s comforts now lie on the dream that in the fullness of time her son will become someone great – someone she would be so proud of.

Yet, Johann doesn’t have to be someone for Janice to love. As long as Janice is there and Johann needs her, she would continue to explore avenues, talk about love and communicate with patience What Janice, a sacrificing mother cannot do, is to desert Johann in grief. God bless the mothers!