Hi. My name is JJ Yulo. I am the eldest son of Joey. When my mom’s mom passed away, I was made to give the one and only eulogy. Not knowing that I had a ton of things to say, I just kept on writing, and writing, and writing. Apparently my eulogy was a whopping half an hour long. It was well received – it came out in the papers, it was published in a booklet, and because of all that I coined the term “JJ Yulo, The Yulogist”. It was a little funny getting recognized for that, but here I am. My dad, being who he is, would absolutely hate it if I went half an hour long about him. So I trimmed it to a very agreeable 28.5 instead.
I need to give this guy a good one, because all around me I’ve always heard of how he’s such an enigma to everyone, to some extent even us. Very often you didn’t know what was in his head. But the secret, I guess, is to be still and find clues, and unravel him slowly – like I’ve been trying to do, especially as I got older. And what I discovered is the quiet, powerful beauty that is Joey Yulo. Sit back and relax – I hope you allow me to share of myself. This is me doing it the only way I know how – to be totally vulnerable. I’m not going to stand here and read his resume, because to be honest, I don’t even know it but for bits here and there. I want to share with you a few things about my own journey of self-discovery, about how I see my pops, and what I’ve learned from him (things that I hope you will learn from too). I have to give this guy a good one, because whether he agrees to it or not, he very much deserves it.
Many people have gone up to me and said “Gosh your dad was so young pala!”. People younger than me have said “He’s so much younger than my dad!” The nerdier sorts took out their calculators and said “that means he had you when he was…?!” Yes yes. I heard the fiery sermon of their priest during their wedding from the lush confines of my mother’s womb. His closest circle, some cousins and even my late lolo would sometimes call him by different names – names I’d hear like “Killer” and “Tequila”. Now, whether or not that has anything to do with my mother and my very existence, I have yet to ask. I will have to dig a bit deeper to find out. Or maybe I don’t want to know.
As a child, things were simple enough. I had a happy childhood full of precious memories. When I was a little boy, we lived in the States while dad studied. I have a vivid memory of them entering our empty home, devoid of furniture, with a brown paper bag. Mom said “lunch is here” and presented to me, like a royal feast, my very first Quarter Pounder with Cheese. It was love at first bite. Those days, BOTH my parents drove and mom would cook, and dad would man the grill. Until they discovered someone else can do all that for them. Back in Manila in my childhood home in Bel Air, when he had time away from tennis and golf, dad and I would play with toy guns, playing soldier, creeping through the jungles of our tiny back yard, and hunting the bad guys – portrayed by our trusty gardener (and now long time driver) Berting, who would climb the roof to ambush us. He is the movie villain to dad’s James Bond and my Papa Piolo. Fun times!
When I got older, entering my puberty years and beyond, things got a bit shaky. I will be the first to admit that I didn’t get along with my dad in those days. I didn’t hate him or anything, but my relationship with him became one of fear more than anything. I didn’t want to be in his radar. Young Joey was, to put it mildly, a crank. Like his jockey was always too tight for his own good. He would sometimes get angry at me for no clear reason. That was a mystery to me for a looong time. One day we were eating dinner, and my mom was telling me how I should try better with math, and my dad just lost it. He got angrier and angrier and I had no idea what was going on or what I did. I ran away crying and I heard him telling my mom to tell HER son never to leave the table like that. My poor mom had to appease me but couldn’t really explain why he got upset and just told me to say sorry. What did I do? Well.. I said sorry anyway. When I think about it now, it makes sense. As a dad myself, with my own baggage and thoughts and all, I know that the one thing a dad wishes for is their children to somehow be better than he ever was. You protect them as much as you can from the craziness of this world, and wish nothing for them but to flourish and be good and do good. My pops had me so young that I realize now his entire young adulthood may have been shelved. No more Killer.. no more Tequila. So he did the next best thing – I was already there, so he wanted what was best for me. Also – fun fact – Im STILL shit in math, and apparently so was my dad. So yes, I get his frustration on the eldest child, because no.2 is a nerd, so no worries there.
Growing up, I also felt a little different. Not weird, mind you (although some may say that’s debatable). Just different. I saw myself as the total opposite of my dad, and if I’m going to be honest, the rest of my family. It’s only recently that I’ve really embraced this: I’m so intensely sensitive to energies and emotions and all. I can “feel” a room. I feel people when they up or down. And on top of that, I’ve always been more of a creative person. I can string words together, I sing, I can speak in public, I’ve acted on a stage. Sensitive and creative – the worst possible combination! But it’s who I am. As opposed to my practical, sometimes deadpan, often restrained, father. When I think about it now, he was probably looking at me and was like “who is this strange child who gets so emo, talks too loud and eats too much?” But it’s not all that bad, of course. Don’t worry. This gets muuuch better. Dad had another side of him hiding in the wings.
He wasn’t all serious all the time. He had a goofy side too. He would make goofy faces at Gino when Gino was a baby to make him laugh, which he did with other babies he’d come across, including his grandkids. Once after a business trip, he called us and gave us our pasalubong: one of which was this man with a cord attached that you could stick to your car window. When you pulled on the cord, the man would drop his pants and show his butt to you. The other pasalubong was a pair of red briefs, in front of which was an elephant’s face and trunk where the uh pituts is. To this day, I scratch my head at these choices, because it wasn’t the kind of humor we thought we’d get out of him.
My twenty something years were interesting. I was still going along my sensitive boy emo ways, trying to break from the shackles of figuring my complicated self out, and that of sadness from failed relationships (girls suck) My father, on the other hand, did a complete 180 with his life. From his serious, non-emoting side emerged the most surprising creature that ever was: Latin Joey, danceur. I don’t quite know how this all started, to be honest. I THINK it was because my mom decided she wanted to dance too. My lolo and her used to dance, and she loved it and wanted to pursue it both as a form of exercise and enjoyment. When my dad saw what was happening, he decided to give it a go. After years of golfing – pretty seriously, as he brought his competitive nature to play in tournaments – he tried something completely different. And he was about as fluid and graceful as the most technologically advanced robot. He kinda danced like Voltes V. But hey, you gotta start somewhere. It helps that he was slender, fit and determined, and through some intense training managed to loosen his body to become the hottest salsero in Urdaneta Village. While my mother preferred more traditional dances, my father liked it en fuego, and together with their respective dance partners Jesse and Heidi – constants in my life) – they entered competitions and even won some. That was a fun and funny time. We attended a few competitions of my parents abroad, and at some point me being me, got my brothers and the entire Pinoy contingent to chant with me “DA DDY DA DDY DA DDY” and were subsequently banned from all his other competitions for disrupting his routine. In today’s parlance, he basically told me JJ STFU. I remember at some point I wasn’t going out as much, and I would get home BEFORE my parents, who were out dancing in da club, getting crunk on hard drinks, like Sprite and bottled water, and in an instant felt what they must’ve felt: It’s 1am. Where ARE those children?? Clearly making up for lost time, their terpsichorean skills in their pocket, they established themselves as personalities in the dancing scene, although luging lugi yung clubs sa kanila. I think they even brought their own chichiria. Anyway. Latin Joey was quite the sight to behold. His lifelong style was restrained cool, and yet there he was, resplendent in his skin tight, long sleeved, purple sequined dance shirt and heeled dancing shoes, peacockier than a real peacock. Though initially a little rattling, it was oddly comforting to see him in those duds because he wore them with panache. Remember, unlike those around him in his haze shrouded Killer Tequila years, I had never seen this side of him. It as nice to see him let loose. He took it seriously, and he enjoyed displaying his fuego on the dance floor. I actually miss Latin Joey a lot too.
A big reason why I think he loved dancing is because it combined movement with another passion of his: music. Ah, now there is one of my dad’s greatest legacies to me – my love for music. I grew up listening to his records with him in his sacred den. NO ONE was allowed to touch his Macintosh amplified, Nakamichi Dragon bolstered sound system (I wish I knew where all that was to be honest). But from his speakers I was schooled in the sound of soul, and R&B, with a tiny smidge of smooth jazz. Stevie Wonder, Chicago, Tower Of Power, The Beach Boys, Earth Wind And Fire, Aretha, Ashford and Simpson, Whitney, Anita Bakery – their music wafted through pop’s speakers every day, and it really has shaped my tastes and the way I embraced music and made it a huge part of my life.
The few tales I know of his Killer Tequila days also revolve around his love for music and for a certain girl named Marvie. It must have been interesting times, because most stories have been mysteriously withheld or omitted, like top secret files. Once again, I only know snippets. All I know is this. Pops was like a lovesick dog. Infamously so. I never gathered where he met his Marvie, but they met when they were so young – in fact, my baby girl is already older than them than when they met. There are tales of exiling him in a far-away land to let his love fever subside. Alas, it did not work. He supposedly wooed her in a time-tested way that has existed for centuries – he serenaded her with song. Mind you – this doesn’t always work. I tried this singer bit and never got any girls for whatever efforts I put out – they always bypassed me and just went for the drummer. Fortunately, pops was a drummer too! Together with his mates, like the legendary bass player Sonny Katigbak, rhythm guitarist and co-vocalist Junior Vargas, mad lead guitarist Louie Yulo, pops cousin Jojun Abreu, my tito Tony Cojuangco, and then some, they formed what today is called a band, but back then was called a combo. They probably played at parties and such, because I doubt these high school kids would be allowed to play the snazzy music venues of the day. This combo played with a certain swagger, like only the coolest musicians could pull off. Maybe their swagger was powered by their classic name. They were called The Perverts. I wish I had thought of that name for my band, as it certainly is a reflection of my way of thinking, but I may as well have, because apparently my dad was the one who coined it. Unfortunately, it didn’t last very long. His mother shot the name down, and his dad made him change it.. so they became The Freudian Spoofs. Personally, I do take to The Perverts more. It has a certain ring to it.
All that singing of must’ve been effective, because in a few years, he literally did put a ring on mom’s finger, and pulled a cute fluffy bun from the oven, too.
Gathering around the table over a meal was also something that tied us together. Growing up and all throughout my life, I always saw my pops as my original gourmand. It didn’t show in his trim body, but he enjoyed delicious things, and was knowledgeable about all things food. Let me deep dive into my baul of earliest food memories with pops. Unlike my mom who actually turned on a stove, my father’s chef career began as the master of the fire, my family’s own Bobby Flame. He marinated steaks in gahlic and olive oil, and grilled them to his liking – this being the centerpiece of dinners with their friends or on special occasions. As I mentioned earlier, later on he realized that he didn’t have to burn his arm hairs after all – he left it to trusty Berting, and would call the shots from about 6 feet away so he wouldn’t smell of charcoal. As a kid, we also bonded over our shared love for cheeseburgers. There weren’t many that fit our criteria – since we moved back from the US, we were looking for a taste that was different from the de rigueur Pinoy version, which mixed in onions and garlic and who knows what else into the patty. We wanted a plain, salt and pepper seasoned beef burger, and the only place we could find it was in a long-gone institution called the Jeepney Coffee Shop. It was as close to a perfect burger as we could get, almost as good as my beloved quarter pounder with cheese, which didn’t exist in Manila yet. One of dad’s core memories was tagging along with my lolo Monching, mom in hand, through Europe. He would often recount their various memories of giant sausage platters in Germany, boiled beef in Vienna, and his espresso in an Italian coffee shop. Ah that espresso. I must give thanks to that moment, because it began my dad’s coffee journey which would later play a big part in my relationship with him. With his own fam, he recounted tales of travelling to Japan and staying at the Imperial Hotel while lolo had his business meetings, and having the cheapest, jaw breaking steaks that he loved anyway at a Bay Area institution called Tad’s that is there to this day. From him I got a lifetime of food talk, which was kinda ironic because he was skinny. We did kinda love the the same things though – gravitating towards things tasty and light, vegetables and simple, nostalgic foods. Nothing fussy, just like him.
True to his private, “do it my way” ways, traveling with dad was also always interesting, fun, and funny. He hated traveling in big groups and would always go fly out a day later than all of us, and often even leave one day or more earlier to go back home. Rooming with him meant living in heat, because this man liked it when the thermostat was a toasty 28 degrees. I feel you mom. While my inner polar bear counts myself lucky I didn’t need to sleep with him in his hot cave, it was in traveling with him that I became more fascinated with him. He may have been shit in math, but did know some history, and a whole lot of other stuff. I learned a lot from his spewing random historical facts. On our last trip together, I had particularly good memories, because it was around that time that he slowly started revealing more of himself to me. We were in a trip to Tokyo for their anniversary. As I organize food tours to Japan, I wanted to take whoever wanted to come to a place that I discovered in the market that served amazing seafood bowls. He declined because it was so early, so I went with my brothers and my wife instead. The thing is, I could tell he really wanted to go, so I volunteered another early morning. Together with his bestie whom I fondly call Thunder Dan Patalot we went back to the tiny shop. Dan was a quiet constant in his life, and in the past years pretty much my pop’s sidekick and playmate. He would go anywhere with dad, even to places he’d rather not be, like the time they both got lost in Harlem because dad wanted to eat soul food. They were so deep in, and couldn’t find a cab to take them back. Dan was almost in tears because everything looked so foreign and sketchy, and he feared for their lives. They eventually found a guy who probably saw their predicament and offered to take them back to central Manhattan – for a fee, of course. Riding back in style in an old Lincoln Continental, the dynamic duo lived to tell the tale. Anyway. As it was, Dan was a bit of a picky eater. He didn’t eat raw stuff, even if my dad tried valiantly to just make him try it because it was amazingly fresh after all. Seeing their predicament, the chef gamely torched his bowl and after his first bite, Dan scarfed it down like a lion eating its prey. After breakfast, we went on a short walk outside and I bought them some cracked king crab, and white strawberries to try. On the way back to the hotel, I talked of kissatens – old style Japanese coffee shops. The taxi driver looked at me incredulously and said “wow! You know kissaten??” And my dad said “you know I think you were born to do this. You’re good at showing people around and feeding them.” To this day I’ll never forget he said that, because it was one of the first spot on out of the blue validations ever, and it was about this time my relationship with him took a turn in an amazing direction.
Shortly before landing from that trip, our flight was diverted to Clark because Taal Volcano decided it wanted to erupt. And a few months after that, the stupid virus reared its terrible face to all of humanity.
While I know we can all go on about our issues with pandemic times – I don’t think anyone avoided going nuts here – there were some valuable learnings amidst all the chaos. I mentioned earlier that I felt things from others. And it was around this time that I felt and noticed a shift in my pops. Slowly, in my dad’s own time, he revealed himself to me, bit by bit. It began with my birthday in early peak pandemic. I made so many plans that all got thrown out the window. At the homily of my birthday mass on Zoom, the priest asked if anyone would like to say a word about me. Choking back tears, my dad said he was proud of me following in his mom’s legacy, of walking my faith walk and being kind to others. I almost peed in my pants. That same day, my mum actually said my work with the youth of this parish, where I’ve given decades of my life to, might be my mission on this earth. As the odd man out of the family, the only non “normal” one, and possibly the most underachieving, it was always my hang-up that I wasn’t good enough, maybe especially to my dad who was never a huggy wuggy,”Im going to give you validation” sort of guy. I tell my church fam that as kids we all just want to seek approval from our parents who we put on a pedestal. We all want this even when we’re grown much older. “Did I do ok, dad?” And sometimes our parents just have a hard time expressing to us that yes, we’re doing ok. So those words from them were powerful to me. And the way I saw life changed a whole lot because of that, and because of our collective circumstances.
Those who know me know I’m malandi with a lot of things. I love cool stuff. Clothes, gadgets, sneakers, travelling, what have you. But I can’t necessarily afford a lot of it, as I don’t make as much as everyone else, and besides, then there’s schooling, and bills, and life. But in pandemic I embraced perspective. That I didn’t have to have many possessions, and that if I really sat and thought about it, the true riches of my life I already had, mainly family, with all their idiosyncrasies, and my kooky friends, of which God was so amazingly generous with me. I’m not saying I wouldn’t want a new car, or a house, but you know what I mean. And that to have true joy in your heart, be good, do the right thing, and be generous to others and to yourself. The giving is the gift. Don’t settle for anything less. Fight for what is right. The more I think about it, the more I realize my dad shaped that in me, without saying too many words, simply by living the way he did. While Killer Tequila wasn’t perfect, he lived with conviction. Always. And that’s pretty amazing.
I’ve been telling people at the wake that as the years went by I think we both tried to figure each other out more. He maybe had already embraced who I was and what I was about – and of course he didn’t say he did. I in turn turned to my empath powers and put myself in his shoes. And I think that in doing so, our paths finally converged.
In pandemic, my faith walk grew much deeper – and surprise surprise – I just found out his did too. This is the same guy who was asked to pray in front of a congregation during a funeral, and infamously forgot the words to the Lord’s Prayer. For me, things began when I became one of Fr Tito’s Zoomcristans, lending my voice in the digital airwaves for masses and rosaries. While I’ve always been a good boy, I don’t think I’ve been to mass and prayed the rosary as many times as I have than during pandemic. My dad went to mass too – which wasn’t that hard naman and he could even go in his ratty tshirts and shorts. But the shocking revelation is that he also prayed the rosary. I know it sounds exaggerated that I’m shocked at this, because so many people started praying the rosary, but if you really know him, you’d be just as shocked as me. That plus the Fr Tito’s sneaky bomb of a story where my dad went to confession smiling and was actually happy to be there. Who was this guy? But of course I’m happy for him, because in pandemic, I think he was blessed to have somehow found God’s grace, just like I did too – both of us in our own personal ways – and it was this grace that helped us navigate through. I recently had this conversation with him – one of several introspective ones – at the table in my Lola’s house a few weeks ago. While everyone was milling about, we were talking about good old Lolo T. My dad turned to me and said: “do you know I was the last person with lolo in the crematorium? (Back then it took a few hours, and everyone wanted to go home, so I stayed behind to take Lolo with me as I lived the nearest.. but I waited in the chapel while dad sat with his dad) I always wondered why he never showed himself to me. Or made his presence felt. I was waiting for so long. Then finally, I had a dream about him. FINALLY. And he was so young and guapo. Like really guapo! He looked so good! (at this point I was in quiet shock, too, because this felt so deeply personal. I almost shed tears because I’d never heard my dad like this.. so I joked. Because I didn’t know what to say. I said “Haha! Playing golf, I’m sure!”) and he said – no no.. he was just there, looking guapo. And smiling at me. And FINALLY. Finally I knew where he was.” Pops looked so secure and serene when he said that. I almost lost it and my eyes watered up. That was as much a sign of dad’s faith than I ever did see, and one of the most poignant he’s ever been.
In pandemic, we also welcomed new additions to our family. The first was my third child, Elvis Doglas Yulo. My mom felt pity for my kids and gave them a puppy Shih Tzu from the wilds of Bulacan for Christmas. At first, my pops felt bad because Elvis was so small and looked so frightened. But as he grew bigger, and we would take him to my parents house, Elvis and my pops became friends. Little did I know that pops also wanted new kids. We had been talking for years about getting dogs, but there was a hitch: he was married to Pinay Cruella de Ville, who cannot stand dogs. His desire for the pitter patter of little paws was too great, though, and like a thief in the night came Ringo the corgi who became the apple of his eye. And a few months later – he pulled another fast one, when Wagyu suddenly appeared. Two dogs in the blink of an eye. Much to my Marvierella’s chagrin. But whenever we talked about our two new brothers, dad would light up and laugh and tell us how funny those two were. He adored them. My wife thinks that he got two because there was a premonition: Gino was about to get married and he might leave soon too. He got two doggos to guard the house, and keep Powie and Mom company. The Queen Mother’s corgis, indeed.
Coffee played an important role in our relationship too. He was my coffee whisperer – stubborn in his liking for espresso and only espresso, and only a certain kind of espresso. His only other indulgence being the occasional affogato. We spent many moments talking about machines, and beans and the process. When we had to opportunity to travel together, it was my job to scope out the scene and find where I could take him to coffee. That was always my side mission. He harbored thoughts of pulling his own shots at home, and when he finally got his own kit, he opened the family coffee shop, open only once a week, on Sundays, and only with his kids. After lunch he would stand up, go to the kitchen, fire up the machine. “Shops open” he would say, and he and his assistant Gino (well, more Gino lately) would pull shots for us. We would sit around the table with him, and would just make kwento while sipping our coffee. Kwento time was special, because if you listened keenly, you would gather more bits and pieces about dad. Or not. Sometimes we would just talk about his good ol’ days.. or basketball.. or even about the dogs and the stupid things they did. But I knew early on that these simple moments were to be cherished, because this was what life was about. I enjoyed just sitting there and being with him, and listening to him. And man, as I’m typing this, I will miss that, and I’m so grateful we had that time to do so.
I was nervous like anything on the way to the ER last Monday. When my friend messaged me asking me if I was on the way, he said good.. and im sorry but your dad is in critical condition. I said DAD! ANO BA. You’re going to leave us on this random Monday?? I had thought we would all still have much time to make memories together. When I got there, I found out he was DOA. And when we lost him, I had with me a rather strange calm. I was sad – we all still are – but I started thinking about why that calm was there. I came to two conclusions. One was that it was God calling pops. Plain and simple. It is God’s time, and there is no questioning that. I just knew it, even if it was a bit too early. And I felt it. I asked myself over and over, and I came to the same conclusion. It’s grace and acceptance. The other is that I am blessed – I’m almost sure my brothers will say the same thing, but I know in my heart of hearts that the past few years with my dad have been the best years of my relationship with him. Without a doubt. I have no regrets with him. No hurts. One day recently I said, almost randomly, “I love you, Dad”. I didn’t grow up saying this to him – maybe to my mum, my lolas, sure.. but to him, nope – and to my shock he said, “love you too, kid” So I know he knows how I felt about him, and I know how he feels about me and all of us kids and grandkids, his doggos, friends and of course my mum.
Hay dad. I’m so sorry for the times I let you down. A part of me still wishes I was that guy you expected – you know. An accountant, or some executive somewhere or a lawyer or something. Instead, you have the me that you’ve finally come to know. Feeler of things.. stringer of words.. eater of foods. And maybe that guy I think you expected is just something living in my head. Can’t help having these thoughts, so I’ll just live with it. I’m all about embracing my truth anyway.
But I also know that I have learned so much from you. I have learned to be humble, that I am owed no special treatment because we are all equals in God’s eyes, that I must always do what is right, and always try and take the high road, even if I’m cursing and screaming inside. Your cousin Ninong Andy Locsin quite poetically told me you’ll live in us every time we have to choose between restraint and bongga. I wouldn’t say I’m bongga, but I am a noisy bastard at times I know. I can’t help it because everyone is so quiet like you. I promise to always be quiet in the way I serve this world – with your trademark restraint – and speak always of love and kindness in the best ways I can, without expecting anything in return but simply knowing that I am doing the right thing and that it’s what you want me to be and it’s what we should all be in the first place. I will show love quietly like you did, especially to those who have less or those whose backs are against the wall. I know you never told us about any of these things, but I know.
Tiagert will miss playing his drums for you and dancing for you – the only guy who bothered to take you up on your instruments of choice. Clara will miss talking with you and playing with you and your doggos. Miguel and Mateo will miss chatting with you after biking, and Bellie will miss doing her gymnastics and ballet routines. Chrissie will miss you spontaneously and quite randomly doing the salsa while walking. Cres will miss seeing your similarities with her – of serving from the sidelines, also with quite dignified restraint. She said she felt an affinity with you and your ways and beliefs, and I believe it true. I’m sure Ton will miss setting up your tech needs. Powie will miss eating dinner with you. Gino will miss making your coffee. And mom will miss rolling her eyeballs when you’re being you – ever so lovingly of course, as she has since you were teens.
And I will just miss you and your presence. In the past few years I know me and my brothers had our own journeys with you. As I decided to serve my communities like my faith family, I also decided to serve you and mom more. Maybe especially you more since I was always with mom. They were but little things, I know. Buying you honey, getting you food if you were tamad to stand up na, searching for coffee and getting beans for you, playing tour guide to you and Dan, bringing you goodies I saw in the store. I really wish I could’ve done more, but that’s all I could do. I wish I could’ve bought your dream coffee machine. Or set up your stereo better. But I couldn’t. And I know naman you’d never expect that of me. But I wanted to show you how grateful I am that you accepted me whole heartedly for who I am, never asking me to be someone I’m not, and you loved me so mightily and so gracefully and so quietly. If anything, I know your love showed no restraint. I hope somehow, I made you feel special. I hope somehow my little acts of service showed how much I cared for you.
Several people have gone up to me and said “Wow J! You’re the eldest, so you’re the man of house now!” Holy crap we’re screwed! But don’t you worry, pops. I will lead the charge and take care of your beloved darling, with your sons, daughters and grandkids in the middle, and the crazy dogs holding up the rear. We promise to do the best we can, and live the Joey in us. That is how we will honor you, dad. I also promise to take care of Empress Nenaka in whatever way I can, as I have also been trying to do. Lola, if my pop was being my pop with you all these years, I know you meant so much to him and he just expressed it quietly. I, on the other hand, will do it my way – by being your noisy, silly concierge and silent servant.
Be happy up there dad. I pray it’s true that Mama Mary holds your hand and brings you home to Jesus. Maybe you’re already making music with Tito Sonny who I often miss a lot too.. and Tito Junior.. with Thunder Dan shuffling his feet and dancing along, smiling that toothy grin of his. Maybe Lolo, all young and guapo like you remembered him, is shaking his fist and saying “turn off that horrendous music!” Maybe. But I will lean on my faith that we will all be reunited with you someday. Please – if you’re going to show yourself, don’t make it too bigla, because I am a chicken shit. I know you have a lot of loved ones up there – its surely going to be an amazing get together. In the meantime, please watch over us left here. Give us a nudge if we’re going the wrong direction. Help remind us to be good. I love you so much pops, my idol, even if once upon a time I was a little scared to show it. We are a little lost without you – but I suppose that’s everyone who loses someone close to them. Help us be still and find you anyway, in our moments of restraint.
And may we always remember the last lesson you left with us before you ninja’d out of our lives: Never forget. Never ever forget. To brush your teeth before you go. I love you pops.
