The man who spoiled me on my childhood, the very reason why I am a brat. He gives me everything I wanted whenever he sees me sobbing, the one who lets me absent for my classes when I’m not in the mood and take me instead to his office. The one who tries very hard to fix my hair when I’m still a second grader not for me to be beautiful but just for plain neatness. He always wanted me to learn how to swim even he gets irritated with my horrified screams or worse get his eardrums lost. My tireless personal service on grade school even if he has to find wherever I am around the campus. With whom I inherited love for doggies. The one who surprisingly gave me a piggy-ride even I’m 12. He always prepares wonderful food for us and tries to cook our favorites if possible. He is my coffee buddy. The only one who built our house and built it back again when we got demolished. My ever mighty knight-in-shinning-armor over my mother and brothers. Whom I rarely heard I’m beautiful, who never gets tired of eying on my imperfections, who ceaselessly repeats his sermon on me, who always declares world war when I’m out late, very late and the one who always wanted me to be kind enough.
Any man can be a father but it takes someone special to be a dad.
He is my dad, my papa. He is not perfect, not even an inch. He’s not always kind, most of the time he got easily pissed off. I know he’s not ideal but I know he always love us, his way. He is, he is. Whatever he may be, he will always be my father. A father who will always be there for you at times you won’t be expecting, times when you really need someone who’ll listen, who’ll give you advices and who will teach you how to do the right things.
Maybe I can’t have the guts to say this everyday to you, but Papa, I love you. I will always thank you for my life and for having you as a father.