I Am The American Dream: I Am My Father's Living Legacy

My father's birthday is today, and I've been thinking about him a lot.  After my 40 days of Lenten reflections, I came to a final conclusion about myself and about my life.  I wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn't for the sacrifices my father made, both my parents had made.  My father passed away over 2 and half years ago, but there isn't a day that goes by, I don't think about him or miss him.  I write this blog in honor of him, and not in any way do I write this to take away the great things he had done in life, but to honor him in his death.  His story, is a big part of my story, and in some way he will always continue to be part of my story.  One of my favorite mentors once said, "Tell your story, because if you don't someone else will tell it for you, and you most likely won't like it."  I'm paraphrasing of course.

So, here is my story.  A small look into what makes me who I am.  Not my whole story because it's still being written, but the part I want to share with you today.

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"Just write your story. Don’t worry about whether someone else has written it. Perhaps while you are worrying and not writing, someone else will write it and publish it."   

- Neil Gaiman

I am an immigrant. My family came to the United States in 1978, during the Marcos regime; my father was seeking political asylum. He first came to St. Paul, Minnesota, and then my mother, my brother and sisters followed.  We didn’t have much when we arrived in the States, just the clothes on our back and whatever luggage we were allowed to bring with us.  We had to start all over again.  My mother had only a high school education and her English was not very good, but my father had a university education and was able to find work as a professional.  He was a Certified Public Accountant (CPA), and if anyone knows what that means, taking a CPA exam and passing it is difficult to do -- especially if English is not your first language.

We moved to California, where some of our extended family lived. To be honest, my parents were not accustomed to Minnesota winters after living their whole lives in tropical weather.  My parents were in their 40s at this time.  So, imagine what it’s like to live your entire life in a country where you’ve made your home, your family, your whole life and then have to rebuild and create a new life in a new land, so foreign that it’s like a different planet.  We were strangers in a strange land.

I grew up in what you would consider the ghetto, but I did not know we were poor because everyone else around us was poor.  My parents worked so much and so hard that they were able to provide us with things that made us feel rich.  Because they worked so much, I grew up without a lot of parental supervision.  My mom was an amazing mom.  She worked full-time, but we always had three hot homemade meals a day and we usually sat around the table during meals together.  These were times I remember fondly and cherish with my family.  

I am the youngest of four (five including my brother who died at age 5 of tuberculosis) children, six (living), technically, including my half-brother and-sister.  My father had another family with his mistress I found out about this when I was 13.  We all live some form of a lie or another.  He had this family before we immigrated to the U.S. and they were left behind.

My dad was a good man.  He provided for us, and he also worked himself to death to provide for his second family.  They didn’t have the same opportunities as I did, but they were able to get an education, and when I was in high school he brought them over, so they could have a better life here, too.  My mom and dad remained married until my dad passed away.  My mother is a very good woman who quietly raised her children while also living with the knowledge that my father had cheated on her.

My father used to tell me I was “stupid and wouldn’t amount to much” during his stressed out rants.  Did I mention he was bi-polar?  I knew he was just worried that I wouldn’t have a good life, and I wouldn’t be accepted in the community because I chose to come out gay and live my truth and be my authentic self.  At some point, I believed him.  I had a complicated and hard relationship with my father, but I know he loved me, in his own way.  I spent my whole life trying to seek my father’s approval, and I’ve spent my whole life trying not to be like my father.  But still, in many ways, I am my father’s daughter.  My family continues to struggle with the repercussions of my father’s choices: my mother’s children are collectively terrible in romantic, intimate relationships.  There are five divorces between the four of us, six if I were legally able to marry (does ending a domestic partnership count?).  My father also bankrupted the family twice by the time I was in high school because of his choices.  The college fund that I thought my parents were putting money in no longer existed, and I had to pay for my college on my own.  This was news to me once I graduated high school.  Getting to where I am today was not an easy or clear path for me.  There were many obstacles and detours along the way.  My past does not dictate my future and I was not going to let anything hold me back.  I do believe that my experiences have made me into a person that can overcome any adversity.

It’s not easy watching someone die.  My father was diagnosed with lung cancer in 2007.  It would have been his 70th birthday. My mom and dad had retired and moved back to the Philippines.  I had not seen them in four years and was looking forward to seeing my family again.  We were going to use the opportunity for all my brothers and sisters to get together, since most of us all lived in different states at this time.  My parents canceled their flight and my father had 60 percent of his left lung removed and started chemotherapy.  We hoped for a better prognosis.  His health improved, but I knew he was dying.

My brother (who is actually my half-nephew, but was adopted by my parents) called me in October 2009 and said, “Dad is really sick.  You have to come.”  He meant, “This is it, and this is probably the last time you’ll get to see him, come home.”  My relationship with my father was very complicated.  He was a hard man and had a lot of troubles.  He was mentally and physically abusive to me growing up, but he taught me a lot about life, integrity, and family.  We had moved past my childhood hurts, and years of therapy helped me to move to a better place in my head and heart around my feelings with my father.

I braved the 14-hour flight to go back home, with my partner at the time by my side.  It’s not easy watching someone die, especially a man who was the foundation of your family.  He was such a strong and looming figure in my life growing up; now he was emaciated, old, and gray.  Dying from lung cancer is as if you are drowning.  You can’t breathe and the pressure of liquid filling your lungs is painful and uncomfortable.  As he lay dying in the hospital bed, something changed and shifted in me.  I felt as if I was drowning.  If you have ever experienced this, you would understand how something inside of you can either harden or soften or both.  I hope not very many people will have to experience watching someone they love die.  I forgave him.  I forgave him for everything.  I told him he was a good man, and he did the best he could with what he had.  He was from a different time and a different era, he didn’t know.  I forgave myself, too.

I try not to make much out of folks who try to condemn, judge, or look down on me, they don’t know me, and they don’t know my story.  They don’t know what I’ve seen and what my mind had to wrap itself around in order to make sense of a world that doesn’t truly accept me or thinks I’m “different.”

My dad would be proud of me today, and I know my dad was always proud of me; he just had a really funny way of showing it.  I don’t tell people very often about my family history because I don’t want people to look at me with pity.  I had and have a good life, an amazing life filled with hardships and triumphs.  My father was a public servant until he retired; he was a senior CPA for Alameda County, California.  I know if my dad was here today he would be so pleased knowing that I was working on the Governor’s Task Force, working for the people.  He loved this country, he was proud to be an American citizen (he was also a Republican), and I was proud the day I received my naturalization papers when I was 18.  It was because of him that I love my country (both of them) and that I do what I do in the world.  I want everyone to have the opportunity to have a better life, to live the American dream, no matter what your story or background may be.  Mine is just one of many.  I honor my father everyday by being the best human being I can be. I am my father’s living legacy.

I am the American dream.

Edited by: Leah Nelson and Candy Czernicki