Growing up, I had so many unanswered questions. While I buried most of them in my deepest slumber, a number of what-if-my-father-were-here are lurking all around my comfort (and not so comfortable) zone.
I don’t intend to change the great opportunities and the countless blessings that came overshadowing the pains and struggles that I’ve been through knowing that I didn’t have the luxury of fatherly support systems. In fact, I want to share some moments of self-assurance that there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel…
When my father left us to join the Redeemer at the other side of the world, our family had to learn all means to keep us strong. No word can measure our family’s share of sweat and tears that would probably cripple and cause selective amnesia to the fragile population sample of humanity. Our mother — a forbearing woman who knows nothing but perseverance to keep all her children to school and the family together — set the bar so high that we cannot concede our dreams. Yes, the world will be celebrating Mother’s Day this coming Sunday but today is the day that Vicente Delmiguez Lustre Sr., my father, was born.
Today, I remember my father.
On the basis of tittle-tattles among my father’s contemporaries, he was a very playful and audacious character in his youthful years. He was earning an engineering degree in Manila when he enlisted in the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) and joined the 19th Battalion Combat Teams (BCT) from April 1952 to March 1953 of the Philippine Expeditionary Forces To Korea (PEFTOK) that served under the United Nations Command (UNC), a coalition of 21 countries led by the United States, during the Korean War (1950-53). While serving in the Korean War, he was promoted to Staff Sergeant (S/Sgt) in August 1952.
According to unconfirmed word of mouth within the family, my father raised the Philippine flag (with the US flag) after the victorious Battle of Arsenal (the Chorwon-Sibyon-yi corridor in the west central sector) in Eerie Hills, South Korea. There were also the 10th, 20th, 14th and 2nd BCT’s whose stories are equally, if not greater, worth writing about. In the website “The Glory of Our Fathers – PEFTOK”, Art Villasanta wrote: “The 19th BCT (Bloodhound) was the first PEFTOK battalion awarded the South Korean Presidential Distinguished Unit Citation and received a Battle Citation from the US X Corps.”
I emailed Art Villasanta inquiring if his father, Johnny Villasanta, a UN war correspondent who was assigned to cover the Korean War and the author of the book, “Dateline: Korea” that was published in 1954, may possibly have some accounts about my father. I realized that my search for answers about my father as a Korean War veteran has just began.
History books and countless journals account for all the glories about the Korean War. To some reckless authors, the war was just another forgettable heroism eclipsed by controversies and power politics. To me, I just want to honor the memory of a person whose stories were never heard and will, if not soon, be forgotten.
The reverse side of the 20-year old Philippine 500-Peso bank note is sated with Korean War imagery that spotlights the assassinated Benigno Aquino Jr., the husband of the former “People Power” Philippine President Corazon C. Aquino, while he was working as a journalist during the Korean War. It is being suggested that the said imagery be redesigned to pay tribute more to the greatness of Filipino combat troops who fought for democracy in South Korea and saved the country from being conquered by North Korea and Communist China.
Three months after my father’s heroic welcome in 1953, he “retreated” to a small suburban town to marry a wonderful woman who eventually raised a dozen broods he sired – this very same blogger is the youngest. He was honorably discharged from the military service in 1955 to be with his family and to become a rice farmer.
While serving as director of the local office of the National Irrigation Administration (NIA) in my town, he suffered stroke right after an onsite field visit during a hot September noon. He underwent years of speech and physical therapy; yet, he was partially paralyzed for almost a decade until a heart attack a day after his birthday in 1988 that caused his health irreversible damage. On the first day of the following month, he passed away. He was 57.
I spent my childhood years with my paralytic father.
My father reminded me of a very strict but fair person. He was very choosy and difficult at times when it comes to food, to programs to watch on TV, to his haircut (plus all the remnants of the military-discipline-style grooming and scheduling) and to almost everything. There was so much resentment in him. He was very hard to please. I refuse to believe what my siblings claim that I am the pet of the family and my father’s favorite; I was the only one who can joke around him while all the rest were so cautious in dealing with him.
After a while, I understood that attitude comes with how people view themselves. It dawned on me one time that my father was in a very difficult situation being sick and feeling inutile that’s why he got so much consolation from putting us, his family, to test on how much we loved him. In spite of his physical condition, he still decided on major family undertakings… he remained the pillar of the family. Everyone respected his decisions and attached importance to his advice and parental blessing.
Not so long after my father was gone, a wave of (South) Koreans “invaded” the Philippines. They keep on growing in language schools and in boardrooms. The demand for English teachers is exponential since the steady influx of Koreans to the Philippines to learn the language at cheaper pesos accent compared to the dollar twang remains unstoppable. This demand graph is directly proportional to kimchi consumption, which prompted others to stay to seek opportunities in the country’s market and business industry.
While I was in the university, I tutored English to Koreans and a few other international students. I even landed in a language school teaching English part-time to a small class of Koreans. With not a tinge of heroic resemblance of Korean War combatants to my teaching experience, one of my former students recently emailed me that he now works as an English teacher and a part-time disc jockey in an international club in Seoul.
This coming June 1st, it will be the 20th anniversary of my father’s death. Looking back, there was a big part missing during the momentous rites of passage in my life. All those years, I never stopped praying for his guidance. I couldn’t turn back the time; all those years, I yearned for father-and-son bonding moments and adventures that I never had.
My father’s youngest brother, Jose, had passed away last month. I didn’t make it to his funeral. The last time I saw him last year, I remember him telling me, “I wish your dad had a taste of the generosity of his youngest son.”
Everything happens for a reason. We just have to believe. Life, no matter what happens, is beautiful.
How do we really transcend the dreaded R-word?