Happy Fathers' Day to Pablo Hade* Irigo

Above is a photo of Pablo Irigo's class in the mining town of Paracale,  Camarines Norte, his first teaching assignment. (Pablo is that stern-looking and very serious guy seated in middle).

***There were many things I wanted to say about my father, inspite of the fact that he lived a very short life of 58 years. Shorter still was the time he and I spent with each other since after highschool, I was off to Manila for college. Save for a few instances during the summer and semestral breaks I really didn't interact much with him, concerned more as I was with my own self-indulgent habits with myself and my barkada. Yet, there's a lot to say about him. Not because I can talk a lot per sé but because there's really a  lot to tell about him, his work, his bike, his violin, his patience, his calm disposition, how he is as a father, etc. And certainly one blog would not be enough to tell all the stories. So what follows is more like random snapshots of the man, the father, the husband, the son, the brother, the friend that Pablo H. Irigo was.***

Pabling is the youngest of five siblings of the the couple Maximo Irigo and Crispina Hade. He had four sisters; Bienvenida, Nieves, Concepcion, and Angelica. (To me, they were my Nana Biding, Nana Eves, Nana Conching, and Nana Liling).The Irigos made their home in a small but progressive town along the Naga River, called Libmanan, whose economy was based mainly on agriculture, specifically, rice farming. Even now, the town of Libmanan is considered the rice granary of Camarines Sur.

Since land transport was still quite unreliable and somewhat dangerous because of the thieves and robbers infesting the area at the turn of the century, the river was THE main artery through which travel and trade in that part of the Bicol province of Camarines Sur flowed and flourished. The river emptied into the Ragay Gulf, a rich fishing ground which is in turn connected to the Burias Pass and and the Sibuyan Sea south of the Bondoc Peninsula (part of Quezon Province).

Maximo came from a family of rice famers. He, along with his half-brothers Pedro and Manuel, tilled some 10 hectares of riceland, which produced enough rice to feed the small Irigo family, and some to be sold in the market. Maximo, inspite of his diminutive 5-foot frame, was a picture of industry compared to his half-brother, Pedro, who, while towering in his 5'9" stature, was an easy-going guy when it came to work in the farm, and Manuel, who as the youngest, was consinged to the menial tasks in the Irigo household. My Lolo Simo believed that man was gifted by God with mind and muscle so that he can produce food not only for himself but for his fellow man as well.

Crispina or Mamay Pinang on the otherhand, was the epitomé of a shrewd businesswoman. She was an expert at one-upmanship. She was a formidable combination of an extreme miser and a  'loan shark' of sorts. In their early years as a couple, Maximo and Crispina, due mainly to Crispina's  clever schemes and smart machinations, were able to amass wealth to a degree that would have made them targets for KFR or kidnap-for-ransom in today's terms. The couple owned many parcels of land in several towns adjacent to their base in Libmanan. (In my early years as a child, I often witnessed a number of men delivering loads of palay in my Lola Pinang's house, which was right next to ours in the town of Canaman north of Naga City).

But the couple wasn't as lucky (in my opinion) in their offsprings.Their first four children, who were all girls, seem to have not developed the interest that their mother had on business. Owing perhaps to their relative affluence, the girls grew up to be spoiled, carefree kids, whose days and nights were perhaps spent in idle talks, and in endless daydreaming about their future husbands, giggling uncontrollably while daring to outdo each other in their mindless trivial pursuit for their prince charming.

The couple's youngest child was a son. Born in July 8, 1912, the son was christened Pablo, the Spanish form of Paul. I don't know if it had any specific significance at the time he was baptised, but I found out that it also means "small" or "humble," for small indeed was Pablo at birth (and he proved to be humble as well in his grown-up years). The couple Crispina and Maximo have pinned their hopes on their only son to carry-on the business, to maintain, if not to expand on what they have already founded. But Pablo grew up to be other than what they expected or hoped for. For one, Pablo was drawn more to the relative peace and quiet of farm life than to the hustle and bustle of the "comprada" that his mother ran in the town. He would rather spend his day with his step-uncle watching over the rice plants, mesmerized by the swarm of birds that occasionally come to feed on the ripening golden grains of rice.

Eventually, Pablo grew up to be a full time rice farmer. He even pursued his education in the field of agriculture and for a while taught at the Camarines Sur Agricultural School located in the town of Pili, the capital town of Camarines Sur. It was while he was a student there when he met a smart and spritely young woman named Concepcion, who was his teacher. See related blog at: http://chitoirigo.multiply.com/journal/item/33/Pabling_and_Conching

My father, Pablo, was indeed very humble. In my growing-up years, I never really realized the full extent of the importance of his job (by the time I was born, my father was employed by government in the Bureau of Lands as its Regional Disbursing Officer). I knew that he would have occasional travels to the other provinces in the region and would be gone for not less than three days, but I never saw it as anything but a routine visit to their other offices. It was really during my father's wake in November 1970 when I learned that as Disbursing Officer, he was actually the paymaster, and a regional paymaster at that. If he did not make those trips or was less than prompt in attending to his duties, it would have meant that the employees would not receive their salaries, or at least not receive it on time. I also realized that it was a very dangerous job since there were not too many bank branches at that time, certainly none of the kind of money transfers we have now, so Pabling would travel with the payroll in tow. It was only then that I came to understand why one night I heard Pabling and Conching arguing about a gun. I remember Conching (my Mom) telling  my father to accept a gun that his office wanted to issue to him. And my father was adamant and insisted that it would be more dangerous for him to be carrying one.

Between him and Conching, Pabling was the "quieter" parent. In fact I could have viewed it as being distant to or unconcerned with me. But far from this impression, Pabling was always on my side. And by that I refer to the ever constant "clash" I had with my Mom. It was Pabling who would always give me a way out (literally out of the house), whenever I get the ire of Conching, by sending me to an errand to the nearby store or to my aunt's house next door, of course, to the consternation of Conching. He was, an incomparable "kunsintedor," but in a positive sense. To my recollection, he never "whacked" me, nor my other siblings, Edgardo and Teresita. That was more the territory of my mother, Concepcion. And I don't think he ever had even a single bone in his body that was capable of hurting his favorite son (hehehe...sorry Manoy Eddie).

My father never smoked nor drank, even socially. He also likes playing the violin. He's a self-taught violin player. And his favorite piece was the haunting Bicol folk song Sarong Banggui, which he would play almost interminably some nights. (I'm not sure if the neighbors appreciated that or otherwise).

He never really deliberately taught me anything, but from just watching him, I learned how to dis-assemble, clean and assemble a bike. I learned how to use a saw, a pair of pliers, and a variety of wrenches. I learned how to use a hammer and nail. I even learned a few basics on electrical repair, i.e. making an extension wire with matching plug. He was our very own plumber, carpenter, house painter, radio technician, and over-all handy man in the house.

I never had a man-to-man chat with Pabling. First, because it was simply not done during those times. And secondly, I believe I was not yet really mature enough or had the guts to do so. I don't remember him though to be one who held strong or passionate views about anything. He was very non-confrontational not only with my mom, but with everybody else. I doubt strongly if he would have taken me on in some discussions on certain beliefs I held at that time, e.g. about imperialism, about freedom of speech, about our history of serfdom to the Spanish colonizers and other such topics. But I sensed that whatever view he held, he steadfastly held on to it, confident in his own belief that he was right and saw no need to debate or crow about it.

Pabling died on the second semester of my second year of schooling in UP Diliman. And the day I received the telegram (in a red envelope) in my boarding house in UP Village, was the last day of the final exams week.

When I came home, I went directly from the train station to the funeral chapel. The moment I  Iaid eyes on his coffin, tears started to run down my cheek. The next thing I remember was lying on a bench with my cousin Emerita, furiously fanning me with her abanico. (I passed out, something I never experienced before nor after this one time).

Sometimes, I talk to my father in silence. Imagining a conversation I wish I had with him but which I never had the time, the nerve and the foresight to have done so. I would have talked to him about his favorite ride, a Fuji bike and mine (after college, I bought a Honda motorcycle). I would have wanted to tell him about the job I got and probably shared with  him my first ever salary. I would have told him about this girl whom I met in a strange room with holes on the ceiling. I would have proudly paraded to him the three little angels named Zara, Justin, and Ida. I would have said and done a lot of things to impress him, for nothing else but just because he was simply my father.

Indeed there's a lot more I wanted to say to him, or ask him about, i.e. his exploits or experiences during the second world war. But one blog obviously is not enough and my memory probably now inadequate.

True to his name, Pablo lived a humble life. Nothing like a pebble thrown in the pond that creates waves. Because he was the pond. The deep and calm pond in which no matter how many pebbles or stones are thrown into, goes back to being calm. Undisturbed. Unruffled. Peaceful.

HAPPY FATHERS DAY TO PABLING, MY FATHER AND GRANDFATHER TO MY CHILDREN (WHO NEVER REALLY HAD THE PLEASURE OF MEETING AND KNOWING HIM)!

* Hade (pronounced ha-de) is the Bicol word for "King." My mother says, that's the reason why we consider the Reys or the Reyeses (spanish for king) as relatives. Being called or given a monicker of Hade is a story in itself, which, if I have the time and mood, would commit to a blog soon.