| 20
June 2003
'Super Tatay'
LAST week, I wrote
about psychologist Tess Ujano Batangan's doctoral dissertation on
adolescents and their relationships with parents. One of her findings,
which I shared in my column, was the fairly weak fathering role.
Many readers wrote in to defend the Pinoy "tatay" (father),
mainly glowing and touching accounts from daughters remembering their
fathers and, interestingly enough, grandfathers. Very telling though was
that not a single son wrote in to talk about his father. I'll get back
to that point later in the article.
There were also several readers who testified to their husbands being
superb tatay. One reader said she often has to take long trips,
including an upcoming one which will mean being out of the country for
four months, and never worries about how her husband will fare with
taking care of the children.
There were also letters from men themselves, talking about their
experiences with child-rearing. Bob Gabuna wrote to say he became a
surrogate father to a girl who had lost her own father. His letter
reminds us that many Filipinos are able to transcend biological
fathering.
Other letters from tatay talked about their experiences with
child-rearing. Jun Bueno, now living in Calgary, says he's quite happy
cooking for his kids. So does someone who calls himself "Super
Tatay," a proud father to a four-month-old daughter. Super Tatay
says he not only cooks but does the laundry too.
Super Tatay is excited, but apprehensive, about fatherhood. He shares
some of his anxieties: Will I answer all of my kid's questions about
everything and anything? What happens when someone starts courting my
daughter? Will I allow her to date at 15?
Super Tatay hopes Tess will write a book soon about fathering. Knowing
Tess and her husband Dennis, I can say they should do the book together.
Dennis is a Super Tatay if there ever was one, and still finds time to
work as a physician.
But while we're waiting for Tess' book, I did want to venture a few
general answers to Super Tatay's questions. I'll qualify that my own
experiences in "fathering" have been indirect, always as a
temporary substitute, as uncle, as ninong, as a teacher (at one time
living with 30 adolescents out in the field) and, lately, as a "tatay-tatayan"
to an infant, oops, I keep forgetting, he's now a toddler aspiring to be
a sprinter.
I have to say a father shouldn't have to worry about being able to
answer a child's questions about anything and everything. The child,
growing up with a good father, believes that Tatay knows everything
anyway. Raised well, she'll realize Tatay isn't all-knowing and that her
views don't always agree with Tatay's, including those about courtship,
but she'll still think her Tatay is one of the greatest men who ever
lived.
The point is to be accessible, not just physically and emotionally.
Another reader, Fedeliza Espiritu-Lopez, wrote to point out a father's
presence, or absence, impacts on both sons and daughters. It's
interesting that the women who wrote me about having had good tatay also
seemed to have married good men who are now exemplary tatay.
"Super Tatay" and several other readers blame machismo for the
difficulties with fatherhood. Kaye Laforteza notes how we define the
male simply in terms of biological fathering, or of being a breadwinner.
Small wonder that we elected a philanderer as president, with the
reasoning that at least he provides for all his kids and never mind if
he has to raid the nation's coffers to do that.
But there's more to the problem of machismo standards than this sowing
of wild oats. Earlier in the article I mentioned that not a single male
wrote in to talk about his tatay. It seems that even if many people,
myself included, had very good tatay, we don't usually talk about them,
except in terms of their achievements. To talk about how nurturing they
were would seem to "feminize" them.
It is this perception of parenting that also prevents fathers from
sharing their experiences with each other. To do so, Super Tatay
observes, is to invite suspicions you're "bakla" or gay (no
offense meant, he clarifies quickly). Men don't usually exchange recipes
and tips about child-rearing because this is seen as
"feminine."
Unfortunately, media reinforce this stereotyping, featuring men only as
super-achievers in business and politics. The occasional interviews with
fathers emphasize what they do for, rather than what they do with, their
kids. We rarely hear of the nurturing side to fatherhood, yet the
fondest memories my readers have are those of Tatay telling stories, of
Tatay carrying them on their laps, of Tatay cooking (Len Perez remembers
her Tatay's best dish: ginatang tulingan with kamias). Perhaps we
forget, too easily, that the best times we had with our Tatay were the
times when we did "nothing," father and child in a quiet time,
caring and therefore carefree.
Let me make one last point here. Our "Super Tatay" asked me to
use a pseudonym because he was worried that if his wife found out he had
written, she might think he was having difficulties with fatherhood. I
have this to say: What makes Super Tatay so super is his aspiring to be
a great father, and his courage to acknowledge he isn't sure about how
to go about it.
It's male pride that makes men drive around in circles rather than
stopping to ask for instructions; it's the same problem with fathering.
If more men could be like our Super Tatay, pausing to ask, we'd have
stronger families and who knows, maybe a stronger nation.
|
