Starfish

This little piggy went to market

This little piggy stayed at home

This little piggy had roast beef

Yuck rose biff …ugh! Make dat fried chikken Daaaad!

Okay…this little piggy had fried chicken

This little piggy had none

And…this little piggy cried wee wee wee all the way home!

My poor hippie father was skinnier than Mick Jagger. And there I was, borderline clinically obese, at the tender age of 9.

Dad struggled to keep me on his lap as we played the bedtime game, Little Piggy (No pun intended).

Slumped like a lazy lump of lard, I had my left foot up up up in the air with all my sausage toes perky and eager for the pinching.

That’s it? How about the my right foot?

Oy, we’re finished with your right foot.

No, we’re not! Daaaaaad, right foot!

I suffered from insomnia (may or may not be due to my triple chin) and dad’s toe pinching was the only way I could ease into calm and sleep.

That and well…if all things failed, my father would rush to the window and call out Wee Willie Winkie. Howdy, Wee Willie Winkie! Yoohoo, Wee Willie Winkie! My dad looked so desperate that I would just shut my eyes and will myself to sleep. Worked every time.

 

When my father died,

I lost my toe pincher.

My best friend.

And my Champion.

I couldn’t help it, I shattered into a million pieces. And whenever I’d try to pick up a broken piece, I’d wound and it’s so painful still…

Someday I wish to honor my father properly. When it no longer hurts this much.

But for now, I just want to share dad’s personal cause, his life’s work and crusade for abandoned children.

Dad was an agriculturist, a scientist. He had the greenest thumb, after his visits, my lanai would always be in full bloom with reds, violets and tons of freshness.

But dad took pride in being a farmer, simply, man and soil, hands dirty, smile content.

Oh, the smile.

That smile, I still go to sleep seeing that smile… keeps me going.

For more than two decades until his death, my father was committed to providing a safe and happy home for abandoned children.

My mother once whispered to me that dad had an extra soft spot for children who got less lucky in life. But that it’s never too late.

How romantic! But that’s just dad.

An inconspicuous bungalow from the outside.

Inside is a rather different, more delicate world.

It’s not easy running an orphanage.

In a poor province, in a poor country.

There’s the government.

Social Welfare.

The adoptive countries.

Safety.

Privacy.

Love.

Separation.

Anxiety.

Tiny humans with memories.

 

Sherrie Ann likes to go around in her diapers, yellow toy in hand.

This toy will be strategically used to swat those lurking stray cats.

Poor unsuspecting kitties.

Sherrie Ann’s pucker up.

 

Sherrie Ann must take a bath before she’s allowed to play.

 

After bathing, you must honor your promise of play.

Sherrie Ann likes this kind of play: carry her and twirl twirl twirl. Weeeeeeeee!

If you put her down, Sherrie Ann will wail. The eardrum-busting sort.

Be prepared to twirl twirl twirl for at least an hour. Weeeeeeeee!

When Sherrie Ann was only a day old, her aunt rushed her here because her mother who’s suffering from mental disorder was harming her.

 

This baby is named Kala because she was found wrapped in a blanket, tied to a Kalamansi tree.

David is a handsome boy. Laughs a lot, but with constant fear in his eyes. He’s going to be overaged soon and will have no choice but to transfer to a Boy’s Home somewhere. Although lovable, David was just never chosen to be adopted as he’s born out of incest.

This cuddly bear is Ram. For Domingo de Ramos. He was left on the front steps of the Cathedral on Palm Sunday.

 

P.S.

Dad loved telling stories. It started with bedtime stories for me and my sister. And later on we would travel near and far to make our stories come to life.

Once I was yakking to no end (not unusual) about ending poverty in this sweeping dramatic way, complete with theatric upward motions to the skies. Bow!

My father raised both eyebrows over the cool, amused sparkle in his eyes. He was a man of very few words. Because , for him, every darn word mattered. Quality over quantity. In words and in life.

Dad quietly reminded me of the Starfish story. Remember that?

Sometimes in our desire to do BIG things, we overlook the little gestures that are more meaningful and life changing. Sometimes the little everyday gestures are even more challenging because it takes a lot of giving of oneself to be unequivocally consistent.

And faithful.

And loyal.

And to be able to say with great conviction, I will be here, no matter what. I will be here for you, always.

The Starfish Story.

Cheers!