We got back in the car, and I started feeling tense. Not merely because I was with my father but because the man, I was with seemed nothing like him. He was joking, kind, and even a bit helpful. Nothing like the grumpy, quiet, often introvertive man that locked himself in his room and barely talked. As we drove around, he was humming along with the radio and tapping his fingers against the wheel. When someone would cut him off, he would curse and throw his hands up in the air before tapping my on the chest and asking me not to tell my mother he cursed. Every few lights he would ask me a question and I would hesitate before giving him an answer. He chuckled when something was funny or grunted when he was nonplussed. But every emotion that he broke out was out of character for the man that was usually so far away. When we finally got to the Jollibee's and we ordered our food, the silence returned, but in a different way. Our personal silence seemed disrupted, like we could open a dialogue. The untenable quiet that once stood between us seemed assailable while the buzzing of the outside world disappeared. We were in our own personal world, him, and I, and before long I felt like I garnered the courage to speak to him. 

“Dad… how come we never do this.” 

His brow furrowed and he tried to speak in between bites of chicken. “What... are you talking about?”

I motioned to the table, “This, you and I, just hanging out together. We’ve never done anything like this before.” 

He took another bite of chicken and grunted, “Well you’ve never asked me before.” 

That nearly floored me and put a fire in the pit of my stomach. “Why should I have to ask for you to spend time with me?” 

He shrugged and spoke frankly, "Anak, I do quite a lot for you. What else do you need?” 

Really? He was really going to say it like that, “This Dad. I needed this.” 

He looked a bit puzzled if not still grumpy, “What is this?”

I pointed quickly back and forth between us.  “You’re actually talking to me! You are joking and being friendly!” 

He furrowed his brow and grabbed some palabok. “I never figured it was a problem.”

It was starting to get frustrating, “Dad, I never see you. You’re always at work and when you are home, you just lock yourself up in your room.”

He continued eating, and joked, “I like it there, it's quiet.” 

I shot back, “But what about us! I barely even know you as a person!” 

I hadn't realized how high my voice had gotten and I felt a few sets of eyes on me. Before I even had a chance to look though my father twisted his head over his shoulder and made a shoo-ing hand motion. I instantly felt the heaviness dissipate and the quiet returned.

My father sighed and spoke softly, “Anak… I work a lot. I'm sure you know this, do you not?” 

I nodded and he continued. “When I get home, I am tired, and I just want to rest and forget about my day.”

I lifted a finger and quipped, “But you have to make time for the family. Don’t you want to spend time with us?” 

He grunted, “Sometimes. But if I don’t take my rest when I get the time we would go belly up.” 

I shot a confused look across the table, “We have never had money issues?” I thought. 

He saw the look on my face and sought to clarify the misunderstanding. “Anak... I grew up with nothing. I didn’t even have my own room until I went to college and that only happened because I worked hard.” 

So? I thought. “But what does that have to do with now?” 

He made a small chopping motion, “Things cost money.” 

The way he said it made me figure that he thought of it as some elucidating fact.  “What are you talking about?”

He shook his head and pointed at me, “The clothes you wear, the roof over our heads and the food we eat. The bill always comes back to me.” 

As he spoke a sense of weariness began to drift over him. “Your school with those pretty girls, our servant to keep your mother off her knees, even our outing today, it comes from my pocket.”

I wasn't really getting it. “If we can afford it now then why don’t we see each other more?” 

He took another bite of his palabok and sighed, “When I get home I just want to sleep. I just want to relax and ignore everything. I want to forget how hard I work and just enjoy what little rest I get.”  He looked over at me and chuckled, “I can’t keep up with you kid.”

 It was a halfhearted attempt but even that seemed somber; he clearly saw the look on my face and cleared his throat, “I’m sorry that you feel the way you feel son.”  He stared at me for a second before he picked up his silverware and started eating again. That didn’t stop me though, I had more questions for him, I wanted to get to the bottom of it all. 

“Well… why haven't you-” 

He held up one hand, stopping me while he continued piling food on his fork with the other, “I can’t fix a lifetime of neglect. No amount of hard work would ever fix that.”

 I looked down at my plate. That was a bit heavy, and I wondered how much of it was true.

I heard the clanging of silverware stop and I looked up at him, “I hope you understand at least a little of what I just said.” 

He had a small smile painted across his face. It was a nice change from his usual self, but it didn’t hide the hurt in his eyes or the weariness emanating from his skin. 

“I love you son, don’t forget that.”

Those words weren’t really that powerful. He hadn't made a moving soliloquy or a picture-perfect speech. From an outsider’s perspective those words didn’t seem touching. But between him and I... those words found a place deep within my chest. I didn’t know if I would ever really get his reasonings, but I felt like I understood him a bit better. My breath got shaky, and I could feel the tears begin to well. I dropped my head back down and began weighing my thoughts.

I tried to tell him how I felt, “Dad I’m-” But the thought was cut short. When I lifted my head back, he had already gone back to eating his food. He wasn’t crying, he no longer seemed somber or low, in fact his attitude had gone back to his usual jade faced mask that he had always worn. I realized it wasn’t going to be a life altering day for us. Things wouldn’t really change, and my dad would always be my dad. He grabbed a calamansi and squeezed as much of the juice out of it as he could, ignoring whatever it was I was doing. He wasn’t a perfect person; he just was who he was.

I sighed but thought to myself; “But at least I'm not meaningless to him.” 

I smiled a bit. “Thanks for taking me out today dad.” 

He nodded in affirmation. “Eat your chicken before it gets cold.”

As we stepped inside the house, I noticed for the first time how clean it was. I noticed the nice furniture and all the little knick-knacks. I noticed how quiet it was, how different it was from the hustle and bustle of the city; that the only noise in the house was my mother talking to herself while she watched tv. I noticed the shoes on my feet, the ones I had only just gotten and then I noticed my father's, his old leather slippers barely hanging on. I watched him as he walked over and kissed my mom on the top of her head, while she reached behind herself to pat him on the shoulder. She turned her head to him and smiled and then noticed me, calling out, “Hey!? Did you have a good time with your father?” 

There was a lump in my throat, but I forced a voice through it. “Yeah” As I said this my dad walked over and patted me on the shoulder before walking up the stairs. Before I knew it, he was already gone, the door to his bedroom closing with a soft thud and the faint sound of the lock turning over.  “We had a good time together."