August is my dad’s month. It is I think our clan’s month. Augusto was born August 27, and died August 8, 44 years apart. He named my younger brother Augusto Jr. Some of his “apo” was born August- Russel Aguilar Aug 17. Paul Austin De Vera Aug 10.

While my other siblings Lynette, Betsie and Augusto Jr  inherited the brilliant mind and effortless knack for “pakikisama” of my dad, I am in awe of his craftsmanship and attention to detail.

He worked at a raw, ramie textile factory, supervising people from different ethnic backgrounds during the “volatile” Mindanao in the late 70s and early 80s. Assuring an export quality, high grade ramie textile for San Miguel Corp is no easy task. He developed a keen sense for quality almost invisible to most eyes. I asked him how he knew “premium quality ramie fibers” by just rubbing it on the dorsum of his hand. “It feels a bit smooth, little rough undulating”. “And when you comb the fibers with your bare hands, the bad ones stall your fingers like tangled hair strands ” he added. “Smells different too. Like a wet rotten leaf. ” Well, his sense for fine grade, premium quality “material ” is not limited to ramie textile. He met, chased and wooed my mom within this same company. A boholana and a beauty queen, mom couldn’t resist my dad’s keen sense for “premium quality”. She married him.

I used to tag along with my dad in his office, on the field, and even in the remotest areas of Mindanao where non muslims rarely went to. “What are we going to do in that place pang?” I asked. “We’d be visiting a sick worker and hasn’t reported for days” he said. That was the first time I saw a “boss” going to a worker’s house and in a “no mans land’ at that. I still remember the surprised look at the weakened face of that worker. He couldn’t meet us inside his bamboo shanty, who I think , could barely hold 2 adults. The sick worker offered us his only barako coffee, then he handed a dried, sweet local delicacy to go with the coffee while we sat on bamboo ladder to his house eating. “Drink or eat anything they offer” my dad told me. “Thats the only thing they have and when they offer it to you, it meant they value your presence more than anything in their possession”. I was barely 7 or 8 years old then and never drank coffee but that was the most inspiring coffee I ever had in those times. I saw my dad hand something to the worker. I’m not sure if its money, a medicine or what. I just heard the word “thank you” in the vernacular. This is also I think one reason why my dad is well loved by his workers. ( At the necrological mass, trucks of his muslim workers eagerly waited outside the christian church just so they can bid goodbye to their boss friend).

My dad can also whip out a toy gun out of anything. From the stem leaf of bananas, wooden “de tansan” from spare lumber, sulpot made of bamboo. “I want a scooter!” I asked him. So he builds a wooden scooter with wheels made of old ball bearings! He is good with his hands, a craftsman i suppose. He sew all our torn bags. His mind is always busied by his hands. He draws all my school “drawing” assignments. And he is always pre occupied covering our notebooks and books with not only soft paper covers but cardboard plus transparent plastic cover on top!

Augusto, is also a very sociable person. He blends well in any group and is loved by both his workers and his bosses. He is the barkada for everyone. He’s unassuming, jovial , communicates well and has this ability to hold everyones attention when needed. He is a prolific storyteller and was a company’s toastmaster. He laughs with all his mouth wide open to his ears. I never heard him ridicule anyone nor comment on someone else’s’ misfortunes or activities. He also is a beer drinking suave. Explains why he is a constant fixture in any of his barkada’s gatherings. He loves “sabong’ thats he breeds and grows fighting cocks. He doesn’t bet though as gambling is strictly prohibited in our house. He taught me in my young age how to breed and prepare fighting cocks for derbies. I only retained the “how to cook tinola” part or if his fighting cock lose, how to eat 3-4 “balut’ in one sitting.

I was a “papa’s boy” said my siblings. True. I stayed with my dad often. I never really fully understood why he died earlier than everyone. He was just 44. I was just 8 years old then. Yet over the years I realized he never “left” us at all. He, together with our mom, inspired all of us to be where he wanted us to be. He told my eldest sister he wanted a doctor in our family. After he died, I never even thought I could go to college much less be a doctor. But look where are we now. To Augusto and my mom’s credit, they also now have an accountant, a teacher and hopefully a lawyer soon. We’re all papa’s children after all, aren’t we?!

So pang, I only got one request to you ever since you left ahead of us. Take care of me, us in all my journeys. I still remember that worried look you have every time I hop and jump above a ten foot stack of ramie textile. But you always send some angel to watch over us. I would still love that angel with me 🙂

PS. Ikaw ang “lodi” namin..