It’s interesting that after all these years, I find myself writing about my old man. The Big Boy. Yeah, that’s right. That’s exactly what they called him. Big Boy.
I am not absolutely sure about the reason for the moniker but it might have been because of his stocky physical presence walking around town or most likely that he had this authoritative air about him that demanded one’s attention. A 38 calibre revolver hanging perennially on his hip helps the whole impression aspect of it, I suppose.
Now this is not a bio write up about him nor is it an attempt to serialize his life and times.
Unlike most people that hung around him, I unfortunately did not get enough time to spend with him as he passed away one ill-fated day. He died doing what he loved most; playing tennis with his closest friends. I’ve always told myself after, that if there’s a nice way to exit the big stage - that would be it.
So I really did not know the man fully well to accurately describe him. My sisters would probably know more but for the most part of my adolescent period and even today, they have always lived elsewhere distant. What this is, is an attempt to piece together fragments of what I do remember as a young boy of eight and tie it up with what I understand and know of him now.
I have just turned 40 something and I am intrigued by glimpses of my father by my own mannerisms, physical appearance, taste and most of all facial expressions that reveal one’s state of mind at certain moments. This gets more affirmed by the fact that although he was not around anymore to attend and guide my way through the pains of growing up, his influence was always present through the watchful eyes and caring hearts of my mother and sisters.
It is with deep appreciation then that I write these thoughts about him. The other day I showed an old picture of him to my two sons who do not know much about their grandfather except for the fact that he was known about town as Big Boy. “He looks like a tough guy,” they said. “I know, but he would have loved to have met you, apply pomade on your hair and combed it back just like he would with his,” was my reply.
I am not absolutely sure about the reason for the moniker but it might have been because of his stocky physical presence walking around town or most likely that he had this authoritative air about him that demanded one’s attention. A 38 calibre revolver hanging perennially on his hip helps the whole impression aspect of it, I suppose.
Now this is not a bio write up about him nor is it an attempt to serialize his life and times.
Unlike most people that hung around him, I unfortunately did not get enough time to spend with him as he passed away one ill-fated day. He died doing what he loved most; playing tennis with his closest friends. I’ve always told myself after, that if there’s a nice way to exit the big stage - that would be it.
So I really did not know the man fully well to accurately describe him. My sisters would probably know more but for the most part of my adolescent period and even today, they have always lived elsewhere distant. What this is, is an attempt to piece together fragments of what I do remember as a young boy of eight and tie it up with what I understand and know of him now.
I have just turned 40 something and I am intrigued by glimpses of my father by my own mannerisms, physical appearance, taste and most of all facial expressions that reveal one’s state of mind at certain moments. This gets more affirmed by the fact that although he was not around anymore to attend and guide my way through the pains of growing up, his influence was always present through the watchful eyes and caring hearts of my mother and sisters.
It is with deep appreciation then that I write these thoughts about him. The other day I showed an old picture of him to my two sons who do not know much about their grandfather except for the fact that he was known about town as Big Boy. “He looks like a tough guy,” they said. “I know, but he would have loved to have met you, apply pomade on your hair and combed it back just like he would with his,” was my reply.
