Urbanized Dolphin

I am my father’s son.

So they tell me. If it weren’t true then my mom is a total slut. But the wicked similarities on our personalities proves me that he really is my father… which proves that your no slut ma’! Love ya Ma!

The other day we had a serious verbal clash. He’s been “holiday-ing” at my pad for a couple of months now (his wife threw him out). The father-son spat was about shit. Literally, it was about his shit. We have the same morning schedules and every single day he always get to the bathroom first.

I love my dad. But when you go right into a bathroom after he’d done his shitting. Whoa, better take in a can of air freshener with you. I kid you not, the fucking stench of his waste can really violate one’s soul. I shit you not my friends. My dad’s shit reeks so bad that even Satan himself will puke all the evil in him.

So I said something about it to him. Don’t know if it was my approach but he got pissed.

We ended up screaming at each other… because of shit. Hehehe… I still find it funny.

Since that morning my dad hasn’t crashed at my place yet. I kinda miss him. But the shit stench in the morning, that I don’t miss.

Let me tell you about my dad…

My dad’s a custom police. NO, not like the border custom cops on U.S. reality T.V. where ruggedly handsome men with ripped bodies in tactical gear wear and high powered guns for toys go hunting illegal border jumpers and does smuggling busts.

Where in the Philippines… have some dignity, cops here are rugged… that’s it. Just take a look at my dad. This mid 50’s father of mine is a tattooed long hair sporting diabetic port police. Most of guys on his team are chain smoking tough guys you’d mistakenly think as bums or Italian wiseguys just hanging out together. ]

Tactical gear? Fuck that man, for these guys uniforms are for VIP occasions only. It’s jeans sneakers and a shirt 24/7. And the bulging 9mm Berretta, Parabellum or Llama bulging on their bellies.

My hippie looking civil servant of a father clairvoyantly named me after him. My old man must have seen that’ll I’ll grow up having his exact character and personality. OR, the guy was just so high on something that put in his name on the birth registration as my Demerol high mom got out of the labor room. Whichever, I’m still stuck and will remain his Junior.

Erpat’s as I call him is the happy go lucky “Man” man types. With very open views and has a Machiavellian approach towards life. Much like me, I don’t know if its DNA watching him intently while growing up rubbed his persona unto me but almost everyone in one family describes me as “very much the same”.

No, we don’t look alike. Quite the opposite really. He’s a long hair since i can remember. I spent six years as a skin head and always liked my hair to be neat and clean. He’s tanned (looks like the the Bagets-pre drugged William Martinez in his youth) I’m a freckled face splattered mestizo (several girls I dated told me i looked liked Wendell Ramos when i was still at 185lbs… Ha! Fucking lying bitches. Now I’m a bloated John Belushi look alike. An he an aging De Niro.

He stands 5′6”. I lurch a 6 flat height. I got my physical genes from my mom.

My elder brother is his exact look alike, less the intimidating mass on his broad arms, broad shoulders, chest, head… Heck everything in him is broad. Except his tiny “pinky” wahahahaha!

But personality wise, I’m clearly my father’s son. I’m both proud and regretfully aware of this. The good and bad stuffs in him are custom fitted in me.

The good.

My dad is the man of the masses in both my grand folk’s two clans. His exceptional PR skills and comedic wit usually makes him the life of the party. A common sense and witty smarts ables him to effectively converse with anyone from any walks of life. And i mean any. He can effectively lobby something to a meth junkie or a political high power figure (V.P. Noli de Castro was his home boy back in the day, Ka Noli even hanged out on my granddad’s billiard hall)

He’s cocky. A confidence that borders into the point of arrogance, but he gets away with it because of his charm. Ah, charm. That he does overflow with. His popularity in our town maybe compared with “The Kris Aquino Complex / Persona”. You either love him or hate him. But still you cant get enough of him.

He’s also a “bolero”. A smooth talker when it comes with girls. Thankfully I inherited that. I haven’t had any hard times getting girls (except for one goddamn chick that I was really into three years back, you know who you are bitch!). I got his wit and very disarming sense of humor.

It was understandable for him to get the girls because he’s handsome. Was handsome. But for me (I often manage to wondered how I managed to follow his steps), I thank him for rubbing his charming and funny appeal onto me. I’m not as good looking as he was back in his day but I do have this “appeal” hehehehe (fuck you angel! Don’t even dare to comment)

“sabi nga ni Tsong Joey Marquez( na inisip ni Ipe Pelino )…. kila Richard Gomez at Benjie Paras…. Sa inyo na ang kagwapuhan! Sa akin ang sex appeal!”

The bad.

The bad boy rep and the knight in shining armor complex. He is known to have a violent past. All of which are not just random anger bursts. He usually ends up in a bloody street fight defending our family’s honor or saving a damsel in distress. Bloody fights with what he considers as rotting individuals are literally legendary.

One of his fight stories that I’ve heard was when he fought three brothers right outside their house. He taped a dried manta ray tail whip on his left arm and a 7 inch blade on his right. He nearly died on that encounter, but he’s best pal “Balot” (can’t remember his real name, they call him balot because he looks like a duck embryo hehehehe) managed to save him.

One of the three brother’s attacked from his rear, with a fan knife. Balut instinctively hugged my dad and used his back as a knife cushion. That’s what buddy’s should be. Balut has two deep stabbed wound and got marks to prove it.

When the cops came they ordered everyone to raise their hands and drop anything their holding. My dad was the only one left standing, but he can’t drop his blade and whip because of it was really taped hard on his hands. The cops thought that he was being a hard ass so they shot him.

One bullet slashed in him, just right under his ribs and came out the other side. He survived that night and became a street legend. A street fighters urban tale. Up to this day our town’s hardcore pinoy street hoodlums respect him and me, his junior.

I too had my shares of street violence. One fight that I had is very similar to what my dad when through. It was when I got my ear left ear sliced in two. I was fighting three guys.

The details a bit blurry, but I do remember that I was on top of the biggest guy of the three and was giving him knuckle sandwiches and elbow hits when I sensed his pal attacking me on my rear left side. At the last possible second I leaned towards my right and and grabbed his hand. He dropped a blade which i quickly took. They ran like school girls when they saw me brandishing the knife.

I didn’t realize that my ear got cut only after Candice (my girlfriend during that time) told me that the left side of my head is bleeding like a faucet. I brushed the area and felt that my ear was sliced in half.

At the e.r. the doctor said that the guy was probably aiming to stab me just underneath my ear. Meaning the guy was really set on killing me. I jut got lucky. But I did have to undergo a couple of hours of being stitched, by an intern no less, with out any anesthetics whatsoever. 14 stitches on a three inch cut. How could that possibly be, I really have no idea.

I survived that night. Mostly because of luck. But I believe that my dad’s genes helped me. Sounds really crazy, but I positive that my confidence of him being my father guided me through that brawl.

That’s my dad. A basically a good half of who I am. I love my dad. I love him as much as I hate him.

I am after all my father’s son.

So dad… wherever you are….. can you shit there and come home to me? lolz