Tito Puente, Harry Belafonte and Remembering Daddy

Today is my Dad's sixth death anniversary. It's been more than half a decade since he succumbed to lung cancer, a sickness we didn't know had been eating him up for years.

I can still remember very clearly the eve and day of his death. Like it just happened yesterday, or like a favorite scene in your favorite movie, something that can won't get tired playing over and over in your head. Even if you want to forget, it just sticks.

But there is much much more to remember about my Dad than his death, and one of them is his music.


Like most dads, he's a sucker for the oldies- Cascades, Everly Brothers, The Platters, Matt Monro. His favorite is dear old Frank Sinatra. But unlike most dads, that's just a section of his super large library of music. Growing up, we live in a really small home. So every weekend, when it's my Dad's schedule to play "his jams" we had to listen to Engelbert Humperdink, Ray Connif, endless albums of Sergio Mendez. When he's in a really good mood, that's Trio Los Panchos and Tito Puente for the entire household. :))

Even if I don't want to, I can sing along Celias Cruz' "La Dicha Mia".

Lucky me to be born in Havana. Out there I became a singer of songs.

Effortlessly, I can hum Cal Tjader's latin kicks and David Benoit's Christmas collection. My sisters and I, we can sing the entire "Harry Belafonte Live at the Carnegie Hall" album- in thick Jamaican accent, complete with the audience participation.

'Mama, look a boo-boo', they shout. Their mother tell them, 'shut up your mouth, that is your daddy', 'oh no, my daddy can't be ugly so.'

Back when it was just my four oldest sibling who were born, they say my Dad has a complete band set up at our old house- guitars, drums, a piano, keyboards. His favorite were the congas and bongos. By the time I was born, we were already living in our house in Marikina. No more band set up. No congas or bongos. But Daddy, I remember he used to beat the hell out of the butts of titanium cans he find in his machine shop when The Mambo Kings is playing.

I knew Mongo Santamaria when not another person outside our family did (until now, I don't know anyone besides my family who knows Mongo Santamaria haha). I can sing Linda Ronstadt's "Perfidia" in English and Espanol even I don't speak Spanish. And even if back then, our eardrums were probably bleeding of songs we don't even understand, I remember it was always happy, lively, crazy music filling up our house, thanks to my Dad.


There will always be joy in remembering. And to anyone who has lost a family, relative, a partner or a friend, there is always joy in knowing- in being completely certain- that someday we will be reunited with the ones we love.

My Dad is probably having a great time in Heaven now. He won't have to worry about cancer or bills. He can do endless Steven Seagal marathons. He's probably puffing Phillip Morris while watching over us and feeling mighty proud of what his family has become. He can tinker with kickass Bose speakers. "His jams", are probably playing full blast, while he drinks his favorite San Mig Pale Pilsen- peaceful, healthy and happy.


We miss you Dad. One day, we'll be jamming with you Up There.:)

'Til then.