Oh-and “Chapter Ninety-Two” cannot stress this enough- man. Joshua Labonera is a 27-year-old law student from Quezon City, currently in his sophomore year at the San Beda University-College of Law Manila.Oh man. I love him very much, and I will continue to show it as long as I live. Neither Pride Month nor Father’s Day is long enough to express how lucky and thankful I am to have him as my father. Although Papa is far from perfect, I am proud to be his son. He has never failed to show up when I needed him most and has been there for every pain I’ve had in life. My father is the best example of what genuine love from a parent can do for a kid, however they wish to identify.Įver since, my father has been my rock.
Where I am today is something I owe to my father, who showed me how much better life would be for everyone if only parents would see their children as they are. He was more of a man than I thought any man would be. My father is strong, proud, and reliable, but he is also loving, accepting, and proud of his children, no matter who they are and who they love. He didn’t care about what anyone said about him. I loved my father very much, so I wanted to tell him. Although there are different schools of thought on coming out, in my case, I subscribed to the idea that I should, because I wanted to include the people I loved in the life I wished to live. I rehearsed every line in my mind, pictured every scenario in my head, and planned an escape in case he didn’t approve of who I was and the person I chose to love. Nevertheless, I trusted my gut and planned on how I would come out. On TV, as we all know, things usually don’t end up well for the gay kid. This was an obstacle that barred my path to coming out. He had a hard exterior, a set of friends he preferred to please, and a reputation to protect, being the man of the house.
In a way, Papa was like the fathers depicted on TV shows. In the same way, we would often be stopped by his friends whenever there was a drinking party around, just so he could take the offer of a glass of beer or shot of rum in the name of the celebration. I can’t remember the number of times we had to stop walking to the market so he could talk to his godchildren, who would suddenly grab his hand out of nowhere and put it on their foreheads. Papa was also known as the ninong ng bayan. While Papa was known as a siga in our little town, he was often, to my family’s horror, also the first person to jump into a fight to make peace, even when the scuffle didn’t involve him or anyone he knew. He was tough and reliable people would often go to him for help. In our barangay, Papa was known and respected by everyone. Papa was strict and would not go to sleep until every one of us was home safe and sound. He had a very commanding voice and a demeanor that made you follow his every word. He was strict in managing our finances but made sure that we got the best from the little we had.
I call my father “Papa.” While my mom worked abroad, Papa took care of everything at home. This confused me, because my father never treated me this way. This, in turn, cements the idea as a rule rather than an exception. Our entertainment industry feeds on these kinds of narratives, turning them into tear-jerking episodes of drama anthologies. More often than not, it’s the father who can’t accept a child’s queerness, especially in the case of young gay boys. Since I was a child, I would often hear stories of LGBTQ+ kids being rejected by their parents.