my father is a farmer. or so he claims. actually, he’s a rice geneticist and worked for IRRI for 35 years before retiring in 2000. a farmer, huh? when i was in school, my father insists i write “farmer” as his occupation, rather than the more impressive sounding “agriculturist” or even the “scientist” he was. i told him then that to claim that my father is a farmer is embarassing, and got heavily reprimanded for being silly. he couldn’t understand what my sister’s problem was when he came to pick her up from school, coming straight from his experimental plots, all grubby looking and with mud clinging to his boots. a big snob from the very start, my sister pretended not seeing him waiting for her and opted to take the jeepney home with her friends. he was outraged. i can’t recall how long the lecture lasted, but suffice it to say that from then on, when someone would ask me what my dad does, i always say he’s a farmer. lesson no. 1: keep your feet on the ground.

this is a keychain i bought initially as a pasalubong. i just decided to keep it for myself to remind me daily of my dad, and all the wonderful little lessons in life he taught us. happy birthday, dad.

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