How to rock fatherhood

Fatherhood was not the plan. At least not the type of fatherhood which includes diaper change. The plan was a fatherhood that’s in the order of Melchizedek, that Old Testament guy whose name means “king of righteousness,” and whose sudden appearance and disappearance in the Book of Genesis is so mysterious you wonder why people are being ordained in the order of a priest about whom there was limited information.

But a little mystery was all a boy needed. In short, I wanted to be a priest. There was something about those “fathers” that attracted me in my youth. It was probably the way they walked around in flowing garments, like there was oversupply of textile where they came from.

Or it was probably the way people treated them with fear and respect, a deadly combo for world domination. If a person could turn bread and wine into flesh and blood, he could easily turn you into a frog. That was scary. And if that person could stay single despite his popularity with girls (damn it, dude, how do you that?) he deserved my respect.

That’s why in our town, it was always save the best for the parish priest—the best slice of meat, the most expensive wine, the coldest beer, the softest bed. I wanted all that, especially the coldest beer and softest bed.

But the longer I stayed in the seminary, the more I realized priesthood was not for me. If I was going to be a priest, my power should be global in scope. When I realized I could never be the next pope even with my virginity intact, I quit. It was either the papacy or go home and worship a cat.

The first thing I did after I left the seminary was visit all the bars in the city to make up for all the years when music was nothing but Diosnong Magtutudlo and Sing a New Song

unto the Lord. Maybe it’s true that rock is the music of the devil because that time it felt good leaving the church and rock music welcomed me like I was its prodigal son.

What happened next was that I started my own rock band. And this is the part of our story where everything gets blurred because the truth is I don’t remember anything from those years of too much booze. To paraphrase a line often said about Woodstock, “Anybody who remembers Bisrock wasn’t there.” Did we really play before those sold-out crowds? Did somebody mock us with the title Father of Bisrock?

But then I have our albums to remind me that Bisrock really took place. And if you’re a songwriter, your songs are your babies. So, I started telling people I could die now since I had all these little children to keep my memory alive and make me immortal. I love this type of fatherhood because it is selfish. The moment you gave life to a song, it is on its own. It doesn’t crawl like a baby, it flies like a bird. Fly, soar high, you little assholes. Tell the world how great your father is!

So, I was prepared to die from lightning strike or be crushed to death by the sheer weight of my arrogance. I didn’t care. Until my girlfriend told me she was pregnant. Then suddenly I didn’t want to die anymore. Not now when I had a girl to marry.

Nine months later at the hospital, inside the chapel near the delivery room where my wife was, I found myself kneeling. I wanted to pray but I had forgotten how. So I just knelt there for hours, hoping that the numbness in my knees was prayer enough.

Then somebody told me I could now go see my baby. I went inside the delivery room and my wife greeted me with the rock n roll sign and the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. Women who have recently given birth are the prettiest. She had in her arms the most beautiful thing in the world, our baby.

The nurse said I could leave now because my wife and the baby needed rest. I went back to the chapel, buried my face in my hands and sobbed like crazy. Then I looked at the man hanging on the cross and said, “Damn you, I’m a father now.” And I think I saw him smile.

I went inside the delivery room and my wife greeted me with the rock n roll sign and the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. Women who have recently given birth are the prettiest. She had in her arms the most beautiful thing in the world, our baby.