Jesus

That's the name of my father---Jesus. But my father wasn't the son of God. In fact, he was one of the most unique fathers I've ever known. For one, he was the homemaker, the one who did the marketing and cooking for the family while my mother pedalled the sewing machine to support the family's needs. Indeed, ours was truly a unique family for it was my mother who earned the daily bread and it was my father who prepared our food. When my father was young, he used to be a drunkard and a chain smoker. He had gotten out of the first bad habit late in life but the smoking continued until he died at 72. But we all loved him although he had his bad side like his habit of picking fights with some neighbors. He was not afraid of anything. He was fierce and was always ready to start a fight with anyone who'd hurt or harm us. Ironically, he never hurt any member of the family. In fact he was always my mother's "errand man", never complaining, always aiming to please her. My friends and classmates would always compliment my father's good looks. He was a very handsome man who could sing like a pro while my mother was just a simple woman who could only carry a simple tune. They were an "odd" couple that was why nanay's sisters never approved of their relationship for they knew that my mother was just swept off by his good looks. He must have seen my mother's inner beauty for him to leave his first wife with whom he had eight children in order to be with my mother until he died.