Tough Love

Everyone in the house in Davao bows to him, each of his staff at work heaps praises on him (of course maybe part of it is ass-kissing) though what they silently think of him is something nobody would know, but I think most of them have a certain respect for his persona. I am the first to admit that he is a pretty considerate person, someone who makes lightning decisions and brilliantly. If he was my boss, I'd idolize him too and try to learn as much as possible from him.

Only problem is..I'm his daughter, the headstrong, unrepentantly stubborn kind who smirks openly at the dinner table and howls in protest against his opinion or directives. I laugh to his face when I hear him say something wrong and am all too happy to laydown to him my own beliefs and the arguments supporting them but then again that's what he did to us while we were growing up too. Correcting me and my brother swiftly and openly when we spew out mistakes and misinformation.

There is a fine line between love and conflict in our house in Davao. I am the stricter one. And where he chooses to gloss over or give another chance to people, in business and in people we employ, I operate with the rule "One strike and you're out". Which is why, I smirked and gave him the bad eye in full view of my cousins when he told the helper that she'll be given a chance to study a culinary course too if she wants. He replied with the look that says "You're being petty again". And I fought back with silence, cold and unwavering silence. This particular helper was someone I considered almost like a younger relative, but after seeing firsthand the sins she's done while my father is on a trip and I was on watch, she has slid down to my list of "soon to go" people. I almost confronted the bitch except the father, knowing how sharp my tongue is when I am mad, told me that he'll do the talking instead.Which is why I am sour about his plans. One, I don't even think the mermaid will stay on long enough (we even have a sneaking suspicion she's P**gn**t). On sour topics, when he does what he wants (and not what I want) we glare at each other. Or, I glare and he glares back at my assumed pettiness and inconsiderate streak. And I strike back with silence.

Except of course, there are tasks that only I can do - pay out the unexpected repairs and expenses (which I list down and issue for reimbursement later), bake goodies for him and his staff, buy furnitures and things for the house (again for reimbursement), scout for schools for the cousins, inquire and do the legwork for a myriad of things from the best shop to buy PCs to scoping out our competitors and pitching business opportunities for the farms' crops and other stuffs that is inherently part of my duty/right/privilege as the eldest kid. Which is why, sooner or later, my father talks to me. In fairness to my loving father, though we irritate each other with our opposing stand at things (i.e. I'd fire someone but instead he'd give that person another chance/ I hate that at my age he still checks through my closets grrr!) He does try to keep the peace, and knows how to stoop down a bit when I am really pissed off. In all our fights, big and small, I think I only said sorry once. Which, I guess either says a lot with my beliefs or how bitchy I am even to my beloved dad.

Just like today, not an hour after our exchange of glares, the carpenter we hired for a small fix-it at home dropped by and showed him the choices of finishes for the vertical sliders to be installed in the kitchen. And expectedly,the father calls the daughter and asks for her advice( read: the small white flag). The daughter in as cold a voice as possible tells him "Duh, look at the brick pattern on the kitchen counter, there's only one finish that complements this. Isn't it obvious which one we should choose?" He looks over the choices, agrees loudly and went about finalizing the color scheme (which I chose!). End of the day's war. It's pretty easy to mollify me. Just let me win some of the battles. And my father, being my father, knows best how to deal with my brand of tough love. Oh the perk of being the beloved daughter. To be combatant and run along the edges of disrespect and get away with it.