How my father made me a billionaire

Sixteen years after his passing, my father remains my anchor, my sail and my guiding light.

- BÜM D. TENORIO, JR.

Illustration by JAYMEE L. AMORES

He believed in me and made sure I would reach the shore with the little that he had, which he coupled with all the love in the world he could give me. He believed that I would have my perfect time to shine, to take my own spot in the derby of life. He believed in the survivor in me — that my life vest was his own strength of character that he unknowingly passed on to me.

Sixteen years after his passing, he remains my moral compass. I remember my father with pride in my heart as I look back on the lessons I learned from him.

"Don’t steal." That was the cardinal rule in the house when my brothers and I were growing up. He explained that whether one has none or plenty, one should not steal. "Stealing taints the name of the family." And in our many days of want, he made sure what we ate came from the honest labor of his farmer's hands.

It was in his palms, coarse and calloused, that I learned the dignity of labor. That honest work is also sustenance for the soul. His were the hands of a farmer, bruised by the harsh elements, burnt from their constant exposure to the sun, lined by their relentless acquaintance with the earth.

Those were the hands that fed me. Those were the same hands that never spared the rod. In fact, when I made the mistake of taking the Cool-Aide of my elder brother Gaddie one summer day without permission, I dealt with the consequences through my father’s bamboo stick that landed several times on my behind. The experience taught me the hard way never to touch someone else’s belongings.