This morning, he recounted how he got shot, and survived. I wasn't able to fully appreciate that my dad is a living, spitting, cursing miracle until now.
On June 1988 he chased a holdupper notorious for stealing money of the stores in Quiapo. He thought the man was working alone, so when he cornered him, he was surprised to hear gunshots. Dad acted quickly and used the holdupper as a human shield. Shots were fired at his back, at his front, at his side. Dad wrestled the holdupper and managed to shield himself for a while. Only for a while.
One bullet hit my Dad's skull near his ear.
Another hit his arm.
Another hit his back.
And with a final flourish, the henchmen of the head holdupper fired the gun at my Dad's chest.
Next thing my Dad knew was waking up at the FEU hospital. A cop friend of his said that when my Dad was rushed to the emergency room, he was left in a corner on a stretcher because the doctors and nurses said he was a sure goner from all the bullets in his body. He was left to "bleed to die". But one of the merchants who Dad helped recover money from the holduppers came and paid a handsome amount to the doctors. Only then did the doctors did what they can to resucitate him.
How did my Dad survive those bullets?
Even the doctors don't know. They were surprised why the bullet merely grazed his skull.. and why the bullet on his chest wasn't that deep.. And why Dad was living at all.
My Dad is wont to say that his faith, and the tatoos on his body that inscribes the name of Yahweh, saved him.
My Mom is wont to say that Dad is given a second chance because he has a lot to make up for.
I don't know who those doctors in FEU are. I don't know the name of the holdupper who shot my Dad (last time I heard from Dad, the thug was jailed once and bailed out... he's still out there somewhere).
I do know that Dad is not the definite picture of a pious man. But his faith is something that even now I have a hard time believing.
Happy 65th Birthday Daddy.
