Nope, that's not Hitler! That's actually my father. My phone was still the bulky N3650 and I took this picture to get the sunset behind him. I could have asked him to stop the car but we were in a hurry for some reason. He invited me to go back to Zambales...to his hometown. It was just us guys. We talked about everything: school, girls, the future. We sang along the music that we knew on the radio. I grew up in his house, his music was mine too. Yep, even Kenny Rogers.My dad? All I really remembered was that he was home for one month every year. I'm not saying that he is a bad father. The necessity of the situation is understandable and I think that people with parents abroad know this one very well. He always made up for the time he knew that he couldn't spend with us so he always brought home everything we wanted whenever he arrives. Chocolates, toys and stuff but I guess he didn't know that what we (or I, I guess) really wanted was just him to complete the family.
I didn't really know much about my father before that trip, but as we talked I think I saw him in a new light. I heard about his misadventures when he was a boy. I heard about how he grew up with his siblings. I asked him if I could treat him like my best friend and he agreed. I knew him then, my father.
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