It’s 2025, and here’s my long overdue Father’s Day piece for my Pops, my great gearhead teacher

Let me tell you a story. A story for today, Father’s Day, but for this author, is a lasting memory and a continuing legacy that is about the man who influenced his love for everything cars and then some.

My Father’s Day anecdote for my very own Superman

Superman? Supes wasn’t a mechanic, nor was he a driver, Miks. Besides, this is for Father’s Day. What’re you talking about? Yes, yes, I know, but that’s really who he was. For a 5-year old who saw nothing else on Sundays but his old man fiddling around with engines and suspension parts and some wiring harnesses of his household’s cars all while having to work his day job and still spend time with us every single night (and pretty much all day on weekends), that was all pretty super.

Many would think that a Father’s Day tribute is all but cliche, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? We, all of us, would rather keep such cherished memories to ourselves, but today, of all days, methinks it would be a more awesome time (because sharing these kinds of stories daily is already awesome) to do just that. My father taught me all I knew about cars, and all of that is what eventually landed me a golden opportunity to be part of an industry, a world of like-minded people who have motor oil for blood and P08 ECUs for brains. (Ang luma mo, Mikko!)

I did mention “5-year old” earlier, and that’s because aside from the photo you see at the very top, that is my earliest memory of my Pops, my Itay, and I’ll be shifting between these two names time and again in this Father’s Day piece. At a younger age, I’d be the menace in the garage whenever he’d be working on the cars. A missing hammer, strewn out wires, a mismatched nut and bolt, or even a pool of spilled oil or grease, yup, mea culpa.

Of course, he was always gruff and grumpy at first, but Pops probably saw that more than a “siraniko” potential, I really did have a genuine interest in all things metal and greasy, and would go vroom vroom.

At 5, I was his dakilang alalay, his right (and left) hand man, kid, when he needed a tool handed to him, a part that needed to be brought to him, an extra small wrench made of his kid’s tiny-at-the-time hands to reach into those odd places in the engine bay. Yeah, Father’s Day tribute turned into a child labor story? Absolutely not. I thoroughly enjoyed learning, and he thoroughly enjoyed teaching.

It was at those times that he taught me what tools are which, what this and that part was and what it does, where these and those things go. It was a life-sized LEGO car, another hobby Itay got me into, but that’s another story. But as for cars and being a grease monkey, I never lost my curiosity-turned-love.

As I grew older, now I remember that on many a Father’s Day, he fathered by taking me on 1 on 1 lessons, whether for more tinkering with car parts in the garage, or with him in the driver’s seat and me as his passenger. Names, rules, principles, and the basics of not just being a driver but being a vehicle owner and motorist were among the things he taught me. Again, many a Father’s Day. That was until 1996.

Pops met an accident. I remember him telling me, as part of his many lessons other than (for) driving, to always look before crossing, and if you can, walk with the crowd so an errant or speeding driver won’t miss you. As it happened, he wasn’t with a crowd that time, and despite already being in the middle of the crosswalk, a motorcyclist hit him. The long story short is he survived that day, but two days later was when a cerebral hematoma developed, followed by a CVA that left him in the hospital for about 2 or 3 months. And again, he pulled through.

This time, though, no more lectures, no more lessons, no more 1-on-1s, no more “hmph!” and “Hindi iyan, try again! Spanner!” would ever be heard or given. Itay lost so much. Although he eventually relearned our names as well as a good number of activities of daily living independently, it took all of Superman’s strength to recover. He wouldn’t work on cars again. Not that he will not, but because he could not; not anymore.

I remember how he “officially” turned his Mitsubishi Lancer GTi over to me, and when he gifted me a used car for my college graduation and apologized by saying “Pasensya na, Mikko, segunda mano lang muna, ha?”. I remember how he smiled when I would be the one to drive for the family, now with him in the front passenger seat.

There was this subtle but unmissable look on his face as he observed how I was behind the wheel and how I was explaining to him how cars have begun turning to electronics and him saying that with his mechanical mind (despite also being a licensed electrical as well as mechanical engineer), he’s too old to learn these things and with what I know now, I can teach more about it. At that time, and more importantly, he said something along the lines of it’s now my turn to man his prized garahe and room full of tools and goodies. Now it sounds like a Father’s Day story, or an Uno Reverse Card for Father’s Day, yeah?

Much to my enduring sadness, we lost him in 2014. Until that time, though, I never did man his garage save to do some basic mechanical or electrical wiring (more like splicing) work. But something else that stuck with me seemed to find me again, and that is, 2 years later, I found my way to an automotive magazine, and later on to 2 different online automotive websites. And Father’s Day or not, it wasn’t until this year that I truly felt that stories like this deserve to be told.

I was fortunate to have been brought up by a man who was comfortable around grease and grime, a man who was patient enough with a “perwisyo sa ginagawa at gawaan ko“, a man who was wise enough not just to teach but to actually impart knowledge to a youngling, so much so that it became our Sunday habit whenever he had things to work on with the car, and a man with foresight enough – intentional or not – to believe that all of these could or would come together for his kid to be able to do the same for others.

He planted a seed that made me realize that to teach the younger crop that more than a hobby, cars and everything motoring is a passion, and it is this passion that can span entire family trees if we carry it over from one generation to the next.

I am no veteran automotive journalist, I am not decorated, nor will I ever pretend to be the best at what it is that my contemporaries and colleagues in this industry do, but hey, I made it, Itay. I drove. I wrote. And even if I don’t or won’t conquer, your boy was able to reach a couple thousand with words bolstered by the knowledge and wisdom that you planted in my young, would-be grease monkey head.

Happy Father’s Day, Pops. How I wish you were still with me. I love you.

And to all of you whose fathers continue to live and live on if but in minds and hearts, give them a hug, not just on Father’s Day, but every single day.

Even if you’re all grimey and greasy, do it. And if your dad is also a grease monkey, believe you me, that’s the best time to give him a hug.

PS: This also goes out to all the singles, the ladies, the mothers who likewise stand as fathers to their child or children. Just as well, a happy Father’s Day to you mighty, mighty ones, too!