Let me take you back to the earliest childhood memory that I have of my father. Growing up in the province of Pampanga, just outside of the city of Porac, we didn’t have a lot of money. We lived in a small village just south of the province in a small hut. Like many families back then, we made do with what we had and struggled just to get by like everyone else at that time. My father was in the Philippine Army, and he would be gone for weeks at a time, sometimes months at a time. But I always knew when he returned home because I would awake to a bunch of grapes on my pillow. I would smile as I awoke and whisper, “Daddy’s home.”