"Reign Over Me,” is a film about two former college roommates, now both middle aged men: Charlie Fineman (played by Adam Sandler) who is going through a severe crisis, and Alan Johnson (played by Don Cheadle) who is trying to be a supportive friend. The film revolves mostly around Charlie, but for me personally the film has more meaning because of Alan.
Alan, for me, clarified what it truly meant to be a middle-aged man. You see, once you enter that stage of your life, you find yourself looking after your parents, your children, and your spouse, thus you are quite literally in the middle. In my case, I have found myself looking after my Mom, (as well as my Grandmother not too long ago), my nephews and nieces (particularly when their Dad, my elder brother, was working abroad), and my closest family and friends. Even in my line of work, I often find myself looking after others, because that in fact is what an accountant normally does.
Someone (a former mentor, he was in his early 40s at the time, and I was in my late 20s) also once told me that there will come a time, starting in my early 40s, that I will find myself not being able to turn to anyone else for advice and support anymore (at least not as much as I used to), because it is already my turn to be the source of advice and support, and because by then I would be “truly old enough to know right from wrong.” And when that time comes, whenever I have problems I will usually only have myself and my God to rely on, thus I will need to become stronger and more prayerful.
Last night I was feeling particularly “middle-aged,” given the above context. So many concerns, so many things to think about, at work, at school (yes, I still attend school, as a graduate student, and there are problems at school), and at home. And there’s no one anymore to turn to, just as my former mentor has foretold. Francis is strong, he is bright, and he understands. That is what people often think.
Therefore, although I usually lull myself to sleep by watching TV, last night I decided to do something else. I turned the TV off, and grabbed my Rosary, and started to pray. And as I prayed I couldn’t help but wish that my Dad was still alive, because I could really use a hug from him.
When I was small, there was one time that Dad spotted a brownish strand of hair on my head. He made a fuss over it, called the attention of the entire household, and joyfully proclaimed that it was a golden strand of hair, a sign that I was gifted. To this day, despite frequent evidences to the contrary, I am convinced that I am indeed gifted, simply because my Dad said so.
There was also a time, I think was two or three, when Dad and I sang to each other. We sang over and over, Frank Sinatra’s “Let Me Try Again.” (Frank, was the ultimate favorite singer of my father, Francisco Sr.) Its’ no wonder that now that I am all grown up, no matter how often I goof up and fail, I keep trying again and again. It was my theme song with my Dad, you see.
All throughout grade school, high school, and college, I usually prepared for final exams by studying weeks ahead, and then on the day of the exam itself I wake up at 4am to answer a battery of practice tests that I myself previously prepared. And normally, my Mom would wake up and fix me a glass of milk. There was one time however that my Mom wasn’t feeling well, therefore she wasn’t strong enough to get up and fix me the glass of milk. It is still vividly etched in my mind, there he was at my bedroom door, a burly man's man wearing nothing but the Jockey shorts he normally slept in (most men of his generation slept that way), with a glass of milk in his hands. His gifted son was studying you see, so there had to be the glass of milk. Dad forgot to add sugar, but it was the best tasting milk ever. And as you can imagine, I can’t help but get teary-eyed as I write this.
Anyway, so I finally fell asleep last night, by praying the Rosary. Well, it wasn’t really last night, because it was past midnight. It was strictly speaking “today,” during the earliest hours of the day.
When I woke up this morning, I realized something. June 23 was the day that my Father passed away. Today is June 23. No wonder.
When you get a genuine visit from a departed loved one there is a feeling of peace and warmth, there’s nothing spooky about it. In fact the feeling is so tranquil that you usually realize what happened only afterwards. That has usually been my experience, just like today.
I am now older than my Dad was when he passed away. But every time I think of him, in my mind I once again become that little boy, with the golden strand of hair, singing Frank Sinatra, and having his glass of milk before dawn. And I have a feeling that it will always be that way.
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