It’s Hard to Watch Your Parents Age

In late 2019, I returned to my hometown after a year of working in the big city. I had to visit my father because he had a stroke, again, and this time, he spent several days in the ICU. He was barely able to move half of his body when he got out of the hospital. The first change I noticed when I got back was that many of our traditional jeepneys have been replaced with “modern” ones. My father is a jeepney driver. So one of our family’s growing concerns is the government’s “<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Public_Utility_Vehicle_Modernization_Program" rel="noopener ugc nofollow" target="_blank">modernization plan</a>” which forced the drivers — who earn a pittance — to form cooperatives and take a loan to afford the new model of jeepneys. When I arrived home, I saw that Workin’ Man Blues — my father’s jeepney, named after a country song he loves —had also changed. Workin’ Man used to sport a body of light indigo, soaked in the mountain breeze. Over time, the colors faded. And the government office that renewed the yearly franchise of public utility vehicles (like jeepneys) ordered my dad to have the jeep repainted since it barely looked blue. To save money, my parents hired the cheapest painter who used the cheapest paint. So Workin’ Man now had a gaudy, enamel blue look. But the biggest change I saw was in my father’s eyes: Most of the light in his brown eyes had disappeared. Like a pond that used to be clear but has now turned murky. His posture changed too, stooped partly at the neck as if an authority figure scolded him and every ounce of confidence rushed out. He no longer walks; he drags his feet forward, shuffling, one slow step at a time. <a href="https://medium.com/the-memoirist/its-hard-to-watch-your-parents-age-8a6e9301bf50">Click Here</a>