I always thought I was a good dancer. But now I realize that the person who worked the magic was actually Tatay.

I grew up with dancing parents. As postgrad students in Australia, they were the only parents that I knew of who brought their kids to discos! I distinctly remember - me definitely under 10 years old - going to a disco. The floor lit up in different colors andBenil and I were jumping around on the lit squares. I remember mirror balls, and Tatay ... *gasp* ... hoisting Mima up on his shoulders and spinning around like crazy. I remember a mirrorball-lit living room with their student friends dancing along to disco songs - fast, slow, you name it. I remember an academic party where Tatay and Mima dancing ballroom across the floor ... and people’s astonished faces when they starting pulling flourishes and showoffy moves.

At parties, reunions, and smaller family gatherings, it wasn’t an uncommon sight to see Tatay as the ultimate DI (dancing instructor). Everyone would get a turn, from nieces to aunts to lolas.

When it was finally your turn, you’d feel shy and awkward. But Tatay would just smile at you and you wouldn’t refuse. Once on the dance floor, he would encourage you, and move you where you should be without realizing it, with a little kembot to boot. Before you knew it, you were enjoying yourself and had a huge grin on your face. Especially when he told you when to pull up a leg or arm as a finishing move, or dip you in the most dramatic way. Dancing with him was always so much fun!

Tatay was my first - and dare I say - my favorite dance partner. Despite Tatay’s best efforts to teach my partner in life how to dance, we bombed at the wedding dance and we’re not so much better today.

I always thought I was a good dancer. But more importantly, Tatay made me believe it. The quiet confidence he exuded, that small smile on his face, and the constant pressure of his hands as he twisted and twirled me around made me believe in myself.

Tay, I look forward to the day when we can dance together again. Maybe I’ll be a little better at it.

Granddaughter Jamille shares this about her Lolo:

hi lolo oca, i wish i could be there with all of you right now. i never got to say goodbye so instead i want to say thank you for being an amazing grandpa. even though you teased me until i cried, you’ve taught me to be a strong, independent girl like my mom. i decided to sing this song for you because it reminds me of one of my favourite memories with you. you came to canada to visit us and you watched one of my recitals. i sang this song and you love this song. i remember being so nervous to sing in front of you and mima on stage but you encouraged me to do my best and i did. when first started singing i was shaky and nervous but then when i looked out into the crowd i saw you smiling and singing along. i love you so much lolo, miss you lots. ❤️❤️❤️

Grandaughter Guadalupe “Dui” says this about her Lolo:

As a kid, I always called my Lolo Lolo Tangkad, and ever since then, the name stuck—I still refer to him  (in my head, anyways) as Lolo Tangkad. I’m 20 years old now. I do remember him saying that I should call him “Lolo Pogi” instead, but I guess “Lolo Tangkad” stuck to my little kid brain very adamantly, so to me, he is always “Lolo Tangkad”.

One memory that stuck with me about Lolo was him teaching me and my parents the samba. I put on some samba music on the speakers under the pretext of just listening to it, but sure enough, he popped in the living room and partnered with my mom to teach us the beginner steps. His feet were always so nimble and I can just imagine him tearing down the disco floor in the 70s. He also partnered with me and remarked that my “kembot” was natural, which I laughed delightedly at. That memory always makes me smile.

Lolo, I hope you’re doing well up there, sitting with your usual one leg up. I’ll miss you a lot. I’ll miss your violin requests—one in particular: Meditation of Thais—and your jokes about me going to University of Tondo. I’ll always remember you cracking your jokes that made me laugh so easily. I’ll miss you so much.