Tatay Nol—or “Tatay Noli” to most in our neighborhood—was more than just my father; he was a cornerstone in our community, always ready with a smile and a corny joke to lighten the mood. I often wondered how someone could be as patient and kind as he was, especially considering how chaotic life could get. He made it all seem effortless, like life was a game of chess, a hobby he absolutely loved.

“Anak, alam mo ba kung bakit hindi kumakanta ang isda?” he would ask with a grin, already preparing for the punchline. “Kasi naka-FINish na!” He would crack himself up after every joke, and as corny as they were, his laughter was so contagious that you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

Chess wasn’t his only love, though. Every morning, Tatay Nol would tend to his small garden of gulay in the backyard. To him, each plant had a personality. “Anak, kausap ko na naman ‘yung mga talbos ng kamote, nagreklamo na hindi daw sila dinidiligan ng sapat,” he would joke, pointing at the neatly grown leaves. Gardening gave him peace, and his love for the earth reflected in his character—grounded, nurturing, and full of life.

But what really stood out about Tatay Nol was how he connected with people. He wasn’t just my father; he was the “kuya” to many of our neighbors, the “kumpare” at every barangay fiesta, and even the honorary “tatay” to some of my friends who looked up to him. His bahay kubo, with its open doors, became a place where people gathered for advice, a friendly game of chess, or just to listen to his stories—stories that never lacked humor, wisdom, or heart.

“Kapag nagluto si tatay ng adobo, ‘wag ka nang umasa na matira ka pa,” was a running joke in our house. His adobo wasn’t just food; it was legendary. Every bite reminded us of our family dinners, where we shared not just meals but memories. He always made sure to keep our family close, even when life would sometimes pull us apart.

His corny jokes may have earned him some eye rolls, but they were also his way of showing us that life, no matter how tough, should never be taken too seriously. “Bakit hindi pwedeng maglaro ng tagu-taguan ang mga kalendaryo?” he’d ask during dinner. “Kasi… may araw na!” And we’d laugh because Tatay Nol’s laughter could light up even the darkest of days.

Tatay Nol wasn’t just a man with hobbies; he was a man who gave his time, love, and energy to everyone around him. In the small moments, like watching him play chess or hearing him laugh at his own jokes, I learned the true meaning of happiness. He taught me that life isn’t about the big, grand gestures but about the simple, everyday moments that make us smile.

Even as I sit here, writing this tribute, I can almost hear him saying, “Anak, ‘wag ka nang magpaka-seryoso! Maglaro muna tayo ng chess!” And I can’t help but smile, knowing that no matter where life takes me, his laughter, his kindness, and his corny jokes will always stay with me.

Tatay Nol, maraming salamat sa lahat—sa mga payo, sa tawanan, at syempre, sa mga jokes na kahit papaano, napapangiti kami hanggang ngayon. You will always be the king of our home, and your memory will be our checkmate to all the sadness life throws our way.