Eulogy for Alberto J. Nubla
read by Gene Nubla

Saturday, June 25, 2005

A couple weeks ago, my sisters and I were brainstorming on what to get my dad for Father’s Day.  We wanted to steer away from the usual practical gifts like an electric shaver, or cologne, or yet another neck tie.  We were thinking something expensive…engraved…something with meaning.  But Pop instead gave us the Father’s Day gift this year—one that we didn’t really expect.  Now it wasn’t something you could see or touch.  It was more “intangible.”  And it’s what ultimately gave us the inspiration to write this eulogy.  For Father’s Day, even in death, Pop left us with a few… “life lessons”.  So in no particular order, here is something we’d like to call, “What Pop Taught Me.”

The first thing Pop taught us was that graduations are for diplomas, caps and gowns, picture-taking and… scrambled eggs. Yeah I never knew you were supposed to do this but apparently when any one of your children graduates, you’re supposed to cook like a whole truckload of scrambled eggs and feed it to all of your coworkers the next day.  According to Pop, nothing says celebration like scrambled eggs!

If any of you knew Pop at all, this next lesson wouldn’t surprise you.  Pop taught us the proper way to karaoke. Contrary to popular belief, the best way to karaoke is not to try to sing as best you can (you know...modulate volume, like choose songs that are in your range, hit the right notes, stay on key, etc.).  Nope, at the Alberto Nubla School of Music, the proper way to karaoke was to sing as loud as humanly possible—keys, notes, words, none of those mattered.  It was all about.  VOLUME.   The louder, the better.  Oh and of course, you got bonus points based on how long you could keep your wife awake at night with the noise.

More seriously, though, Pop taught us the value of hard work and perseverance.  He didn’t teach us just with words, but by example.  He spent hours with us himself, working nights at the post office but picking us up from school during the days in the middle of his sleeping hours, giving us math lessons, and even showing us how to cook rice, the “right way.”  And then each of us in turn learned how to drive with him in the front seat—I think he was as scared as we were to be sitting in the front, but he did it anyway.  It was things like that—many, many things—that helped us kids grow into the people we are now.  Today, we’re still practicing the lessons we learned from him.

Finally, Pop taught us that actions speak louder than words. I remember this one day, he asked my mom what her favorite color was.  She said “Green”.  He said “OK Sige!”  Next thing we know, the house is being painted green, and we were at Home Depot buying Christmas lights...all GREEN...EVERY last bulb.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was my dad’s way of saying “I love you”.  My mom said he didn’t say it often, but she knew he meant it every day.  See my dad was the typical macho, smooth but silent type when it came to things like this.  I mean at parties he would go nuts, he’d tell jokes and laugh, don’t get me wrong.  But when it came to things like this, he had his own way of expressing his love.  It wasn’t until his last hours with my mom that he decided to take a different tack.  Usually my mom would hold his hand and rub it...like this (show).  But on his death bed, as my mom held his hand, my dad started rubbing her hand.  My mom knew he couldn’t talk, but he was still trying to say something.  It was right then and there that she realized it was him, using every bit of strength he had left, speaking through the movements in his hand, saying to her, “Deng, tuloy na ako ha?  I have to go now, but the kids are there.  And they will take care of you while I’m gone.  I’m so proud of them.  But Deng…don’t forget ha...I love you, mahal na mahal kita.”

And it wasn’t just limited to Mom.  Pop also taught us how to say “I love you.”  When it was getting closer to the end, it was as if Pop couldn’t say it enough.  Every time we would call from Berkeley, NY, or Boston, he would always end the conversation with an “I love you.”  That’s something that Pop never has to regret.  All of us kids knew how much he loved us.  We all knew that he would do anything for us.  So with that, our last words are these:

Pop...we love you too, and we’ll miss you.