My father, eventhough a busy military officer, was like a martinet, punishing me when I committed breaches to his rules and family regulations; but he remained my silent admirer for all the good deeds I've done. He was like a commentator who gave remarks or suggestions on things I was about to do or doing. He, too, was a teacher of sorts, who taught me things my mother missed. He was a judge who differentiated truth from falsehood. He was a philosopher who described what is love, what is anger; what is pity, what is sympathy; what is honor, what is discredit; what is duty, what is service; what is law, order, justice . . . what is peace and what is war; and who is God, what is evil and what is good. He narrated to me--world history, in general, and his story, in particular. We exchanged views on politics, science and religion; discussed news, speculations and current events. He cracked jokes with me, answered all questions I have asked and queried on the things he wanted to know.. He also counseled me on my problems. I considered him not a great father but a jack-of-all-trades. He was my playmate, my gang and my peer of my youth. He is a friend and my father of my adulthood.