Old Spice

Scents 

For Little Boy, On Father's Day

Nothing brings to life again a forgotten memory like fragrance. - Christopher Poindexter

Old Spice Cologne, as I've recently learned from an internet search, was originally launched in 1938. It's described as a classic fragrance with a warm, fresh, and musky scent reminiscent of masculine rooms filled with tobacco and new leather. The top opens strong, featuring the scents of aldehydes, orange and lemon blended with the spiciness of nutmeg and star anise, its ad touts.

But all this is incidental to what I'd like to talk about. If anything else, Old Spice reminds me of Little Boy (Intong, in the vernacular), which was how I called my Dad.

It was his go-to fragrance, a yearly gift from his boss at Erlanger and Galinger.

I remember how he would squirt just a tiny bit on his palms, then rub his hands together in a swish-swash movement and ceremoniously dab on his cheeks.

Kaunti lang, just a bit. It was his frugal way to make it last until the next gifted bottle. 

Watching him, I couldn't help giving him a thumbs up, as he had always been my steady rock, my ally. 

He willingly trudged with me to the Araneta Coliseum for a Neil Sedaka concert. He was the one who acquiesced to buy me my most-coveted coin purse from the corner Chinese sari-sari store. He was my Bible Study teacher, my listening ear, the one who solved my word algebra problems. 

When I asked or proposed an idea, his ready answer was, Let's go and do it. There was never anything impossible that he didn't try to tackle. Having just moved to our new home on Fountain Street, I asked him why we didn't have a church. He gave my hand a small squeeze, then simply said, Then we'll go look for one tomorrow. Your choice. 

He didn't wear a cape and hide in phone booths. Neither did he shoot webs and climb walls. Instead at nights, he sat contentedly at home, sipping his favorite after-dinner yucky tepid tea with milk and later annoyed us with his muffled but unmistakable sound of deep snoring.

He didn't venture toward lands unknown. Rather, he preferred to spend weekends at home over-watering the plants and scolding Voltaire for nipping his mayana plants.

Left: Dad during his heyday as manager of Erlanger and Galinger. Right: Escorting a VIP during an office tour. Escolta, Manila

But growing up, in my eyes, he was somewhat of a superhero.

I loved watching him get ready on weekdays, crooning softly as he smoothed an invisible wrinkle from his pant leg. As he strode out the door, I couldn't help thinking that perhaps he'd meet up with Batman and Robin.

Then fly off to fight crime in the city.

Leaving in his trail the pungent whiff of Old Spice.