My late father never drove a car.

That may sound like an odd way to begin a motoring column, the day after Father’s Day. But it’s true. Papa Jovi did not teach me how to drive because he never drove one himself.

What he had was a Japanese bike. When we were kids in our hometown, my siblings and I would sit in the back seat as he drove us around town. It was simple, but for us children, it was enough and fun.

Papa’s life was not built around cars, but he spent much of it helping other people.

He served as OIC mayor of our town from 1986 to 1987. During that time, people came to our house every day to ask for help. Some were coconut workers. Some had positions in government, including the governor.

Papa treated them with the same respect. He helped whenever he could, often from his modest salary and small earnings from copra trading.

He was later offered a position as undersecretary by the late Secretary Heherson Alvarez. Papa was grateful for the opportunity, but he politely declined.

He could have stayed closer to titles and prestige, but he chose what he felt was right for our family at that time. He later went abroad and worked a blue-collar job for 12 years, so all his children could go to college.

Papa never made rank the measure of a person. He was quiet, honest, sincere, and kind-hearted. He was our Newt Scamander. He was a decent man. He treated people properly, with or without a title.

He gave me my first baseball and boxing gloves. I remember watching Ali and Frazier fights with him on Sunday, sitting together on the sofa while he held his beer.

He took me to my first movie in Metro Manila, at Quad in Makati, and he was with me when I applied and took the admission test for Mapúa.

Papa never handed me a car key.

But he left us an example we still try to follow. We are still trying to live in a way that would make him proud.

Today, I remember Papa with gratitude and honor all the dads who keep showing up for their families.

Happy Father’s Day.