“Helloooo, it’s me, Jojo, da frend of yor frend Jesusa…”

Oh no. Jesusa set me up with my DAD.

Okay, it’s NOT my dad, but to explain, he’s Filipino from the Philippines. And there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s just DIFFERENT. There’s something different in how one views the world when someone is born and brought up here in the U.S…. versus someone who is brought up in the Philippines and moves over here during high school.. versus someone who is brought up in the Philippines and moves over here as a fully grown 40 year adult. I’ve dated the ones born here and the ones who immigrated here and went to Lincoln High School out in the Sunset District… but I’ve never dated anyone who was old enough at the time to fill out their own immigration papers.

And that’s when that ‘Dad’ feeling comes in. As a born-here Filipino-American, I bonded with other Filipino-Americans growing up in Daly City by MAKING FUN of our parents: their accents, their jokes, their need to use the dishwasher as a drying rack instead of a dishwasher. Our immigrant parents were everything OLD SKOOL and we were NEW SKOOL: MTV! Pot! Sex with multiple partners before the age of 18!

So to hear that accent over the phone, my stomach tightened. I could just imagine my dad coming through the speaker, “Oh, you know, I like to travel, long walks on the beach and.. (dad voice) OFF THE LIGHTS! CLEAN YOUR ROOM! BIRDS OF A FEATHER FLOCK TOGETHER! ARE YOU GOING GALLIVANTING WITH YOUR FRIENDS AGAIN? BE HOME BY 11PM! AND PICK UP SOME MACDONALD’S FOR YOUR MOTHER! LAZY GIRL!”

And by golly, I couldn’t get out of the blind date. Jesusa, my friend from accounting, was so excited. “You can’t cancel! He already made reservations! You’re his date for his company’s FOUR HOUR DINNER CRUISE.”

FOUR HOURS?!?! ON A BOAT?!?! Good god, I only agreed because I thought I could meet her friend at a bar, eat some Chex Mix, and check out after 45 minutes after a scintillating conversation about Bath and Body Works scented lotion. FOUR HOURS?!?! That’s like 4 dates with 4 different people. That’s like a whole month of bloggable bad blind dates. This is going to be LONG.

So, I dutifully met her friend at the dock. I wore the damn cocktail dress as required. And there he was, this little wisp of a man wearing big sunglasses and a slight comb-over. He timidly approached me. I shuffled my feet towards him. We made awkward chit chat, took an awkward couples’ ‘boarding the ship’ photo, and became one of the throng of 500 co-workers looking to get drunk in public on a boat.

As Filipino would have it, Jojo knows my mom. In fact, since my mom is currently sick and the company Jojo works for is a medical facility, seems like ALL the Filipinos on board knows my mom. “Ooooh, you’re __________’s daughter!” the crowd clucked with knowledge. “Your mom talks about you all the time.”

I hung my head and chuckled a quiet shameful chuck. I confessed quietly to Jojo, “My mom has been trying for years to get me to date someone from her dialysis center. I’ve always refused.”

“Why?” Jojo questioned.

“Well,” I tilted my head. “All the guys my mom chooses for me are like bean sprouts to me. They’re nutritionally-deficient. I can eat them for breakfast and still be hungry.” I paused. “There’s a guy named Jun my mom has been pushing on me. He’s this Filipino guy that’s like an intern or an attendant or something. He’s called me but I’ve just never called him back.”

“Oh Jun.” Jojo looked down sadly at his Jameson whiskey. “All the patients are always trying to get Jun to date their daughters. He has a lot of dates.”

“Really? WHY?!” I’ve seen Jun when I’ve dropped my mother off. He’s okay, but nothing to write a blog about.

“Jun is… charming.” Jojo swirled his drink. “I work in the same room as him, but I just keep to myself. I’m shy so I don’t really get to know the patients…. Oh look over there, there’s Jun now.”

I turned to my right. There was the incredibly un-extraordinary Jun, laughing and joking with a few friends; he was the obvious center of attention and enjoying it.

“We should say hi,” Jojo shrugged. We walked over to the group of Jun adorees.

“Hi Jun! This is…” Jojo introduced me.

I smiled my best southern sweetheart smile. “Oh Jun! I’m the daughter of ___________!” Jun’s eyes lit up with recognition. “I’m sorry I’ve not been able to call back, I’ve just been really busy.” I turned to Jojo. “But you see, Jojo and I are heading to the dance floor so we’ll have to talk another time. Byeee!”

Jojo is smiling quietly but as we walked away, we both broke out into giggles. “That was mean!” Jojo scolded. “I know!” I mocked guilty-ness.

“Are we dancing?” Jojo’s face lit up.

And as we Roger-Rabbited/Running Manned/MC Hammered/ Dougied/Electric-Slided/shook what our mamas gave us… there was ONE thing about Filipinos I discovered that was true: that no matter where you were born or how long you been in the U.S., whether your accent is Tagalog or New England, whether short or tall, bald or as hairy as orangutan…. Filipinos, no matter what, can DANCE.