My name is Dan Aubrey II. There is no Dan Aubrey I. It’s a result of a conflicted collaboration and time stamp of where my parents were in their imperiled union.
I’d usually get asked about my name Aubrey confirming their idea that it was from the popular song by Bread. It was clearly about a girl. Prior to that, it was a masculine name hence the song line “a not so ordinary girl or name…” I used to try and explain it but it only leads to focus on another insecurity of mine back then, my big ears. “Aubrey” means leader of elves.
Today, the name got some level of notoriety as ballers named KD and Klay uttered it mockingly to taunt this rapper named Drake. Aubrey Drake Graham is neither hip nor hop enough, I guess.
Dan was supposedly the boring name, but it has a richer story.
Long before Kobe Bryant made “girl-dad” mainstream, the macho Pinoy culture looked down or, at least, treated fathers who do not have a son, suspiciously disingenuous. All fathers are kings that must have strong heirs.
The chorus initially hums a consolation that having a female first born means that the parents are lucky enough to have someone to look after them by their sunset years. A poorly giftwrapped statement of how we value women in the society.
On the other hand, there is terrible pressure that a father undergoes if he fails to spit out a sperm that will eventually be a junior. How not having a son is a curse for having too many flings or that frowned conclusion that he must’ve a short dick.
Eleuterio, the son of a family that owns huge agricultural land southeast of Manila, grew up as a prince with the world at his feet. After the colonizers left the Philippines, the families who owned vast lands became barangay royalty of frail kingdom with a misplaced sense of wealth and entitlement.
Growing up with little resistance and misdeemed privilege, his heart and humor disarmed the people around him whose intention he was unsure of as they were of him as he is the son of landlords. He is well liked and his antics are always perceived as done with innocence and never mean. The rebellious charismatic jock who routinely gets drunk, gets in trouble and rarely get accountable for, if not a slap on the wrist for slapping the face of any random local, for no reason. He gets a pass, he’s too good looking and kind to the peasants when he is sober, and even in most times when he drown a prince’s sorrow in alcohol and cigarettes.
By mid May 1970’s, Terry (Eleuterio is not disco enough) is a girl-dad to 4 daughters, from two mothers. Two kids per 2 mothers by the age of 27 is macho, and expected. But no Junior? Is something wrong?
Out of desperation that wished to be fixed with a little superstition, he went to the tomb of a man whose rebelling ways he looked up to, his uncle named Danny Purple.
Danny Purple, is a pseudonym of a poet haunting the halls of UP Diliman in the 60’s. His notoriety is mythic enough to be discussed as trivia thru social media exchanges as featured in “Taga-UP Diliman ka kung… Kilala mo si Danny Purple” when the university was celebrating its hundredth year.
By accounts available online, Danny Purple was a maverick with his own fashion style, dancing to the beat of his own drum. He would ride a jeep bound for Quiapo and back again engaging fellow commuters to a discussion about anything and get off not paying any fare, declaring his name as “Crime” followed by “an Crime does not pay!”… of course.
A romantic prone to outbursts of poetic verses, he epitomized what the 60’s aspired to be. Love and Freedom. Unfortunately, or consequently, he was a son of a CPA Lawyer (a UP law professor) and their household must’ve been like a constant debate between the right and left side of the brain. Predictably, in that era, the right side always concedes to the authority of the logical patriarch left. He is recalled to go back to his room and holler at the walls in frustration or maybe by inspiration, a comforting thought from his muse (depending on who you talked to, it’s either by miss Boots Anson or miss Maria Kalaw Katigbak, recounted as the love that gone bad and drove him to madness)
My dad admired him, if not finding genuine affinity to Danny Purple’s free spirit abhorrent to any responsibility forced by society.
Growing in Manila at that time, rebellion is both dangerous but necessary and some are defined by its lack of direction with actions that are reckless and indifferent. Most times it’s at the expense of the people who cares for the rebel, where the reaching arms are clutching like a leash and the hug is received as a chokehold.
That’s the angle I view my dad since my mom never set an atmosphere where resentment towards him is nurtured. It was confusing, but she just kept moving, refusing to be a victim. Not a hint of how much agony she was in dealing with a macho who struggled with life. A life that did not seem to agree with how he wants it to be lived until his death in 1991.
If my dad had his way, my name would’ve been the same as his uncle, Danilo. I would’ve been Danilo Jr, an homage.The other choice would’ve been Eleuterio Jr… Not gonna happen with a strong willed mom and her revered pop music.
Teri junior came 3 years later when his 5th daughter was born just a few days after his birthday. His pursuit and views to have another son stopped by then (I mean, he was womanizing notoriously, but never had kids after that).
It was only when I was applying for a passport that it was pointed out to me that the copy of my birth certificate had the hand written roman numeral “II”, and I was asked to have an NBI clearance to sort things out so that I don’t get mixed up with another person. I asked her back “Do you honestly think there’s a Dan Aubrey the first?”… And from then on, dad amalgamated his intent, kept his word and tribute, albeit ingeniously, to Danny Purple.
danDAman 