Assalamu alaikum wa Rahmatullahi wa Barakatuh.

Last Sunday, I joined the rest of the nation in celebrating Father's Day. Like many proud daughters, I shared a Father’s Day greeting on social media for my father, Almen Pangandaman, whom I call Daddy Olay. It was nothing elaborate—just a short message, photos of the celebration with my family, and a caption you write while half-smiling at your screen.

Later that evening, while scrolling through old saved links, I came across a profile article where I shared my top 10 pieces of advice. Back then, it sounded like a neat summary of what I try to stand for in public service. Work hard. Be kind. Stay grounded. Treat people with respect, regardless of what they do or what they have.

Reading it again felt different. I found myself thinking: These didn’t really start with me. They were already there long before I had language for them. At home. With my father.

As an only child, I spent a lot of time just observing him. He wasn’t the type to explain life in long conversations. In fact, I don't remember many long lectures about life.

What I remember are smaller things that didn't look like lessons: The way he would leave for work early and come home late, the tears he tried to hold back, and the pride in his eyes whenever I succeeded.

Daddy Olay worked in government, like my mother. So public service was not something I encountered first in offices or meetings. It was already part of the household language. Not in theory, but in the rhythm of daily life—responsibilities, deadlines, obligations you don’t always get to choose.

People often describe fathers as the pillars of the family, and I understand why. When I think of my father, I remember the small certainties of childhood. He was always the first to leave for work and often among the last to come home, yet somehow his presence was always felt. At the time, I never thought much about it. Years later, I came to understand that the sense of stability I grew up with was built on his quiet commitment to our family, day after day.

At the time, they seemed ordinary. But I realized they have shaped the kind of person I now am. They taught me resilience, compassion, humility, and gratitude—values that continue to guide me, both in public service and in life.

Looking back at that article, I think that’s why the answers came out the way they did. They were not ideas I prepared. They were just things I had already seen enough times to absorb.

Work hard. Be kind. Stay grounded. Don’t treat people differently depending on what they do or what they have. Those lines sound simple when written out. But in real life, they are not always easy to keep consistent, especially once you enter public service and start seeing how complicated things can get.

Even now, when faced with difficult decisions, I find myself going back to how he handled things. Nothing dramatic. Just the basic steadiness—do what is right, even if it is inconvenient, even if no one notices.

Over the years, my work has taken me to different parts of the country. In those trips, I’ve met fathers who remind me of him in small ways I don’t always know how to explain.

A tricycle driver waiting for one more passenger before heading home.

A farmer checking the sky the way you check a clock.

A father sitting outside a classroom during enrollment, holding folded papers and trying to look calm.

A soldier who doesn’t say much when asked about time away from home.

A teacher who brings work home because there is no other time to finish it.

They don’t usually describe what they do as sacrifice. That word sounds too formal for them. It’s just what has to be done. And they do it.

As I grew older, I began to appreciate things I barely noticed as a child. The consistency. The patience. The fact that no matter how busy life became, there was always a quiet assurance that our family could depend on him. Looking back, I realize how much I carried those lessons with me.

Beyond budget, I often think about how policy discussions and programs only make sense when you remember what they are really meant for. Behind every figure we review, there is a household trying to keep things together in its own way. And somewhere in that household, there is often a father doing what he can, without drawing attention to it, making sure things keep moving.

As Citizen Mina, Father's Day always reminds me that many of the values we carry into adulthood were first learned at home. Long after childhood, we continue to draw from those examples, often without realizing it. I know I do. And as I grow older, I find myself valuing even more the examples Daddy Olay set long before I understood their significance.