Reflections on family, faith, heritage, creativity, and the people who shaped my life.STANDING ON THE SHOULDERS OF GIANTS.
I've been fortunate to cross paths with some remarkable people throughout my life. Some were family. Others were teachers, pastors, martial arts masters, and creative pioneers. Each came from a different world, yet all played a part in shaping who I am today.
The idea of standing on the shoulders of giants dates back to the 12th-century philosopher Bernard of Chartres and was later made famous by Isaac Newton. At its heart is a simple truth: we see farther not because we're greater than those before us, but because they've helped lift us higher.
I've come to appreciate this idea more as I've grown older. None of us gets to where we are entirely on our own. Behind every opportunity, accomplishment, and defining moment are people who helped make it possible.
Some made extraordinary sacrifices long before we were born. Others entered our lives at just the right moment, offering wisdom, encouragement, or simply believing in us when we needed it most.
What I find most meaningful is that these giants aren't always famous or recognized for their accomplishments. Sometimes they're ordinary people who quietly shape our lives through their example, generosity, and willingness to invest in others.
These are some of the people whose shoulders I've been fortunate enough to stand upon. Their stories have become part of my own, and I hope that by sharing them, I can honor the influence they've had on my life.
The Fathers Who Came Before Me
My story begins with my father, Rudy Herras, and my grandfather, Lolo Buenaventura Herras.
Both sides of my family share a remarkable history of military service, sacrifice, and survival during World War II. Members of both sides survived or escaped the infamous Bataan Death March in the Philippines. Their experiences became part of our family history, shaped by perseverance, courage, and hope for a better future.
Both sides of my family worked hard for the opportunity to immigrate to America.
My father arrived in Oakland, California, with his parents and brother. They knew no one. They left behind a fishing business, family, and the life they had built in the Philippines.
Their opportunity came down to a single evening. A ship was departing, and they had one chance to board. Missing it could have meant waiting years for another opportunity.
They took the chance.
That one decision changed the course of our family's history and opened doors for generations to come, including my own.
My dad was a steady man. He rarely complained, worked hard, and believed in doing things the right way. He wasn't interested in recognition. He simply showed up, took care of his responsibilities, and built a good life for our family.
For more than 40 years, he worked in the gas utility industry on the streets of Oakland. He led crews, trained the next generation of gas workers, and earned the respect of his colleagues. He was even asked to represent PG&E in company promotional videos.
Dad was incredibly precise. He had an amazing memory, with almost instant recall of names, dates, times, and the smallest details. His clothes were simple but always neatly ironed and creased. He carried a small notebook and pen in his pocket, with a cup of Starbucks coffee almost always in hand.
He had what seemed like surgical instruments for cleaning a windshield or carefully removing paint from a floor. Nothing was too small to do correctly. He could probably recite standard operating procedures in his sleep. After decades in the utility industry, his favorite mantra, "Safety First," wasn't just a workplace slogan. It was a way of life.
At home, bills were paid, responsibilities were handled, and nothing was overlooked. He rarely missed work or used sick leave, accumulating 240 hours of unused sick time.
He made sure there was gas in the car for my mom, drove my younger sisters to and from school, and years later did the same for my own children during those crazy days when I was building my creative career.
His mornings began at 4:30 with private devotions, followed by breakfast at Ole's Waffle Shop on Park Street in Alameda. He was a man of simple routines, strong faith, and quiet consistency.
He was loved wherever he went. When the employees at his neighborhood Starbucks learned of his passing, they cried. As a thoughtful gesture, they provided coffee for our family, knowing we would be welcoming many out-of-town guests.
At his celebration of life, people came from every corner of his world. Family, friends, coworkers, church members, and people whose lives he had touched over the years.
Seeing so many people gathered reminded me that a person's legacy isn't always measured by titles or accomplishments, but by the relationships they build and the lives they influence.
My dad may never have considered himself a giant, but to me, he was one.
Never Give Up. Show Tenacity.
Both sides of my family share a remarkable history of military service, sacrifice, and survival during World War II. Members of both sides survived or escaped the infamous Bataan Death March in the Philippines. Their experiences became part of our family history, shaped by perseverance, courage, and hope for a better future.
One evening, many years ago, my dad spent time with my children and me. I asked him to pray for them. Together, we prayed for their cousins, aunts, and uncles.
That night, Dad shared something I'll never forget.
He explained what it meant to carry the Herras name. To be a Herras meant you never give up. You have tenacity. You keep trying, even when things get difficult.
He told my children about their great-grandfather, Lolo Buenaventura Herras, and his experience during the Bataan Death March in World War II. Lolo marched for miles under unimaginable conditions, facing countless moments when giving up might have seemed easier than taking another step.
But he kept going.
Dad wanted my children to understand that perseverance was part of their family history. It wasn't simply something we talked about. It was something their ancestors had lived.
"Never give up. Show tenacity."
Those words have stayed with me ever since.
What began as a simple evening of prayer became a moment of passing down family history, faith, and wisdom. My father was sharing the strength of his father with my children.
Three generations connected through a story and a few simple words.
Sometimes the greatest lessons aren't found in books or classrooms. They're shared in quiet moments with the people we love.
The Keepers of Culture
I grew up in a Filipino home, surrounded by strong family values, rich traditions, and a deep sense of cultural pride, all within the larger American culture. Inside our home, our heritage shaped how we lived, treated one another, and understood family. Beyond our front door was a whole different world to discover, filled with new experiences, friendships, and influences.
Growing up between these two cultures gave me a unique perspective. I loved the American culture I was growing up in, but I also appreciated the Filipino traditions that were part of everyday life at home.
Still, there was something I felt I was missing. Not being fluent in Tagalog always bothered me. Although I was proud of my Filipino roots, I wanted to understand more about where I came from and connect with my heritage in a more personal way.
Then I discovered Filipino martial arts, known as Arnis, Kali, and Eskrima. I was thrilled to learn that we had our own martial arts traditions, passed down through generations, often from fathers to sons.
I had found another way to connect with my culture.
This was before the internet and social media made everything so accessible. I spent hours searching through books at Barnes & Noble, discovering the names of Filipino grandmasters and trying to find out where they taught. Many of these traditions had found homes in California communities like Stockton and Delano, as well as Hawaii.
What started as curiosity became a personal journey to meet and learn from as many of these masters as I could.
I had the privilege of training in Modern Arnis with Grandmasters Dr. Remy Presas Jr. and Rodel Dagooc in San Pablo, learning from Sonny Umpad in Alameda, and exploring Doce Pares with Fred Bandalan and Sonny Napial in Hayward. My journey also introduced me to Pekiti-Tirsia in Livermore and Sayoc Kali in San Francisco.
Some experiences were limited to seminars and brief encounters, but I thoroughly enjoyed meeting practitioners from Leo Giron's Bahala Na system and escrimadors carrying on Angel Cabales' Serrada Eskrima tradition. I even sought out opportunities to connect with Filipino martial arts groups whenever I visited Hawaii.
Looking back, it wasn't about mastering every system or collecting techniques. I simply loved meeting these individuals, hearing their stories, and experiencing the traditions they had dedicated their lives to preserving.
What began as an interest in martial arts became something much more meaningful. It gave me a connection to my ancestry, my identity, and a generation of Filipino masters who generously shared their knowledge.
I may not have spoken the language fluently, but through Filipino martial arts, I found another way to understand and celebrate who I am.
The Right People at the Right Time
Coming of age in the San Francisco Bay Area during the 1980s and early 1990s was bold, fun, loud, and action-packed. There was never a dull moment, and plenty of opportunities for things to go off the rails.
We were young, adventurous, and sometimes a little reckless, living in the moment without always thinking about the consequences. I have some incredible memories from those years, but I also remember watching people within my own circles lose their way.
Looking back, I realize how easily my own life could have taken a different direction. Those years taught me that the people we surround ourselves with, and the voices we choose to listen to, can make all the difference in who we eventually become.
Sometimes it takes someone outside your circle to help you find a better path.
I'm forever grateful for a compassionate Hispanic pastor and his lovely wife from Argentina who came into my life during those formative years. They invested their time, shared their wisdom, and offered genuine care and guidance when I needed it most.
Through their influence, I found something that would become an anchor in my life: faith in Jesus Christ.
Looking back, I realize how much their kindness and willingness to invest in a young man's future shaped the husband, father, and man of faith I am today.
It's amazing how someone simply taking the time to care can change the direction of another person's life.
The Creative Giants
My creative journey began under the mentorship of Primo Angeli, an internationally acclaimed designer whose influence helped shape modern branding and packaging.
As one of his final protégés, I had the rare privilege of learning directly from him. My first project as an intern was working alongside Primo on the Millennium Skater poster for the 2002 Salt Lake City Winter Olympics.
More than his accomplishments, it was his willingness to share his knowledge, experience, and passion for design that left a lasting impression on me.
That poster remains with me today, a personal reminder of where it all began, the man who believed in me, and the creative journey that followed.
Over the years, I've been fortunate to work alongside remarkable designers, illustrators, and creative thinkers. Each contributed something to my understanding of the craft, and I continue to carry those lessons into my work.
Where These Worlds Meet
Family. Faith. Heritage. Culture. Creativity.
On the surface, these might seem like separate parts of my life. But to me, they're all connected.
My family's sacrifices gave me opportunities. My father showed me the importance of consistency, humility, and integrity. Filipino martial arts helped me reconnect with my cultural identity. My spiritual mentors helped me find an anchor in faith. And my creative mentors gave me the confidence and inspiration to pursue a lifelong passion for design.
Each of these people invested something in me.
Some gave years of their lives. Others offered a few hours, a conversation, a lesson, or a word of encouragement at just the right moment.
And somehow, all those experiences became part of who I am.
I've come to appreciate that the giants in our lives aren't always famous. Some are ordinary people who make extraordinary sacrifices, quietly doing what they believe is right.
Others are masters of their craft who generously share a lifetime of knowledge with someone willing to learn.
What they share is a willingness to give something of themselves to the next generation.
Becoming Shoulders for Someone Else
As I grow older, I find myself thinking less about what I've accomplished and more about what I'm passing forward.
As a father, husband, creative professional, and man of faith, I recognize that the lessons I've received were never meant to stop with me.
I think about my children and the values they'll carry into their own lives. I think about the young designers I've encouraged, the friendships I've built, and the opportunities I've had to share something meaningful with others.
Perhaps that's the greatest responsibility that comes with standing on the shoulders of giants.
At some point, we become the shoulders for someone else.
I may never fully understand the influence these individuals have had on my life. But I know I wouldn't be the same person without them.
Their sacrifices, wisdom, generosity, and faith have become part of my story.
And I often think back to that evening with my father, listening as he shared the story of Lolo Buenaventura Herras with my children.
"Never give up. Show tenacity."
A simple reminder of where we came from, what we've been given, and the responsibility we have to carry it forward.
To honor those who lifted us by helping lift others.
