My son, my Teacher

Hey Andre,

Prior to you being born into this world, I applied for a job I wasn’t ready for. It was sometime March of that year and the position was fatherhood. With zero experience, the only credentials that I offered were: the live-in 'seminars' with my own father - the audio of which came through one ear and out the other; and, special skills - Integral Calculus and dancing (I lied hoping it would help).

The processing took 9 whole months. It was equally exciting and daunting at the same measure not knowing what to do next after your arrival. 

Who will tell me if? 

What goes with which? 

Do I smell it to be sure? Where?

When the call came, telling me my fatherhood has been approved, I saw you literally come out of your mother’s tummy. Then, just then, "Bloody heck! You’re so bloody!" I couldn’t help telling myself while holding the camera.

But it all became clear to me. That day, I knew: nobody else will teach me how to be a father but you.

You taught me that a baby smile is a priceless relief from a hard day’s work.

You taught me that a smirk could either mean a poop or a fart and that I need to summon all my senses for the answer. 

You taught me a cry is call for a cuddle or comfort or food.

I learned to make better of good things like coffee and Excel.

And what mattered most, you taught me to be the best that I can be.

And you know what? I’d like to think that I was an excellent student. Because I became a father the second time around, nearly two years after. I merited a B+ to say the least.

I am still learning, though. But at 61, I don’t think a third-time fatherhood is a prospect. Being a dad -it just doesn’t end, does it? You still have to teach me how to pull that perfect shot without accidentally burning my arm. And how does that down-swing, follow thru work again?

Teach me, master Andre. I’d like to learn more from you. 

Happy 25th birthday, buddy! You know I love you.

Previous post: "Celebramus Leonila"

Celebramus Leonila

Leonila. Her name suggests "for others." She lived not for herself, but for those around her. Us.

She is my mother.

She's the one I raise this cup to -the one who gave me life here on earth. She would have turned 94 today. In eternity order, she’s NOW age old. My faith tells me she's still "mothering" us with her loving prayers and intercessions before God, face-to-face. She was a gentle soul whose words were always kind and pure. Never loud. Never excessive. She lived the simplest of life. She wore no jewelry around her neck or long bling-blings dangling her ears. Her gadgets were electronic gas stove clicker and transistor radio. Her idea of spa was cooking asado and raking leaves in our yard. She sacrificed much, loved much. 

I was probably 6. Maybe 7. I was sick, running a fever or something that I don’t remember much details about. But there were things that I still remember: my dear Inang and I on a sleeping mat in the living room of our old house that turns into a bedroom at night. Bedroom isn’t quite the word for it because we had no beds, only banig -a handwoven mat made of buri to sleep on inside a mosquito net. She asked me how I was feeling. I told her that I was feeling like heaps of dirt being poured down on me. Like I was being buried. I don't remember how she reacted but I probably gave her a shock. I shocked her more as I grew mustache.

It shocked her when told that my board exams test papers were stolen to favor another.

It shocked her one day, when in 1983, I told her I was going abroad for work.

It shocked her to learn that the poultry business I put up was buried in volcanic ash.

I must have made life difficult for you, Inang. We wanted college but you and Tatang couldn’t afford it. So you had to move heaven, earth and everything in between to make ends collide. You didn't mind the pain but pain you endured much. I didn't know it then -perhaps this was the way you wanted it. Ohh.😢

Now I imagine you chatting no longer with just a few friends and neighbors but with legions of saints and blowing not just candles but stars and galaxies. A billion-piece orchestra playing in joyful celebration of you. 

Dear Inang, before angels and heavenly beings, raise your glorious cup to God with your perfect smile and tell Him, "This one’s for my son and for all those he loves. I love him dearly." I know if you did, God’s favor is on me. And my heart will keep beating hope.

Have the happiest heavenly blast, 'Nang. You are always here -point to my temple, and here -point to my sternum. 

I remember. I smile. I love. 

You, because. 

Cheers!

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