Childhood Memories

My childhood is the happiest moment of my life. I had less worries. I had fewer responsibilities. I had the freedom to play all day. I had the reasons to commit mistakes.

My brief vacation in Pangasinan last week flashbacked my childhood memories. I saw my self in the persons of my two nephews Christian Kurt and Vaughn Gustavo. Their innocent and blissful smiles reminded my own which I have seen from family pictures. I enjoyed their chuckles every time I did a peek-a-boo. I wonder what the babies were thinking that made them chuckle. I just told them, “Hello, I am a human being, I am your Tito Joeven.”

I observed how the presence of a child/baby in a family of grownups changes the relationship of the family. The child becomes the center of attention and everybody tries to find ways to pamper and make the baby happy. This is good because I noticed the renewed bonding in the family.

I am happy that my mother now a grandmother obtains delight from nurturing my nephews. I think God has really planned everything. My mother’s attention now is no longer limited to my niece who seems to be her favorite. If my niece migrates to Canada in the near future she will not also feel so homesick because two other naughty boys will fill her house with cheerful laughter and playful noise.

When I was a child, I was also noisy and talkative. (Well, it shows even today.) I was sometimes bratty. (Well, it shows again even today.) I believe I was also a source of delight. (Well, I am not sure if it is still so today?). Who am I as a child? Here are some highlights of my recollection:

Kindergarten

I always tugged along with my mom in the bank where she works as a cashier. I always joined her in counting the coins after the banking hours. I was not very good in counting the coins but I obtained pleasure out of stacking the coins to build towers. One time, she whipped me for pocketing four 25-centavo coins to buy “binanlay ya tapong,” a native cake made of ground sticky rice with coconut milk and sugar.

I did not want to attend school. But I was motivated because she said that I would get a daily baon (allowance) of 50 centavos plus my snacks. I entered kindergarten three weeks after the day of classes had started. My mom talked to the teacher who was also my two older brothers’ teacher in the past. I was not inclined to be very obedient until merienda time came. I was served a bowl of free champorado and I liked the taste. It was like rice with chocolates. From then on, I always attended my classes.

I enjoyed my daily routine. We had a sidecar then so everyday, as the youngest, I enjoyed the pleasure of a free and tireless 10-minute bike ride from our house to the town proper. The only thing I disliked was my mother’s ban on bringing to school my dede. So every morning before I dressed up, I had to finish my bottled milk.

Out of my allowance, I only bought either of these two everyday: (1) plastic balloon gels in small tubes or (2) ice candy (milk flavor with coconut meat strips was then my favorite). Before the flag ceremony at 7:30am, I always made sure that I inflated the plastic balloons or I finished eating my ice candy.

I already knew how to write my name and read the A-ba-ka-da before I was enrolled in a kindergarten. I became an active participant in the class. I became the valedictorian and during graduation day I delivered a long onomatopoeia poem.

Grade 1

My teacher was a “tor-mentor.” I sinned many times like talking to my seatmate. I was punished just like any other else with a whip on my open palms using a wooden ruler.

I had a female seatmate who always copied my answers during exams and because of irritation I pushed her oftentimes. One time after pushing her, she told me that she would report my actions to her nanny. I was terribly scared because her nanny might hurt me. I tried to befriend her to stop her nanny from coming but what I thought as doomsday still came!

The nanny was friendly. She did not pinch or hurt me, as I feared. She just told me, “Huwag mo na ulit sasaktan alaga ko ha at baka kayo ang magkatuluyan in the future.” I just replied, “Opo.”

From then on, I did not hurt her. I just covered my paper like having a fortress around it. I almost kissed my paper whenever I wrote my answer so that my seatmate would have the least chance to copy.

At an early age, I was already business-minded. I sold some of my plastic toys to my classmates with the goal of saving money to buy plastic balloons. I could not understand why I was so engrossed with balloons.

Grade 2

There was nothing offbeat because I had already adjusted to the real school life. But I started to get lazier because I played a lot. Math was and is still my waterloo. We were asked to memorize the multiplication table. As a strategy, I either drawled or lowered my volume whenever I could not give the correct product. There was also one wee hour when my mom roused me from my sleep because she heard my neighbor Rosalinda Rosario who was also my classmate memorizing a Filipino poem. She forced me to do the same. Since it was just two hours before the class, I did not completely memorize the piece. As a result, I buckled a lot and my mom scolded me after learning from Rosalinda that I was not able to perfect the lines of the poem.
During our Barangay fiesta’s parlor games, I won the crying contest. All kids were asked to stand on a table then cry. All of us tried to fake crying when one grownup told us to sing instead. I sang the “Greatest Love of All.” I was very emphatic but my lyrics were wrong. The line, “let the children’s laughter…” became “let the children’s pan duster…” My first cousin who was then already in high school shouted, “Ah…pan duster daw!” Then everybody laughed. My eyes swelled and I cried out aloud! It was actually a moan as a sign of protest for being terribly embarrassed.
But I won P50 as prize! I was very happy that time.
The same cousin always pitted me against my friend Dwight Caballa. We would fight/wrestle at the grassy backyard beside the chapel. I always lost the game because my friend was bigger and stronger. He was a gardener while I was a couch potato.

Grade 3

My teacher was known for her strictness. On the first day of class, she got mad at us for not cleaning the room. I got scared. I became industrious even if I was not used to doing household chores. The same fear of her compelled me to study a lot. My industry paid off.

I enjoyed my grade three because of science as a subject. I became very curious of the living things around me. I started to collect grasshoppers and put them inside a jar. I started to collect many leaves, pressed them between the pages of books and used them to make Christmas cards.

At this age, I could still recall the Saturdays we went to Dagupan City to watch movies. My mom is a fan of Sharon Cuneta. She would bring all of us to the movie house to watch films. There were times we would cry for seeing our mom cry because Sharon cried.

Grade 4

It was the scariest school year. My teacher could be too physical with the way she disciplined her pupils.

Scenario: She was absent and as a rule as the class president I would take charge of the peace and order of the classroom because we opted not to go home. At the start, we were still quiet but one of our classmates who lived in the nearby hill invited us to gather tamarind and other citrus fruits. Excited about the idea, most of us trekked to the hills, climbed the mountains, and gathered all the fruits that we could under the blistering heat of the sun.

My teacher learned about it and she pinched me near my chest area including all those in cahoots. She also whacked some of my classmates’ butts and legs using a long bamboo stick. My chest area was wounded. So I cried. When I reached home, I showed my chest area. My mom filed a complaint to the school principal the next day. I did not have the chance to know what happened but the issue was never discussed from then on. The teacher never hurt us from then on.

Grade 5

I started to be highly involved in extracurricular activities. I loved English a lot. I used it during the campaign period for the student elections and I became the Supreme Student Government President.

I represented my school in a declamation contest. I delivered the piece, “I’m a Son of A Politician.” I placed second. The judges’ reason for not making me win the first place despite bringing the house down was I did not have voice modulation.

I had a high pitch like a desperate vendor in a market. But I could not believe I was part of the school’s singing group. We joined a song festival where we sang Smokey Mountain’s “Better World” and “Yesterday’s Dream.” I was one of the tenors. (Or my voice was just shrieking.) We won. We should because our school paid a hefty sum for the trainor who took charge of the arrangement and choreography.

I also joined the drum and lyre corps of our school. At first, my uncle discouraged me because we would just be exposed to the extreme heat of the sun during the training. The costs of the uniform and the drum were also expensive. But my friends were joining the band.

My lips were sealed. I became unhappy. I wanted to reason out but I was then scared of my uncle. My zest returned only when my grandfather Zoilo bought my drum. My mom had no other option but to pay the tailoring expenses of the uniform.

Most of the songs we played were church songs because the corps was originally organized for the Christ the King Celebration which our parish hosted.

I also joined the Legion of Mary upon the invitation of my classmate. My involvement in this org tasked me to become an altar boy. I started to become religious too because I frequently experienced heartburns. I became sickly. My mom, a devout Catholic, liked the idea. She hinted then that it would be an honor for the family to have a priest. Initially, I entertained the idea. But I did hear not any calling.

1990 was also the year when Pangasinan experienced the strongest earthquake ever. The class was over and I dropped by the bank to help my mom count the paper bills. I was busy doing so when everyone rushed out of the building. I thought there was just a parade outside which I did not have the interest to witness. Then I heard my mom’s scream calling out my name and demanding me to step out of the building. I saw everyone on his or her knees praying. I saw the electric wires above us rapidly moving up and down. I heard sounds from the window glasses of the building. I thought it was the end of the world especially that the female employees were crying. I remember what my grandfather said, “Always look down, the earth might just open up.” So I looked down for fear of being “swallowed” by the soil.

Grade 6

I was reelected as Supreme Student Government President. I could not remember the projects we did except the fund-raising activities. Competition became stiffer. Some were defocused in the race for the honors when most of us became volleyball addicts.

I enjoyed our Home Economics Classes. Each of us was assigned a plot to cultivate pechay. Our teacher provided the seeds. We watered and cultivated the soil everyday. Our shrubs grew well. We harvested and sold them in the market.
We also had cooking contests. We were first taught how to prepare gelatin with mangoes and then macaroni soup. My group won in the gelatin category for putting fruit cocktail as filling instead of mangoes. My mother also taught my group to reduce the water we pour in to melt the gelatin so that the mold would be firmer.

The most unforgettable in this grade was when my friend Dwight threatened to strike me with his bolo. It started with a Valentine’s Day fart. The class was silently copying notes from the board when Dwight, my seatmate, suddenly released the “thunder.” The entire class burst in laughter. He laughed with us. In the afternoon, the entire class visited Mary Jane Resoso because it was her birthday. We wanted to make her feel special because she missed classes for more than a month because of her sickness. We brought watermelons as gifts. After eating her treat, I asked, “sino na iyong nag-tooot?” My intention was just to break the monotony and bring joy. But my friend was offended. When we were about to go home, he pointed his fingers at me and cursed me along with all those who laughed. Rosalinda, Daisy Dacanay, Emerson Ganer and I were like fugitives who ran away from him. We detoured from the shortcut way to home to avoid him. We rode the jeepney even if we only needed to walk from school to home just to avoid him. He was then bringing a bolo used in gardening and we thought he would whack us using it. The next day, he laughed at us. His steam was off.

I delivered the valedictory speech which I did not write. It was a recycle of my elder brothers’ speeches written by the wife of my grandfather’s brother. I hated the rehearsals with my mom. I hated to stand atop of a table holding a comb while my relatives and my mom’s officemates served as my audience.

Two years ago, I was invited as the guest speaker of my elementary school’s graduation ceremony. The event was reminiscent of my life as a child. The place was still the same except that the audience area fronting the stage was already covered. I greeted my former teachers. Most of them were already gray-haired. My sixth grade adviser who already retired many years back also came to see and listen to me. I was honored by her presence. I was glad to see Michelle Ricafranca, my former classmate from grade one to six, as one of the teachers now.

In my speech, I mentioned the value of planning the future even at an early age. I highlighted the challenges they would face. Above all, I stressed everyone’s role especially the graduates (even at an early age) and their parents in the coming elections to attain the best leadership possible. (The graduation was then just few weeks before the local elections.)

I saw brightness in the eyes of the graduates. I can sense their idealism, innocence, excitement, and passion in life.

These are the same qualities of children that I love most. This is the same reason why my childhood memories still occupy a special place in my heart now that I am already an adult.

My childhood was not perfect but memorable. It is a memory I will be grateful of forever. Thanks to my family especially my mother and thanks to my friends for having afforded me this once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Divorce as a Way of Life

Divorce is like Friendster. It has become a culture or way of life after transcending its status as a fad. It has a social network of its own composed of couples who could no longer tolerate the social prescription that marriage must be preserved through thick and thin. It is a practical response to the irremediable conflicts and irreconcilable differences of couples. But what is the measuring stick of irremediable and irreconcilable?

The entire world is part of this circle except Malta and the Philippines. Even Spain, which introduced Catholicism in the country, has also legalized divorce. For sure the Philippines is host to this phenomenon only that it lacks the legal formality and official statistics on divorcees.

I am suddenly interested in divorce as a concept not as a practice after witnessing failed marriages. Since the Philippines outlaws the legalization of divorce, the following scenarios are tantamount to it:

It is not the talk of the town but it is an open secret. The father seldom comes home because the mother who still denies the relational abnormality keeps on reasoning out that he is just distant from home for his work in a place down south. For two decades most of his children spent time with him for approximately 2 years only. If I am not mistaken, he was only most visible when his two children got married and when his biological and in-law parents died. He returned for the social obligations.

The idea that he is dedicated to his work and its benefits is an inutile excuse. I hope I am not constricting and stereotyping but a loving and responsible father will try to provide “quality time” with his family above all else. To be able to stomach his distance with his family should not already cause any hash but certainty that he chose to care less about his “legal” family. This is not very hard if new or another family fills up the grueling emptiness of singlehood or reclusion.

Divorce is a dual effort. The father left for apparent reasons. The mother is a nagger who frequently insulted his person and profession due to his incapability to act as the breadwinner. The mother used to be affluent until her marriage. The insult can be rooted from her disappointment or sheer immaturity and insensitivity. The father is equally immature since he valued his ego more than his role as the haligi ng tahanan.

Marital maturity is seminal in preserving a relationship. Without maturity that guarantees sufficient and relevant insight and empathy on the responsibilities of married life, couples will have difficulty sustaining their relationship. While love as an emotion acts first as a thread that binds and compels couples to live under one roof, a concentric of economic, social, and political factors will strengthen or weaken the thread. The growl of an empty stomach can deafen couples and overwhelm their heartbeats.

Divorce, thus, happens when couples do not sacrifice. Or maybe they have sacrificed but both have reached saturation points especially if the insults hurled against each other are already unprintable. It seems to be one humane solution when one espouse turns black and blue every contact with the other.

I am not against divorce but I do not promote it either because while it has benefits, its detriments are devastating in principle and in deed. It won’t be the last option if humankind will gain enough from it.

In principle, divorce mocks the institution of marriage as a union with God. It destroys the institution that humans have created. It debases love as it implies material/economic satisfaction as its lifeblood. It debases love as a mere social practice not metaphysical with meaningful experiences. It destroys unity in diversity since it supports the idea that two unique couples can’t simply be united.

On the other hand, divorce is empowering. It does not box couples with the social construct that marriage should be forever even amidst all odds. It gives couples the wings after a painful experience. If human experience is dynamic divorce is just responsive.

In deed, divorce creates a chain reaction by disorienting the children. The children of the same divorced couple have dysfunctional marriages. They have become too difficult to deal with. They were so tight with their wives. For fear of loss and suffering what their parents had, they set unreasonable rules for their espouses. They assume a dominant position in their marriage even though it should have been symmetrical in the first place.

On the other hand, it can inspire some children to forge the best relationship possible to avoid replicating the horrendous experience of their parents.

Divorce is a very complicated way of life. Yes, it is and should be the last option. Never mind Britney Spears who glamorized divorced for doing so immediately after her wedding in Las Vegas. It must not be impulsive and selfish. It must not intend to hurt the other party. It must include in the equation its repercussions to children. Divorcees must attempt to become genuine friends as a sign that respect for each other still resides in their hearts.

Ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure. Divorce is a cure for an "incurable" relationship. It is better that we choose best whom to walk down the aisle with. I am not saying that divorce can be prevented through this. But at least with careful choice of a partner in life we can hopefully reconcile differences and remedy conflicts.