The Shy and The Strong

I am still baffled at the outcome of my daughter's graduation.

This year, it was a breeze landing that valedictory for Rocio, who was only salutatorian last year. The nursery top spot then was tipped over to her bestfriend because of 2 measly points. The bestfriend, since he was of age, accelerated to preparatory class. Rocio was not allowed to do that because no decent school in the region would accept a 5 year-old first-grader.

Without the bestfriend, Rocio consistently stayed on top of everybody--- perfecting periodical exams and reciting even a bit too much during class. This comes with little surprise as she has always been a show-off, just like Mommy, haha! At 5, she has already amazed crowds for dancing, modeling, and yes--- pageantry. So, with experience being more than her years alive, with her unstoppable (and highly evolved) gab, and with her natural comfort in the spotlight, it was a real fainting spell for me when she suddenly refused to continue her welcome address after barely delivering the opening sentence.

The bestfriend, whose speech I also drafted, read from a folder. That was forgivable. Rocio, who memorized her entire speech but clammed up 3 seconds within blast off, may have wanted to read just like her bestfriend--- something which her teacher Ms. Bugnosen and I (needful to mention am a speech teacher) did not allow because it was beneath her!

I could have swallowed the whole thing as a phase Rocio must go through... although being overnight, it was rather bleak there was no impactful trigger. I was ready to say, "My hubby's side can get awfully shy." It is good that I did not settle for that reason.

Further investigation on my part yielded that the bestfriend was always defended during the few graduation practices by his guardian. This came to a point where the guardian even openly objected to Ms. Bugnosen's strict directives. A witness described this confrontation to me as 'scandalous'.

It could be possible that I really overworked my daughter into understanding, memorizing, and delivering that welcome address, but it is also my nature and her capacity to go as far as we can and then run 5 miles more. This is my style of teaching; I do not patronize losers. It is unfortunate, however, that I now have to rehabilitate my daughter's frame of mind just because of a ward who could not respect the teacher enough or even take on necessary challenges.

Sometimes, we think our parenting is so strong that we could leave our kids in a trustworthy environment and have them come home the way they were when they left. Not all of our expectations materialize, however, and our kids come home as different people. It could be a genetic bomb, it could be trauma from or influence of others, it could even be your kid's way of testing your limit. Whatever it is (and trust me, it's possible we'll never really know for sure), the strength of our parenthood now shifts on how we pull back our kids to the right track.

The weakness of our parenthood would be our tendency to shrug and throw it all to the wind, saying, this is how kids are or kids will be kids. Kids are smarter than we think; it's just that they still need us to find out how to use that smartness to their best advantage.

The Wrong Kind of Forgiveness

This afternoon was my firstborn's kindergarten moving up ceremony. When we were still at home (and I was still practicing how to walk in 3-inch heels more than a year after getting pregnant with my second child), I caught an unusual news update: HOSTAGE DRAMA AT THE LIWASANG BONIFACIO.

The victims: a busload of young students. How annoying when the news stated that this hostage taker was practially a veteran in this, his first stage in 1989 being inside the San Roque de Manila Church where he tied up a couple of priests. It became ridiculous, however, when the demands of his 2007 movement seemed heavier on the pizza and ice cream rather than his so-called protest against corruption, particularly in the education sector.

Hours past my daughter's austere dinner party (for receiving the 1st Honors, if I may just add), I soothed my aching feet and turned on the boobtube. Voila, there was that reality show again--- getting more suspicious with the involvement of politicians, and very twilight-zonish with the kissing scenes between the children and Mr. Hostage Taker.

Parents interviewed on-cam said they planned no lawsuit because "mabait naman sila... nilaro naman nila ang mga bata..." (They were good... they played with the kids.)

Hospital workers who de-stressed the victims of a 10-hour detention in a very closed space added to this frenzy of bad judgement by declaring, "Okay naman, wala namang humagulgol sa kanila." (They are okay; none of them were wailing.)

Malacanang Palace released a statement about the news. It had something to do about embarrassment, and I suppose it is similar to my take. This is allegedly an issue about the educational system, yet Mr. Hostage Taker, a certain Jun Ducat--- ironically close to dukot (which means 'to nab')--- taught his hostages that what he did is justifiable. So soon, some parents and hospital workers seem to already understand this man and justify his actions!

I cannot understand why Ducat's children are so touchy about the rumors in 1989 regarding their father's insanity. If Ducat has done this with little reward, if any, once--- then doing it a second time indeed sounds crazy. I also cannot understand why Ducat, after that forgotten siege over the construction funds of a church, thought that his passions could be used better if he won a political seat in his area. If we are allowing people like Ducat to run for office, then Malacanang is right--- that IS very embarrassing!

Somebody with enough power has to give sanctions on this man. It is not enough that the children 'do not seem harmed', because there is yet an invention to immediately detect any human malfunction brought about by this abnormal detention. This experience instills in those kids that it is okay to take hostages, that they could be forgiven if only they gave a cause that has any semblance to general welfare. This experience teaches the wrong kind of forgiveness. Who's to say right now that none of those kids will have nightmares? Who's to say that none of the parents will become even just slightly more paranoid? Would you allow yourself or anyone you love to be more paranoid just because of the deranged Mr. Hostage Taker?

Tell you what--- maybe I should not flush my kids' poo and pee in my small loo at home, then tie up Mr. Hostage Taker, then slam him face down on the tiles, then make him feel my collection of 3-inch heels--- all of which are size 10--- against his skull for (realistically) 3 hours?

Don't worry... I won't ask for a kiss.

Rocio's Welcome Address

Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I am happy to welcome you to the 2007 Moving Up Ceremony of the UCCP Learning Center, Laoag City. Your presence in this momentous event gives me and my fellow graduates a rainbow of emotions. Let me tell you how important each of you truly is through different colors.

BLACK is for the formality we show our guest of honor. Welcome, honorable speaker Adaza.

VIOLET is for Principal Jose and the administration of the UCCP, who serve in the name of wisdom. Welcome, Sir Jose and council.

BLUE is for the learning, patience and support our second mothers provided the whole year. Welcom,e Ma'am Shiela. Welcome, Ma'am Judy.

ORANGE is for the overwhelming energy our parents feel today. Welcome, stand proud, and we love you very much, our wonderful moms and dads.

BROWN is for the industriousness of the UCCP staff. Welcome, Tito Mulo and Tia Marina.

YELLOW is for the enthusiasm of our kith and kin in attendance today. Welcome, our dear relatives and friends.

GREEN is for the hope all the movers up promise our country. We are the stars of the show. Welcome and congratulations, my fellow movers up.

And last because it is the greatest... RED is for the love of God, the love that guides us all regardless of the faith we have: protestant, catholic, or moslem. The love that makes all of us do well and come here today.

Because we did well, we have all come; and that is the meaning of welcome.

Good afternoon and welcome!!!

I Hate Exam Week

I used to hate exam week. Certainly, those who didn’t share this feeling with me was challenged in some way. Exam week was the verification that I was still unprepared to move on even after several long weeks of lectures. Exam week was the manifestation of teachers’ ire for those like me who refused to believe them in their seemingly lost monologues. Exam week was a string of sleepless nights, and it was not because of partying. So, I used to hate exam week.

Now that I have graduated from college (actually, since a decade ago!), I still hate exam week. I hate it even more. It still tells me that I am unprepared, that I would be sleepless, and that being a teacher myself--- there are still teachers out there who hate me and who are laughing at my unfinished penitence. So, fine, laugh at me. Laugh at me until you get a stroke (just kidding… or not.)

I hate exam week now because my 5 year old daughter seems to master the routine already. Of course, being kindergarten in March, it means that she has gone through this testing phase 7 times already, making her a veteran and even more as she hits the 8th time. She knows that the teacher will give her a list of review items which Mommy will tutor her on. She knows that Mommy will have all these silly rules like sleep early--- but don’t sleep until you’re done studying. She knows that she’ll only have to take a small bag with her to class, and that the whole meeting will just be for answering plenty of papers.

In the end, she knows that her scores will oddly translate to a bunch of letters like O, VS, S, F, and NI--- things that only Mommy will understand, as if it is a secret between Mommy and the teacher.

I hate exam week because this time, it’s not me taking the test; it’s not me going through the stress. I hate exam week because she’s only allowed to bring home her books on the weekend before the big day. How is she supposed to absorb tens of pages from 5 textbooks in a span of a weekend?

I hate exam week because it shocks me that I don’t know what the caudal fin on a fish is. I also do not know what the health benefits of blueberries are. I think I know what the stamen and the pistil are on plants, but I don’t know how to properly explain them without inserting any perversion. I hate exam week because I have to teach her things I am legally not supposed to teach anyone. It helps however that she already knows most of her lessons and seems ready to take the tests.

Still, I hate exam week because I have to stop her from seeing SpongeBert Whatever, or Dora and that little monkey that tags along--- those characters who make her smile warmly in a heartbeat. I have to stop her from logging on to her kiddie websites that feature make-up application and boyfriends (yes, check out Barbie.com if you don’t believe me.) I hate exam week because I have to take away so much from her day, and I know there is no way to ever replace that. Well, there is one way… it’s called Disneyland, but… uh… enough about that.

I hate exam week because when I ask her how the tests were, all she tells me is, “It was okay.” Okay, when she spills her milk or breaks something, I tell her it’s okay. When the monsters come out at night and make her cry, I tell her it’s okay. When our elderly friends die and she gets upset, I tell her it’s okay. So, it’s okay. The exams were okay. Why could I just not understand what that means?

Most of all, I hate exam week because even after the last test, I still have to hold my breath until the teacher completes the checking and computes for the scores and periodic grades. I would still think about that for a few more nights and hope that by some divine intervention, the teacher will pardon bad handwriting or be lenient with neglected instructions. In the middle of the day, when she comes back home from school, and my eyebags are large enough to fit her 5 books, I discover that she is once again top of her class, and that all my worries were not because of her ignorance but mine.

So, I hate exam week.

Feeding Them Some Culture

Once in a while, runaway from convention. Run far away.

Don't be satisfied with 'just spaghetti'--- go out of your way to find linguine, which looks like a split fettucinne, so there seems to be more effort to it.

Frown at canned or tetra-packed sauces. Scout for real tomatoes and blanch them, then manage to smile when you get scalded from peeling them.

For once, say NO to meat. No hotdogs or hams or bacon... no ground whatever. No meat, not even a bouillon.

Instead, try some capers--- they have fooled me time and again. It has a mysteriously meat-y texture and taste to it, yet it looks like a harmless bud nipped too early from the plant. Capers are absolutely delicious!

Olives should be seen more often than just on pizza. They are healthy enough to enjoy more than thrice a day. Notice how pizza houses don't throw in any olives into their pasta dishes? It's a shame.

This is your game plan on the next long afternoon you'll have with your kids. Tell them that fastfoods don't even come close to what pasta should really be like. Show them that culture is something you cannot short cut. Lastly, make them feel that they deserve something that can't be bought from some take-out counter.

Bon apetit!