Pinched

Terry, my favorite cousin from the Philippines, used to pinch the air and say “grab that moment for later use”. He would tuck the captured air into his left breast pocket and pat at his heart. I remember on occasions when he escorted his girlfriend to her house, he would capture the moment in a pinch and say those words.

Yesterday, my daughter invited me to her LTC awards ceremony at the church we used to attend as a family. Today, I watched her sing in chorus on stage. When she looked at me from up there with that beautiful smile, I instinctively reached up to pinch the air and captured the moment into my heart.

I realized then that I will never be the perfect dad and I will always make mistakes despite my best efforts not to. But there will always be one thing I am certain will never change ---- nothing in this world can ever change how much I love them.

I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.
3 John 1:4

Buckets of Love

During our morning bakes my great-grandfather and I would watch as the day begins. Some of the townsfolk would gather at the watering hole to get their day’s supply of fresh water, some would do laundry, some just hung out.

One morning, two young men both left the watering hole -- each carrying two full buckets of water, one in each arm. The bigger, taller young man sped home while the smaller one took his time getting to his destination.
“Both young men are trying to fill up the same size of water barrel, which of the two will get it done more quickly?” Grampa asked.
“That’s easy” I said, the taller one. “Think again.”
I thought about it, already sure in my mind that the taller and faster young man would get the barrel filled first.

As we watched, it took the smaller young man two trips to fill up his barrel. It took the taller one five trips to fill up his. In his rush, the taller one didn’t notice that most of the water had spilled out before he reached his destination. The smaller one placed a lid on his buckets.
Upon Grampa telling me the moral of the scene, my great-grandmother passed by us carrying a big bucket as she headed towards the watering hole. Grampa winked at me and smiled. I excused myself and got up to take the bucket from Gramma.

For all the grumbling I had done in the past about carrying water back and forth, from that day on I happily fetched water for Gramma while thinking about Grampa’s smile.

Patience and the Rice Field

During rice planting season, water from the local river is allowed to overflow into our rich fields to where about three to five inches of water is covering the top of the ground. The water is replenished until the land is of a muddy consistency. The fields are ready when you can grab a handful of dirt and mold it pretty much into anything you want. The fields are divided into square sections separated only by handmade land barriers where people would normally walk.

One year, as my grampa was showing me how to test the ground, a huge catfish swam by. I immediately ran after it, trying my hardest to catch the fish with my bare hands. I did this for about 10 minutes falling exhausted on my knees before grampa finally said something.
“Where is he” Grampa said. “Over there on the corner”
“Here, help me barricade him” he instructed as he started to create a wall around the catfish.
“Okay, so once we barricade him, He won’t get a chance to go all over the place and I won’t have to chase him as much” I thought to myself.

When the barricade was completed, I jumped inside and began chasing after the fish.
Ten minutes later --- exhausted --- Grampa looked at me with a wink and a smile.
He motioned me to follow what he was doing --- taking water out from inside the barricade. After about five minutes, we successfully emptied the water and I was able to pick up the fish where it laid.

I wish I would have had the insight then to discern the importance of this lesson. Imagine where I’d be today...

Spare the Rod

After harvest, the silo next to our house in the Philippine Province was filled with sacks upon sacks of unmilled rice grains. During his business dealings, my great grampa used these sacks in bartering, settling debts, and sometimes just given away as gifts. The sacks were considered as valuable as gold, yet we never had to worry about thieves coming in the middle of the night to steal from us. My Grampa’s affable character made for one auspicious relationship with the townspeople. Much like George Bailey in Bedford Falls, Grampa was rich in both friends and status.
My relationship with the younger folk was pretty much the same way. However, I didn’t have the luxury of owning a rice crop with which to “do business”. I have to admit in advance though that I gained my popularity with the local children by giving away rice grains, but in a dishonest way. You see, I stole from my Grampa.

For the longest time, I remember cutting small holes out of the sacks, pour a small quantity of the rice grain into a small sack, then go down to the local market and sell the grains for a small profit. I would then treat all my friends for soda, candy, and toys until all the money ran out.

This went on for a long time until one day Grampa caught me in the act of stealing.
I expected the worst, so when he approached me without saying a word, I closed my eyes and tightened my entire body and prepared for a beating. Instead, what I got was a big hug. Then without saying a word, Grampa helped me place some grains into several small sacks. When he finished, he took me by the hand, led me to the market, and sold the grains. He gave me the money then “stood in the background” while I ran to my waiting friends.
When I turned around, I didn’t need grampa to tell me the facts of life. I knew right then it was wrong to steal and that I was going to have to stop what I was doing. But it was the quiet, gentle spirit in him that reprimanded me that made the most impact --- not a rod, broom handle, or belt.
I miss you, Grampa.

Trumpets and Braces

Trying out for the Symphonic Band during the seventh grade was no easy task. I was up against 3 eight-graders and a couple of seventh graders who were much better at playing the trumpet than me. It was therefore no big surprise to me when I was awarded 5th chair out of 8 trumpet players.
One day, my parents decided (against my wishes) to get me braces. My teeth were so badly misaligned that they felt the braces were necessary. Besides, cost was no object since the military was going to pay for it. Despite my --- and my band director’s --- objections, the braces were “installed”.

The first week of the braces – the adjustment period – was probably the most painful week anyone could ever endure. The next couple of weeks were no picnics either, but I longed to play my trumpet.
One night, while cleaning out the brass horn, I installed the mouthpiece and placed the trumpet to my mouth, mock-playing it. When my dad suddenly walked in, I accidentally dropped the trumpet to the floor with the mouthpiece end hitting the floor first.
This made the mouthpiece impossible to remove. I became upset at myself but my dad calmed me down.
“It’s only a piece of scrap metal” he said.
“What?!?!” I said incredulously. “We can buy you another one” he assured.

“But Dad, you’ve had that trumpet since you were a kid. Now that the mouthpiece is stuck, we’d never be able to get the trumpet into the case without the mouthpiece sticking out! It’s ruined” I argued.

“Look” he said.
“That trumpet has been in the family for a couple of generations and no one else has played it as beautifully as you. When I hear you play that trumpet, I couldn’t have been more proud to have given it to you.
The sounds that came out of that horn were beautiful because You were the one blowing into it. That trumpet sounded amazing because You are amazing.
Don’t worry about it, we can get you another one.
And I’m sure that whatever trumpet we get will sound just as amazing”

“You’re amazing, Dad.” It was all I managed to say before he bear-hugged me so tightly I couldn’t breathe.

We didn’t buy a new trumpet. Instead, I cut out a hole at the mouthpiece end of the case and carried it without shame to band class.
At about my fifth week of having braces, we had Chair Challenges.
I surprised everyone by taking first chair…braces and all.

First Day of School

I was eight years-old.

On my way to the usual play area to meet my friends that Monday morning, I noticed the small dirt road that ran in the middle of the town was empty. There wasn’t a single child in sight. Normally, on this particular time of the morning, the children my age were out and about.
As I reached the park, I didn’t find a single soul, but I did pass a few children on my way there dressed in their Sunday clothes.
“Where are you guys going?” I asked them. “We’re going to school” they responded.

I absent-mindedly went back to playing marbles while awaiting my friends.
A few minutes later, I heard children talking and laughing at the old church building close to the park. I ran around the front of the building and poked my head inside the heavy double doors. I found my friends standing and reciting the multiplication table in unison. As I looked at the front of the pews, I noticed the lady directing them beckoning me to enter and approach her.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Noel” I replied.
“Noel, ma’am” she corrected. “Noel, ma’am” I repeated, raising the tone of the last syllable out of sheer curiosity.
“Can you finish the multiplication table” she asked. “What’s 6 x 6?”
“Pickup Sticks!” I proudly responded.

The small building erupted in laughter. “No, silly” the teacher said. “That’s 36”.
“Would you like to learn the rest of it?” she asked.
“Sure!”

After one week, I learned how to recite the table, how to write my name, and was able to distinguish words after having just learned the alphabet.

Two weeks later, I was placed in the 3rd grade at the elementary school five miles away.

Witness to Crucifixion

As a child, I remember the local Filipinos participating in the annual re-enactment of Christ’s crucifixion. The event took place every Good Friday around noon. I lived in several in towns in the Philippines and have witnessed this event on several occasions. However, it didn’t really affect me until one year, I saw my uncle Armando dressed familiarly as one of the participants. It was said that the crucifixions in other towns did not compare to the realism that the Pampangan provinces – where I lived – brought to the event.

The crucifixion started out with several people walking ahead of the cross-bearers, followed by “two thieves”, with the “Christ” at the end. This particular year, my uncle was the last to carry his cross. The penitents ahead of the cross-bearers normally did not have shirts on, walked on bare feet, and beat their backs with bamboo whips.

I remember looking up in awe as my uncle carried the cross, with sweat and blood running down the side of his face --- blood from the crown of thorns he was wearing. I was so mesmerized that I couldn’t leave his side. My uncle was a handsome man, with a beard that made him look this day like the Jesus I had seen beneath the stained-glass windows in the Catholic Church. I walked the distance with him, seeing in front of us the two thieves and the bloody backs of the men ahead of them.

As we reached the “top of the hill” some of the penitents went home, but most of them lay flat against the ground. The two thieves were then prepared as each one is tied onto the cross then the crosses are lifted up and placed on pre-dug holes on the ground.
Meanwhile, my uncle’s hands and feet were nailed to the cross and his cross was the last to be raised up.

I remember clearly the look on my future aunt Mel’s face as she looked up to my uncle, her fiancé. As a young boy, I never really understood what that look meant. But now, thinking back, I realize that this was his way of telling her that he loved her as much as God loves us and I can see now that she knew that. It was his way of confessing his sins and the love she felt for him only solidified their commitment to Christ together as husband and wife.
…Wow, did I just write that???

As I’ve said before. I had a wonderful childhood.

Swimming Lessons

During the spring of 1990, the US Marines assigned me to a temporary billet to work as a lifeguard for the summer. I trained hard then by the end of training, I was able to swim the required ten laps in our Olympic-sized pool under 9 minutes before getting my certification.
During that summer, a young lady asked me where and when I learned how to swim. This is the story I told her:

I was about 7, having just finished helping grampa with tilling the acres of land we owned, I was taking our carabao (water buffalo) to the lake to drink and bathe. My friends were there also, playing at the swimming hole. In the Philippines, the local lake served many purposes. In one sitting, you could see ladies washing clothes, children swimming, carabaos bathing, trash floating down stream, fishing…well, those are mostly the good things. I won’t get into the other grody details.
That particular day bothered me. It was the first time I ever remembered feeling I was an outcast. All my friends knew how to swim and they were able to play at the deeper end of the river where I couldn’t join them. Saddened, I took the carabao back to the farm and mulled over my sadness a little bit.
After a while, I decided I wasn’t going to let this feeling get the best of me. I went back to the swimming hole. By the time I got there, everyone had left and the sun was beginning to set at the horizon. Nevertheless, I jumped in at the shallow end and dogpaddled my way from one end of the hole to the other without touching the lake floor. “I can do this” I thought to myself.
Once confidence took hold of my senses, I slowly lowered myself at the deep end, hanging onto a vine with one hand. Then all at once, I kicked against the wall and pushed myself out towards the middle of the lake and let my body glide over the water. To my delight, I was able to dog paddle to the other edge of the lake to my best friend’s house. Joel wasn’t at all surprised to see me. “About time” was all he said.
By week’s end, I was swimming the length of the lake from one edge of the town to the other.

I was still in deep though in my recounting the events of the past when a Marine from my squadron wafted away the cloud of memory I envisioned as he told me to get back to headquarters immediately. We were being deployed to Saudi Arabia.

My Dock

When I was "on my own", I found a quiet place where I went after school to do my homework. This place became my home for the longest time. It was in a secluded area where no one could bother me. I spent many nights on this dock. The one in the picture is a nicer version of my dock, but this one paints the perfect picture of the serenity I felt during the tumultous years.
...And the sunsets, Oh my.



Only once I was finally able to get a job after-school, working until midnight, was I finally able to find a place cheap enough that I could afford to live in while I finished high school.

Tigress

When I was about 7, I received a cat as a present from an unknown benefactor. Not knowing much about animals, I thought this particular cat was too large for its age. I found out later on it was a female tiger cub – a “tigress” according to my great-grampa. I remember my great grampa telling me not to get too attached to her. Once she got too big, we would have to get rid of her.
Those summer days were some of the most memorable times of my life. I didn’t go anywhere or do anything without Tigress by my side. I remembered during rice harvest where she and I ran and ran through the freshly cut stalks, chasing after field-mice, and just jumping on and rolling on the hay stacks. Tigress became my best friend.

Unbeknownst to me, I made a promise to Tigress on the eve of what would be our last night together. I remember telling her my love for her and the promise I made that no matter what, nothing would ever come between us. The next morning, I woke up with tigress staring at me with eyes I had never seen before. Fear struck within me as my heart tried to reach out for her. Extending my hand out only served to anger her more as her eyes scowled, her mouth curled, and teeth showed. The fire in those eyes and the growl coming from her made me realize my worst fear. I was losing her.

Tigress came at me with a force that struck me to the ground. Before I knew what had happened, my grampa had tied a rope around her neck and managed to snatch her away before she could inflict any physical damage to me…
…but it was too late.
The damage she had done to my heart was more than I could take. I cried until the vast reservoir of tears from my eyes and heart were depleted.

Looking back, I knew there was nothing I could have done to keep her. She and I were just not meant to be together. However, there will always be a special place in my heart for her.

What is a Pinoy?

I've always been sure about who and what I am. First, a male. Next, a Filipino. It's often said that our culture defines what we are. How we see ourselves is more likely how other people will see us. We're a sunny kind of people. We laugh at hard times and we smile in spite of everything. The typical Filipino is more likely to take an optimistic view of things, even if things are really bad. One of our better traits is our ability to laugh at ourselves. We'd laugh even if it's ourselves we're laughing at.

Though we're a very mixed race, everything we do is distinctly Filipino. Our identity almost always shows wherever we are. Confused about your identity? Don't know how Filipino you really are? Well, here's a not-so-scientific way to find out. See if you'll find yourself nodding your head more than you're shaking it. You might find that these 101 things are a lot truer than if you took out your birth certificate.

My responses are included.

1. You point with your lips. True
2. You eat using hands and you have it down to a technique. Up until I was 11.
3. Your other piece of luggage is a balikbayan box. I came to the US with one.
4. You nod upwards to greet someone. True
5. You put your foot up on your chair and rest your elbow on your knee while eating. Up until I was 11.
6. You think that half-hatched duck eggs are a delicacy. They are called “Balut”, I’ve had my share.
7. You have to kiss your relative on the cheek as soon as you enter the room. True
8. You're standing next eight big boxes at the airport. N/A
9. You collect items from hotels or restaurants "for souvenir." N/A
10. You smile for no reason. True
11. You flirt by having a foolish grin in your face while raising your eyebrows repeatedly. N/A
12. You go to a department store and try to bargain the prices. Only at Wal-Mart
13. You use an umbrella for shade on hot summer days. Used to.
14. You scratch your head when you don't know the answer. True.
15. You never eat the last morsel of food on the table. True.
16. You like bowling. True
17. You know how to play pusoy and mah-jong. True
18. You find dried up morsels of rice stuck on your shirt. True, He, he.
19. You prefer to sit in the shade instead of basking in the sun. True
20. You add an unwarranted "H" to your name, i.e. "Jhun," Bhoy," "Rhon." N/A
21. You put hands together in front of you as if to make a path and say "excuse, excuse" when you pass in between people or in front of the TV. You guys have seen me do this quite often, I think. I still do it though.
22. Your middle name is your mothers maiden name. N/A
23. You like everything imported or "state-side." N/A
24. You check the labels on clothes to see where it was made before buying. True
25. You hang your clothes out to dry. True.
26. You are perfectly comfortable in a squatting position with your elbows resting on your knees. Yup
27. You consistently arrive 30 minutes late for all events. N/A
28. You always offer food to all your visitors. True
29. You say "comfort room" instead of "bathroom." N/A
30. You say "for take out" instead of "to go" N/A
31. You say "open" or "close" the light. N/A
32. You ask for a "pentel-pen" or a "ball-pen" instead of just "pen." N/A
33. You asked for "Colgate" instead of "toothpaste." True.
34. You refer to the refrigerator as the "ref" or "pridyider." N/A
35. You say "kodakan" instead of take a picture. N/A
36. You order a McDonald's instead of "hamburger" (pronounced ham-boor-jer) N/A
37. You say "Ha" instead of "What." True.
38. You say "Hoy" get someone attention. True.
39. You answer when someone yells "Hoy." True.
40. You turn around when someone says "Psst" True.
41. You say "Cutex" instead of "nail polish." True.
42. You say "he" when you mean "she" and vice versa. Sometimes
43. You say "array" instead of "ouch." Still do sometimes.
44. Your sneeze sounds like "ahh-ching" instead of "ahh-choo." Still do.
45. You prefer to make acronyms for phrases such as "OA: for over acting or "TNT" for, well, you know. N/A
46. You say "air con" instead of "a/c" or air conditioner. True.
47. You say "brown-out" instead of "black-out." True.
48. You use a "walis ting-ting" or "walis tambo" as opposed to a conventional broom. True.
49. You use a "Weapons of Moroland" shield hanging in the living room wall. I’ve been searching for one, but haven’t been lucky.
50. You have a portrait of "The Last Supper" hanging in your dining room. Wait till I find one.
51. You own a karaoke system. Not yet.
52. You own a piano that no one ever plays. Does a keyboard count?
53. You have a tabo in the bathroom. N/A
54. Your house has too many burloloys. N/A
55. You have two to three pairs of tsinelas at your doorstep. N/A
56. Your house has an ornate wrought iron gate in front of it. N/A
57. You have a rose garden. N/A
58. You have a shrine of the "Santo Niño" in your living room. N/A
59. You have a "barrel man" (you pull up the barrel and you see something that looks familiar. Schwing...) Had one
60. You cover the living room furniture with bedsheets. I’m fixing to.
61. Your lamp shades still have the plastic cover on them. If I ever buy a lamp, I just may leave the plastic on.
62. You have plastic runners to cover the carpets in your house. N/A
63. You refer to your VCR as a "beytamax." He, he.
64. You have a rice dispenser. True.
65. You own a turbo boiler. True.
66. You own one of those fiber optic flower lamps. Oh sure, laugh at the guy with the fiber optic flower lamp.
67. You own a lamp with oil that drips down the strings. Too dangerous around kids.
68. You have a giant wooden fork and spoon hanging somewhere in the dining room. This is so funny. My mom still has our old ones.
69. You have a giant wooden tinikling dancer on the wall. N/A
70. You have capiz shells chandeliers, lamps, or placemats. I almost bought one last week.
71. You have a Mercedes Benz and you call it "chedeng." N/A
72. You own a huge van conversion. We used to ! We used to!
73. Your car chirps like a bird or plays a tune when it is in reverse. N/A
74. Your car horn can make 2 or 3 different sounds. N/A
75. Your car has curb feelers or curb detectors. He, he.
76. Your car has too many "burloloys" like a Jeepneys back in P.I. N/A
77. You hang a rosary on your car's rear view mirror. N/A
78. You have an air freshener in your car. True
79. You have aunts and uncles named "Baby," "Girlie," or "Boy." My youngest uncle is named Boy.
80. You were raised to believe that every Filipino is a aunt, uncle or cousin. This is so true it hurts my side everytime I laugh.
81. Your Dad was in the Navy. O Lord.
82. Your mom or sister or wife is a nurse. Kill me now…
83. You have a family member or relative that works in the Post Office. My youngest uncle works(ed) for the post office.
84. Your parents call each other "Mommy" and "Daddy" or "ma" and "pa." Never. Thank God.
85. You have family member that has a nickname that repeats itself, i.e."Deng-Deng," Ling-Ling" or "Bing-Bing" We call my sister Helena “Ning-Ning”
86. You put hot dogs in your spaghetti. Used to. Oh my God, I miss that meal!
87. You consider dilis the Filipino equivalent to French fries. True
88. You think that eating chocolate rice pudding and dried fish is a great morning meal. Oh Yeah.
89. You order things like tapsilog, tocsilog, or longsilog at restaurants. Fried rice, bacon, sweet sausage. Used to.
90. You instinctively grab a toothpick after each meal. Boy do I ever.
91. You order a "soft drink" instead of a "soda." Yep.
92. You dip bread in your morning coffee. You’ve never lived unless you dipped several slices of bread in your morning coffee.
93. You refer to seasonings and all other forms of monosodium glutamate as "Ajinomoto." Ok, ok…let me get off the floor first. My sides are starting to split.
94. Your cupboards are full of Spam, Vienna Sausage, Ligo, and Corned Beef, which you refer to as Karne Norte. Thank God, no, but all these things covered my cupboard while in the military.
95. Goldilocks means more to you than just a character in a fairy tale. Don’t know.
96. You appreciate a fresh pot of rice. Yum.
97. You bring your "baon" most of the time to work. Packed lunch, lunch box.
98. Your "baon" is usually something over rice. True.
99. Your neighbors complain about the smell of tuyo on Sunday mornings. Never.
100. You eat rice for breakfast. True.
101. You use your fingers to measure the water when cooking rice. This is old Filipino practice of cooking rice. Instead of using measuring cup, we measure the amount of water to put with the rice using fingers.

My Great-Grandparents

As a boy, I’ve always marveled at the methodical way my Filipino great-grandfather planted his rice crop. Each stalk of rice would stand straight up in a perfect row, each row lined up perfectly behind the other. The stalks never flailed, standing straight like soldiers at attention awaiting company inspection. Despite the monsoon weather and tropical storms that constantly afflicted the tiny provincial village, the rice plantation grew.

“The strongest bond “my great-grampa once said “between two objects is the foundation they build. The rice stalk depends on the ground for support and nourishment. The ground depends on the companionship of the stalk. In the end, the ground dries up and the stalk turns brown. Their legacy is used so that others may continue to live.”
Young boys rarely understand the reasons why grandparents talk the way they do. I certainly never quite caught on the reasons why grampa always spoke in poetic manner, almost in parables. Maybe he was conveying a more meaningful message to the young boy or maybe it was just his nature.
I had heard from some of the locals that grampa was one of the wisest men in the tiny provincial town. Regardless, I’ve held nothing but high regards and curious awe for the old man, especially during our moments together during our “morning bake.”
Each morning, just when the old rooster began his raspy bellows and before the sun arose on the horizon, grampa and great-grandson alike would sit facing west at the break of dawn. As the sun began its slow ascent, we would spend several minutes together basking in the sunrise. There were few words exchanged – only our shadows reflecting like giants across the sea of rice fields displayed the bonding of a slightly hunched gentleman and his smaller grandson.

The magnificence of the painting created by the two silhouetted figures against the suns’ outstretched rays was aggrandized by the insertion of one equally important figure in my life – my great-grandmother. Seeing gramma sneak up behind grampa as she put her arms around him had always given me a warmer feeling inside than the sun was emitting.
She was slightly taller than he. He was not a small man, but his demeanor makes him the tallest man in the world in my eyes. Seeing them enjoying the sun’s rays locked in embrace as they acknowledge their undying love for one another served to only boost a young boy’s confidence in having found the perfect place in his heart. This was where I always wanted to be – basking in the glow between the two most loving people I knew.



In traditional Filipino circles, show of public emotions between two people was taboo. It was almost an understood No-No. The demeanor of the male Filipino was such that a gentleman would not be caught sitting on the same bench as the lady. Sharing a seat was forbidden between male and female – even if they were married to each other. There must be a physical separation on the seat; partitions did not count. My great-grandparents however, were anything but traditionalists.