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When to be Proud?
While we’re having lunch one very hot summer noon, we were having our talk or plan for this coming election. A chance for us to have a grand vacation to the province because we were all registered there. We’re still having our lunch when my father took 2 pieces of bananas (lakatan) as ‘panghimagas’. There were four of us so I have to fight for it.J! After a while my father and I had one each. I am still eating what was left on my plate when my father peeled his share. After the first strip he put it back and put it down the table and took my share, peeled it and eats it. I took his share instinctively and open the peeled part, looked at it and I can’t help but to smile when I saw that some part of the banana was rotten. I looked at my father and we both laugh. J!
Then in an instant I had a thought. When I was a child my parents usually give the best part of whatsoever for us, their kids. When we hah had our pizza we always had the biggest part or double slice. When we ate our meal and had fish, they usually give us the body part and the head theirs. We usually had the best clothes than those they wear. And when things get tough they tried to make us feel that there’s nothing to worry. All the best belongs to us, second rates to them. But this time, I have had a sense of responsibility, I am old now, I’m not that kid anymore who demands for what is only the best.
A smile curved my lips when I peeled the fruit completely, removed the rotten part and eat it. This is the sweetest banana I ever taste I thought. Then my mind went over seas. The thought of my mom away from us created a lump on my throat. Then suddenly I remembered. Three days from now it’s her birthday!
When were having our siesta, I can’t get rid the thought out of my mind. Then I took a piece of paper out and a pen and started writing. “Things I made that makes my Mommy Proud” I started. And on the other column I wrote… “Things I made which Mommy can’t be proud of.” It took me a while before deciding to get another piece of paper and wrote the following. “Things my Mommy made that makes me proud.” And “Things my Mommy did that I can’t be proud of.”
At first I decided to fill up the second paper. I was surprised when I almost filled up all the space provided on the second column. I read it again and in an instant I felt the pain and the urge of hatred within me. The “Things my mommy did that I can’t be proud of.” column outnumbered the other. And I still have this urge to write more, tears fell. The frustrations and the pains inside me seared and for once I pitied myself.
It took me overnight to continue my writings. I had had a thought of not finishing it anymore, but finally decided against it. When I was writing “Things I made that makes my Mommy Proud” I felt a sense of increasing ego when I have countless of thoughts and moments to include in the list. Every detailed from the past, every cherished moments I have. There are also those moments that I know she’s proud of me but she’s not with me. I reviewed my list and I was surprised when almost half of my entries are moments I considered great moments but she’s not with me. Moments I know I’ve made her proud but she doesn’t know. Then it struck me…have I ever realized that she too had done things I should be proud of but it’s just that I didn’t know? I stopped, guilt overridden my flaccid mind. My hand became numb and I felt the touched of shame enveloped me.
To punish myself, I started writing for the “Things I made which Mommy can’t be proud of.” I was stupefied. I never thought that I had filled all the space provided yet I’m not yet half through of all the things I’ve done. I never had written those things that I’m too shameful to write. I intended to lessen the evil things I’ve done but with all those little things accumulated, it mounted in a landslide of shame and guilt. I don’t even have the courage to reread my entries; I simply put down my pen and had a heavy breath.
On the night before going to bed I took my completed lists and compared it by column. I smiled when I saw the first entry on my first list. “I made my mommy proud when I dance on the school presentation.”
Opposite it I wrote, “Mommy can’t be proud of me when I came sneaking coins from her purse.” The list extended I can’t even remember why I wrote some of those things. Entry number 8. “I made her proud when I had had my medals and ribbons during recognition days.” – “I can’t make her proud by when I lied.” Below this entry are the times when I lied. I smiled in awe when I saw that the list took much space and again I have more in mind. “I made her proud when I marched on my graduation and took my diploma.” “I made her proud when I passed the board exam.” – “I can’t make her proud when up to this date I’m jobless.”
I took the second paper and began reading it. “She made me proud when she came on my high school grad.” – “I’m not proud of her, when we came home after my high school grad and had nothing to eat.” This entry made me smile. Too shallow, I wondered why I had written it. Another entry… “She made me proud when she’s one of the prettiest moms on the hall on my College grad.” – “I’m not proud when after the ceremony I can’t find her for a “picture taking” moments with friends.” “She made me proud when she promised me a rubber shoes and a gold ring/necklace as a presents.” – “I’m not proud of her when she forgot about that promise.” I had many on my list. But this time I had an urge to tear the paper because it made me feel how shallow I am, how I value materials than of her presence and love. I’m not even sure if I had written that she made me proud that when I was a child she always gives me her share of food. Have I ever written that she made me proud from those times she went back home from work with a “pasalubong” for me? Have I ever realized how much she made me proud when she kissed me in public when I was a kid? Have she known how proud I am when she cured my bruises and wounds? For the times she scolded my siblings for hurting me? Everytime I went back home crying after every childhood brawls? I even asked myself, is there ever a time I have told her how much I love her, and how proud I am for having her?
I made her proud when she carries me on her womb for nine months. And I know how proud she is for having me as her son. My first cry was my first thank you. I’m proud to be her son!
My mother, for much time I hated her. She raised me with fears to them but she never let me live in fears. There are things that are beyond what I thought was ideal. When reasons and lies collided with my confused mind, I tend to believe what my young mind knew was right. Until then when reason presented itself and showed that not every ideal was supposed to be right. There are things beyond one man’s understanding and the only relief is acceptance.
My mother, she’s not perfect. She’s not the mother all child want to have, but still the best mom for me; and I gladly take every chance just to be his son if I were to be born again. People may say anything they want, they may remove her right to be a woman but they can never take her right to be a mother. They may all believe on the curses of sins, but I still believe on the power of forgiveness. She’s not a superwoman, no saint but a sinner likes us. She’s just she, human with flaws. What makes her special is that she is a woman and she is a mother.
Today is her birthday!
“Mom, have I told you yet today how much I Love You?”
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