CHAPTER 2: GRADE SCHOOL DAYS
My teacher lost patience with me
Whenever she asked me questions about the lesson, I froze. My mind wandered too much, and I couldn’t even recite the vowels properly. I lacked focus and was quickly labeled as a problem student. The only subject where I truly excelled was drawing. In art class, I stood out, my grades were consistently perfect, scoring 100 each time. But sadly, my constant talking often overshadowed my talent. One day, the teacher even used a paper clamp to keep my lips shut until the class ended. Afterward, she informed my mother about my behavior. I happened to overhear part of their conversation. The teacher accused my mother of lying about my real age. She claimed I was only six years old, even though my mother had said I was already seven when I was enrolled. Maybe Mama thought that since I would turn seven by October that year, it was acceptable to say I was already seven. Eventually, after running out of patience, the teacher had me transferred to Grade one, section 4, an afternoon class. The Humble Shift
Adjusting to this new environment took time. I even had a nightmare in a dream about one of my new classmates, his face full of boils, pulling me down from our house porch. In real life, one of my classmates had severe rashes. Many of the kids were somewhat unkempt in appearance. I wondered if I’d like it here. A Blessing In Disguise Surprisingly, I found peace. The simplicity of the environment warmed me. The children were kind, the teacher gentle. For the first time, I saw beauty in simplicity. My clean appearance and round figure made others think I was from a well-off family, and perhaps that helped me gain friends. I remember some names to this day, Hermis Delicano, Ricardo Nacional and Diomedes Castañares. Years later, sometime in 1991, I was walking along J. Tabura Street when someone called out my name. It was Diomedes. I greeted him, and he replied with a smile, holding a shovel as he worked. And we chatted for a fleeting moment trying to recall the old days. In this new class, I began to mature. I improved academically, reading, reciting, writing, even in subjects like English, Math, and Visayan. I was finally doing well, and the teacher showed me kindness. During recess, older students in higher years were selling snacks in our room from the canteen. Sometimes, Mrs. Abapo would buy more than she could eat and share the rest to me. My pocket money from Mama was only fifteen centavos, so I appreciated every extra bite. I also started visiting my classmates’ homes. Hermis lived just across a barbed wire fence near our classroom. Inside their kitchen stood a real ‘iba’ tree trunk, with fruits hanging right inside the house. One afternoon, I went also to Michael Medel’s home in Campar, Pardo. I later found out my parents used to live in the house they owned as tenants when they just started a family. It felt like home Many afternoons, our teacher asked us to do a siesta or a short nap while she listened to radio dramas on her transistor radio. But I just pretended to be asleep, I was actually listening as well. I remember the title of this radio drama was "Mga Mata ni Angelita", or translated in English as "The Eyes of Angelita". The story blends drama, fantasy, and spirituality, portraying Angelita as an innocent, kind-hearted child who becomes a vessel of miracles. Despite her blindness, she "sees" more than others. And while I glued my ears to the drama, our teacher cooked bananas in an old tin can at the back of our classroom using firewood. She shared them to her pupils later on when cooked. My first fist-to-fist fight I also experienced my first fistfight in Grade One. During cleaning time, I approached a much taller boy outside the classroom and asked if he wanted to be my friend. He responded with a punch to my face. I tried to fight back, but he was too tall. I cried hard and, in panic, picked up a stone and threw it at him. He ran off. My teacher and classmates came to comfort me. After that, they thought I was tough. I even let them punch my tummy just to show I could take it without flinching. Childhood moments after class
We lingered around as we had to wait for the flag-lowering ceremony after the afternoon class session ended. We spent much of our time resting under the caimito (star apple) tree. When the tree was bearing fruit, we threw stones at the ripe ones until they fell. Those fruits were delicious, even if bruised from the fall. Mabuhay Ang Pilipino Song: Looking back That year changed me in ways I couldn’t understand at the time. What began as a humiliating transfer turned into a blessing. I learned that kindness, friendship, and growth often bloom in the simplest places. I didn’t need to be in the top section to thrive. I just needed people who saw me not as a problem, but as a child learning his way. Doing well in school By this time, I was doing fairly well in school. My memory had improved, and I could recite our entire book about Dr. Jose Rizal from beginning to end without even opening a page. I was also getting better in math. I had learned both addition and subtraction, and I remember some of my classmates would peek at my answers. I didn’t mind, it was fine with me if they copied. But sometimes, I was a bit of a mischievous kid, I’d let them copy the wrong answers first, and then I’d quietly change mine to the correct ones later. There's a sense of favoritism Facing my first bully I also had a classmate who bullied me. He was smaller and thinner than I was, but for some reason, I feared him. Perhaps it was because the teacher always seemed to take his side whenever he picked a fight with me. His name was Jose. One time, out on the playground, we ended up exchanging punches. I cried hard, so hard that I wet my pants. My older brother, Junjun (Artemio Jr.), was there with his classmates. He shouted, “Fight, you coward!” But all I could do was cry, but I tried to throw punches even reluctantly while crying. Knowing a relative classmate I also had a friend and relative named Edgar Umbay. He was the son of my father’s niece, Belinda Umbay. Their family owned a store in the public market, and their house was located behind a place we called Villa Tambis. I often visited their home, and they were always kind to me. His parents would give me food, and I felt welcome there. Learning how to garden Discovery of an unusual stone To this day, I’ve never encountered anything quite like those stones again. Whatever they were, natural phenomena or just the wild wonder of childhood, they’ve remained in my memory as one of the many odd and fascinating mysteries of my youth. Looking back My Grade 2 experience, as a whole, wasn’t as colorful as it had been in Grade 1. For one, the teacher didn’t seem to be on my side and rarely acknowledged my efforts to do well in her class. I tried my best to excel, but it often felt unnoticed. Still, that was just at school. At home, my days remained joyful and full of excitement. There, I was free to be myself, surrounded by family, play, and the simple pleasures that made my childhood special. Downgraded to a lower section I had a feeling my Grade 2 teacher didn’t like me much, so when I was promoted to Grade 3, I ended up in Section Four. Back then, your intellectual ability was judged by which section you were in, Section One was for the top students, and the lower sections were often unfairly seen as where the “least smart” were placed. My teacher that year was Mrs. Abao, who was probably in her early or late forties. Still doing my best in school Just like in prior year, I was never left behind in class. I kept up well and even competed with some of the brightest pupils, like a girl named Marissa Buaya. She was sharp and quick on her feet, definitely a tough one to beat. We often participated in classroom contests where we’d stand in a line between desks, and for every correct answer, we’d take one step forward. Whoever reached the front first was hailed as the brightest in class. Trying to win my teachers attention But more than anything, I had a strong desire to impress my teacher. Maybe it was because I felt unwanted back in Grade 2, and this time, I craved my teacher’s attention and approval. One time, after our periodical test, I scored very high, just two mistakes. Another student had the same score. Mrs. Abao congratulated us both but expressed doubt, suspecting that someone might have cheated. But I knew I didn’t. It turned out that our scores were the highest in the entire Grade 3 level, even though we were only from Section Four. The brightest students were supposedly in Section One. One embarrassing moment Pretending to be someone else just to impress Because I wanted so badly to make a good impression on my teacher, I often tried to hide the fact that we weren’t well-off. During fundraisings, I would eagerly raise my hand to contribute, even when it wasn’t required. I would insist to my mother to give me money, no matter how tight things were at home. I remember one time, I asked Mama for two pesos for a school fundraising project. The next day, I proudly handed it to the teacher right away. To my surprise, I was the first and the last to contribute. Nobody else gave anything. I felt a wave of regret. Two pesos was a big amount for us in those days. Looking back, I realized I could have kept the money to myself without telling anyone, not even Mama. But I wanted so much to be seen as someone who could give, someone who belonged. I won the attention of my teacher Still, my efforts didn’t go unnoticed. On several occasions, my teacher invited me and another classmate selectively to visit her house, especially when there was some kind of an occasion. Too ashamed to sell candies A child born in between has to content with left-overs We were a big family, and Mama couldn’t always afford our school needs. When the school bag I inherited from my older brother wore out, Mama sewed me a new one using leftover fabric on her sewing machine. One day, a girl from the neighborhood noticed it and exclaimed, “Ninduta bag nimo, Uly, a!” (Uly, your bag is so nice!), not so bad. We called her Jica, short for Jessica Cabaluna. The president's feeding program As for my friends, I can still recall a few names: Julius, Francisco, Roel and Eulogio, who also happened to be our neighbor in Kabulihan. Looking back My Grade 3 year was a time of quiet resilience, small triumphs, and innocent hopes. I may not have been in the top section, nor came from a well-off family, but I learned how to stand tall in my own little way, by trying, even if it meant to pretend. It was a year that taught me that even when the world tries to define your worth by numbers or possessions, your effort will not always be left unnoticed, because it speaks louder than you could imagine. I have only a few memories left from this year, but I’ll try my best to recall what I can. I was in the afternoon session, and my teacher was Mrs. Pastor. I liked her, she was a good teacher: short-haired, fair-complexioned, and calm in demeanor. She was kind to me. I remember one time she even asked me to accompany her home to help carry the stool she used in school. It was quite a walk for her house was around two kilometers away. Still, I didn’t mind. I was always naturally respectful, especially toward people I considered above me in stature. And as my teacher, she truly deserved that respect. I tried hard academically, but others stood out By this time, we no longer had a single teacher handling all subjects. There were now specialized teachers for each area: Math, English, Social Studies, Science, and more. Being promoted to Grade 4, Section 2 meant I had moved up two steps from where I had been the previous year. It was a sign of progress, and I was proud of that. In this new class, I continued striving to excel. But I quickly noticed that one classmate seated near me was simply more advanced. His name was Reynold Chiquote (if I remember correctly), and he was a fast learner, sharp, quick to understand lessons, and often ahead of the rest. The teaching method back then was usually straightforward: the teacher would explain a lesson, and afterward, we’d be asked questions to test our understanding. One day, I was called to the blackboard to write something about animal classifications, reptiles, amphibians, mammals, and so on. Reynold whispered the answers to help me. At first, I hesitated, I didn’t like being spoon-fed. I wanted my answers to be my own. But pride had to give way. It would have been more embarrassing not to answer at all. But the brightest in our class was a girl named Jocelyn Ababon. She lived in Kinasang-an, Pardo. I visited their home once and saw they were very poor. I had expected to see her again in Grade 5, Section 1, where I was headed, but she was no longer there. Maybe she had dropped out for some reason or another. I never found out for sure. Learning paper skills from a classmate My older siblings performance in school Floor scrubbing with coconut husk (bunot battles) In the main school building I was now in, scrubbing the classroom floor with bunot (coconut husk) was a regular cleaning chore. But for us kids, we turned it into a full-blown game. We’d place our feet on the husk, hold on to a partner or balance ourselves, and slide across the floor like we were skating. Sometimes, we turned it into a battle or “bunot bumping”, where two kids would scrub toward each other and try to knock the bunot off their opponent’s foot. The one who stayed on won. It was loud, messy, and full of laughter, but the floors ended up shiny, so even the teachers didn’t mind too much. My best part of the year Outside school activities Outside school, these were the days that my life was filled with games and laughter. I played with kids in the neighborhood, siatong, tago-tago, bagol, tigso, dakop-dakop, bato-lata, bitok-bitok, Chinese garter, Chinese slipper, sungka, even jackstone when I was with the girls. I loved storytelling, especially horror stories. My playmates included Gina, Elvie, Glendale, Nat, Ayen, Randy, and others whose faces still linger in my memory. The kindness of my dear aunt Looking back Grade 4 was a year of quiet transition, moving to the main school building, meeting new classmates, and learning about life even beyond classroom. It was the year I tried harder, played harder, and quietly carried the weight of things, things I didn't fully understand. I may not have stood out as the best, but I knew I was growing, bit by bit. shaped by my classmates, my teachers, and the people around me, especially those who had so little, yet gave so much. That year reminded me that even in unassuming places, there were joys, friendships, and moments that would stay with me for the rest of my life. Finally promoted to the highest section This school year marked a small but meaningful victory for me, I was finally promoted to Section 1. That meant I now went to school in the morning, walking alongside my brother Junjun. My teacher-adviser was Mrs. Cagigas. Rumors floated around that she was a witch, and honestly, I kind of believed them too. Her pale skin and occasionally red eyes fed into our childhood “witch-detector” logic. But despite those eerie suspicions, she was a very good and respectable teacher.
My encounter with my teacher-adviser in the marketplace My older brother Glenn warned me that she was strict. Once, she even poked him on the head with a hardbound textbook when he couldn’t answer a question. She taught Reading, Phonics, and English. I made it a point to always be polite to her. Whenever I saw her in the market, I never forgot to greet her with a smile. Once she said, “Good boy, are you the one who does the market errands?” I replied proudly, “Yes, ma’am.” I’d learned to choose fish and vegetables wisely, something my other siblings weren’t very reliable at. Mama trained me well. My first crush in school At home, my brothers and sisters often teased me, calling me “gay.” But by this time, I already had my first crush. There were many beautiful girls in our class, some looked like full grown ladies. One of them was Eden Mondigo. She had fair skin and always looked neat. I was completely smitten. One day at the market, she saw me and greeted me. I turned bright red and couldn’t even manage a reply. I just stood there, frozen with embarrassment. Another was Christine Unabia, the daughter of one of our teachers. She looked very mature and rumor had it that she already had a boyfriend. Then there was Azucena Gabuya, another teacher’s daughter, also beautiful. Sadly, I later learned she died in a car accident. My intelligence was challenged and compared with my older siblings Academically, things were more competitive now, but I was able to keep up with the best in class. I respected many of my teachers: Mr. Jaca for Health and Science; Mrs. Baklay for Math; and of course, Mrs. Cagigas for English. But I had a particularly tough time with our Pilipino teacher, Mrs. Bacasmas. I once got embarrassed in class when she asked about my father’s job and I couldn’t answer properly. I had guessed he was a radio operator, something I picked up from overhearing his conversations. I wrote it in our “Kathang Pormal” essay, only to be accused of copying my seatmate, whose father was a radio operator-seaman. It happens that she knew my parents well and that my father's job was a soldier or a police in the Philippine Constabulary. She then compared me unfavorably to my siblings, May and Glenn, saying I wasn't as bright. That stung. But in fairness, my answer was partly correct, as a military person, one of my father's job was doing inter-office communication via morse code. In other words, he's also a radio operator in some ways. Nevertheless, our next periodical exam result had proved her wrong, I scored 96, the highest in her class. Assist the teachers and doing errands for them Our classroom was just across from the school supervisor’s office. His name was Mr. Gantuangco. I often helped clean his office, and once he found out I was Mama Tancing’s nephew (she ran a carinderia near the school), I became his go-to food runner. Mrs. Cagigas also frequently sent me to buy food, usually a hot bowl of linat-an, a beef broth loved by many teachers for its taste and affordability. My over-active imagination run wild Mama entrusted me to buy stocks for her sari-sari store Buying stocks for the store became my job. It used to be Papa’s task, but Mama discovered he had been using the money to gamble on jai alai. Though he brought back the goods, he often bought them on credit from the Carbon market. This was also the year when the family of Mery, the girl I mentioned in earlier chapters, moved into the house next door. That house was once occupied by Bebe and Canor, the school janitor. Mery’s family, her parents Conching and Peping, and her siblings Tatang, Odong, Cendil (Glendale), Ojet (Roger), Mery, Mater, Boy, and Belen, became like extended family to us. We never had any quarrels. Their arrival brought joy and companionship. My second-time fistfight with a playmate I was still very much a child, obsessed with games. My free time was filled with playing card games, chess, marbles, bingo, hantak (coin toss gambling), luthang (bamboo gun), tutho (papaya stalk blowpipe), spider fighting, and many others. That year, I had my second fistfight, this time with Ayen, Nat’s younger brother. Ayen had ruined our game, so we fought. Nat came to his brother’s aid, but he ended up with a bloody nose. Luckily, our families were close, so there was no bad blood. Looking back Grade 5 wasn’t just about being promoted to Section 1, it was about stepping into a bigger world and slowly finding my place in it. I was still that same playful, curious boy, but now I had real responsibilities, real challenges, and moments that forced me to grow. Whether it was doing errands for Mama in the wet market, buying stocks for her store, or buying food for my teachers and cleaning the office, I knew I earned their trust despite my tender age. And whether enduring my siblings' teasing or secretly falling for classmates, every experience felt bigger than me, but I faced them the best way I knew how. I wasn’t always confident, and I wasn’t always right. Some teachers doubted me. I stumbled, got compared to others, and even got into a fistfight. But I also surprised a few people, including myself, with what I was capable of. In the end, it was a year of quiet triumphs: a high score when no one expected it, a teacher’s smile at the market, a moment of respect earned. These were small victories, but to a boy finding his way in life, they meant everything.
written in manuscript -February 9, 1993, Tuesday, 9 PM A change in year section classification By the time I reached Grade 6, I was grateful to still be in Section 1. But that year, the school system changed. Sections were no longer based strictly on academic performance. Classes were mixed, with students of varying abilities grouped together. Fortunately, I still had some of my favorite classmates with me, Dennis Guangco, Glenn Alegarbes, Ariel Quijano, and Felipe Abarquez. As for the girls in class, I wasn’t particularly close to any of them, which was also true for the rest of my barkada. Cannot avoid to be compared to my older sibling I remember that graduation vividly. Junjun almost didn’t make it to the ceremony due to a disagreement with our parents. I never found out what it was really about, possibly something as trivial as what he wore, or maybe our parents’ hesitation to attend. We siblings always felt our parents weren’t the expressive type when it came to showing pride in our achievements. Our English teacher screened students to be in her class Back in our Grade 6 class, Mrs. Santos wasn’t happy with the mixed-section system. To reassess our standing, she gave us a screening test in English. We had to read a story and answer four questions. I got 2 out of 4, same as my intelligent classmate Felipe, who later graduated as our valedictorian. Only a few scored 3 or 4. So, those of us who got at least 2 were kept in Section 1. Popular songs taught by our class adviser Mrs. Santos also had a love for teaching songs. One of them was “Service” (We are made for service, to care for all men…). Another was “One Little Candle” (It is better to light just one little candle…). We sang that same song again during our Junior-Senior Prom in third-year in the later years during my high school days. Two years later, we sang it once more during a formation program at San Agustin Seminary in Makati, as part of a candle-lighting presentation. That song saved our group’s performance, since we had little else to show. A teacher's way to motivate the students We had other memorable teachers too. Mrs. Bacayo, who taught Health and Science, was strict, sometimes excessively so. When I failed to answer a question, she once pinched the hair near my ear, and sometimes even pinched armpits. Then there was Mrs. Kiamco, whose teaching style leaned more toward reward-based approach. She gave 25 centavos to anyone who got a perfect score in her quizzes. One time, I was the only one who supposedly got a perfect score. I realized afterward I had an error, but I had already corrected it on the paper before my classmates could point it out. Because I didn’t want her to feel let down, I kept it as it is. But on many occasions I truly got perfect scores. Receiving my own dose of medicine as a bully I had a tight-knit barkada that year. Being part of a group gave me a sense of confidence, perhaps too much. We sometimes looked down on other classmates, especially those we considered unattractive. There was a girl named Marietta, dark-skinned with curly hair, and we cruelly teased her by calling her “matsing,” meaning monkey. One day, she hit me hard with a broomstick out of anger. It hurt like hell that I endured for days, but I pretended it didn’t. A teacher perfectionist In the afternoons, we had Industrial Arts in the large workshop building. Our teacher, Mr. Abosolo, was a master of his craft. He taught us technical drawing, lettering, carpentry, and other skills. He was a strict grader, one mistake and your score was zero. Luckily, I always managed to get perfect scores. I was taught how to be resourceful Outside school, my childhood remained full of play. Behind our house, under the shade of coconut trees and surrounded by banana plants, was a fine patch of earth where neighborhood kids gathered. In a nearby bamboo hut with a cement floor and nipa roof, older boys played hantak (a coin-flipping gambling game) and cards. I often watched them. Graduation As graduation neared, my friends and I started talking about high school. Felipe considered enrolling at a technical school in the city, where admission required an average of at least 85. But I later saw him enrolled at Gullas High School, likely for the same reason I didn't go to a technical school in the city, because of monetary constraints. March 1980 came, and I finally graduated from elementary school. After the ceremony, I looked for Mama. She was nowhere. I waited in the church so I could have a graduation photo taken, but she never came. I eventually returned to school for lunch, and though some classmates had already gone home. Summer fun after graduation Summer arrived, and so did kite-flying season. Near our place was a wide open field where children and even grown men flew all sorts of colorful kites, sinugong, sinapi, buwan-buwan, sinayaw, binandera, tinaro, tawo-tawo. Before summer ended, Mama sent me to stay with her brother, Tiyo Metring, and his wife Melba, in Subangdaku, Mandaue City. She said it was just a vacation, but it felt more like being a houseboy. I fetched water, cleaned, and watched over their two kids, Atoy, the mischievous one, and Banban, an effiminate one at the age of two. I didn’t know them well, so I felt awkward and homesick. Their house, made of light materials, stood beside a rice and corn field.
Tiyo Metring was a kind man and very talkative especially when drunk. Tiya Melba, on the other hand, was a bit of a nag. One day I overheard her saying I might be a burden because I ate too much. That hurt. I longed for time to pass quickly so I could go home. I remember flying a kite with the children one day, running through the dried cornfield. Suddenly, Lorenzo, the caretaker, came charging at us with a bolo, shouting threats. We ran back to the house. Tiya Melba scolded him, claiming the land belonged to my grandmother, which wasn’t exactly true. But still it was owned by a relative on my mother side. Later that summer, I stayed with another uncle, Tiyo Nilo, and his wife, Tiya Daya in Wireless, Mandaue City. They ran a small eatery for factory workers. I fetched water from a well owned by a grouchy woman named Isang, who always scolded me. Still, both Tiyo Nilo and Tiya Daya were kind. When I made mistakes, they just laughed. I noticed that in other people’s homes, I became very quiet and shy. Eventually, my parents came and took me home. Before I left, Tiyo Nilo and Tiya Daya gave me some money. And from that, I end my grade school life story. Final Thoughts on My Grade School Journey Grade school was a time of innocence and discovery, a season in life when lessons went far beyond academics. It was where I first learned that we can't always please everyone, no matter how much we try. People are shaped by their own backgrounds, and not all are open or fair. Some follow emotions more than reason, and others carry biases they may not even recognize. As a child, I didn’t understand this. I only felt the sting of being judged or excluded, which left marks that would quietly follow me into adulthood. It's only now that I realize how those early experiences shape how we see ourselves and others. One key lesson stayed with me: respect is earned, not demanded. But even our best efforts won’t always be appreciated. That doesn’t mean we stop trying, it means we grow stronger, wiser. Just like an object at rest needs a force to move, people, too, are shaped by the forces around them, their past, their pain, their joy. These experiences, both joyful and painful, didn’t break me. They helped me grow. They taught me empathy, resilience, and the value of becoming a better person through every stumble and every triumph.GRADE 1 - SCHOOL YEAR 1974-1975
In the early days of June 1974, I began my first year in grade school, Grade One, Section 1, at Pardo Elementary School. I was a chubby, overly friendly little boy, excited to meet people and always ready to talk. My teacher was Mrs. Andales, a strict woman who had her hands full trying to manage a room full of children, especially me.
I couldn’t stay in one seat. I moved from desk to desk, eager to introduce myself and make friends. I talked nonstop, even during class discussions. I was always the first to whisper something to my seatmate, always the one laughing, even if it wasn’t the right time. Naturally, this didn’t sit well with my teacher. She scolded me often and, back then, even punished me physically with a rod.
photo of me, the boy on the left, with my mom and siblings circa early 1970s
The change felt strange. Section 4 was very different. It was located in a remote building at the periphery of the school. The children looked less polished, many from poor families. Our new teacher, Mrs. Abapo, had cross-eyes and lived in a humble bamboo shanty with nipa leaves as roof, along I. Tabura Street. I often helped her carry her things home, and that’s how I came to know her house and the place where she lived.
To reach Michael’s house, I had to cross a busy highway. At one point, two elderly couple saw me in the middle of the road, as I was panicking, surrounded by speeding vehicles. They were so anxious, more that I was, fearing a car might hit me. They waited till there were only few vehicles left and rushed to grab my hand at the center of the road and scolded me. They helped me cross safely, warning me to go straight home. Those two elderly couple were kind to me and I must thank them.
It was all about the life of Angelita, a blind girl and an orphan who was adopted by nuns when found unconscious after someone attempted to kill her by letting her walk straight ahead on the edge of a cliff. In the monastery, she starts her deep devotion to Virgin Mary. Her eyes gifted her with mysterious powers. She eventually had her pair of eyes missing.
After classes, we cleaned the room, swept the yard, and picked up dried leaves and litter. One classroom cabinet held a honeycomb. We’d poke at it until bees swarmed and stung us, or, better yet, one of our unsuspecting classmates. It sounds cruel now, but we laughed at everything back then.
At the flag-lowering ceremony, I remember we sang this song "Mabuhay ang Filipino"!, which means in English, "Long Live the Filipino!". The lyrics and music of this song goes like this (with English translation):GRADE 2 - SCHOOL YEAR 1975-1976
In Grade 2, I was in section 3, which meant I had to attend morning classes. Our classroom was still in the same building, but located on the opposite far end. My teacher was Mrs. Fausto. I can still vaguely picture the contours of her face, she wore eyeglasses and carried herself with a sense of quiet authority.
Despite my growing interest in school, my teacher never seemed to appreciate my efforts. It eventually dawned on me that she showed favoritism. One morning, she suddenly scolded me, calling me dirty and disgusting. Confused, I looked down and saw my shirt was stained with corn coffee that I had spilled some during breakfast earlier that day.
Since our classes were in the morning, we usually had gardening activities in the afternoon. One day, I went to Edgar’s house to get some fertilizer, as our teacher had asked us to bring something for the school garden. We planted onions, and they grew quite well, thanks to the natural fertilizer we used: dried horse manure.
Adjacent to the school garden, we discovered some peculiar crystallic stones embedded in the ground that quickly became the source of our amusement. We played around them often and gave them a name, “live stones.” They earned that title because of something strange and almost magical: whenever we held one close to our heads, especially near our hair, it would pull at the strands as if with an invisible hand or some mysterious force was tugging at them. It felt like there's a magnet, though it caused a slight sting that made us wince and laugh at the same time.GRADE 3 - SCHOOL YEAR 1976-1977
That year, I learned more English and Filipino grammar, and extended my math skills to include multiplication, division, and a little bit of fractions.
I truly enjoyed the company of my classmates. No one bullied me, and we all got along well. But one morning during gardening time, I had an embarrassing but amusing experience. My classmates and I started throwing lumps of clay at a wall near the Industrial Arts building. I was the one who initiated the mischief. We were laughing and having fun, until Mr. Abasolo, the Industrial Arts teacher, suddenly came out and caught us. We were scolded right away. Trying to defend myself, I said, “You see, I threw stones to remove the clay from the wall!” I knew it was a poor excuse, I just wanted to save myself from embarrassment.
On another occasion, my mother gave me coconut candies to sell at school. I liked the idea at first, mainly because of the commission. But when I got to class, I suddenly felt ashamed. I thought it might look degrading. So I stayed quiet the whole day. Just before dismissal, I finally mustered the courage and told my classmates, “I have coconut candies. Do you want some?”, without telling them they were for sale. When I got home, my mother was furious. I hadn’t sold anything, and only a few candies were left.
Even though this was during the martial law era under the late Pres. Ferdinand Marcos, we still found a little contentment. At school, there was a feeding program by the government especially for indigent children to curb hunger. They called it Nutriban. There was a free bread and milk. We jokingly called the bread, “pan de ok-ok” (cockroach bread), because it smelled oddly like cockroach, maybe because of the low, quality flour. But my favorite was the skim milk powder.
(photo above right, Pres. Marcos, the first lady Imelda, together with their daughter Imee, spearheading in giving bread to the poor kids in public schools)
During recess time, I was one of the many children who lined up for it. And no matter what it was made of, that bread filled our stomachs.GRADE 4 - SCHOOL YEAR 1977-1978
My close friends in class were James Alegado and Ariel Quijano. Ariel, in particular, taught me a lot of paper, folding skills, frogs, planes, birds, and even more complicated shapes. While at work, I now pass on what I learned, showing them to my office mates. Making a paper frog or airplane always reminds me of him.
That year, I moved to the school’s main building. Sections 1 and 2 of each grade level had classes there. My brother Junjun was in Grade V, Section 1, in the morning session. My elder siblings had always been in Section 1. My sister May was a consistent honor student, she graduated as Salutatorian. During this time, she was already in her second year at Abellana National School in the city, between downtown and uptown Cebu. My brother Glenn (whom we called Giging) was also in Abellana, starting his first year. He had been awarded Boy Scout of the Year upon graduation in grade school.
(photo of May and Glenn, above right, circa late 1970s)
What truly brightened this school year for me was the Christmas season. That’s when I was so mesmerized by the songs we began to practice for the occasion. The most popular song then was Michael Jackson’s “Give Love on Christmas Day”. it literally was played everywhere and also became my favorite. Other songs included “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus,” “Mama Cita,” “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” and many more. The Christmas party, especially the exchange gift, was the most anticipated event.
When it came my time to buy a gift, my sister and I went to the market. I chose a figurine, it was the gift I really wanted for myself. But after the Christmas party, I went home with tears in my eyes. The gift I received was a bar of detergent soap and a small pack of powder detergent. I was crushed inside, though I was still a bit composed, not to show my disappointment.
That was also the time when we had “bayle,” a sort of a dance party during barrio or barangay fiesta, sometimes we called it later as disco, happening just near our house. My brother Junjun would bring a box filled with cigarettes and candies to sell to partygoers. Later on, I followed his lead and sold items too to earn money.
(photo on the right, Junjun "Artemio Jr." during school closing ceremonies with our eldest sister May, he's a consistent honor student, late 1970s)
During some months of that school year, Papa’s older sister, Mama Presing, stayed with us. She was an old maid, gentle, soft-spoken, and very kind. She opened a small sari-sari store just beside our front door. Junjun even built her a wooden coin box to keep her small earnings. She sold bread, candies, and snacks, just enough to make a little profit, though not much. She was so kind to me. She was always the one to comfort me whenever Mama or Papa scolded or beat me for some mischief I had done. She would quietly hand me few coins from her savings, just to calm me down and stop from crying. I never ever remember a moment she had treated me harshly. But despite her goodness and generosity, I must admit with shame that I sometimes took coins from her cash box without her knowing. Because Mama Asyon was too stingy. To this day, I still feel guilty about it.
(photo of Mama Presing, above left, with my older siblings in a beach in Talisay, Cebu circa 1968)
GRADE 5 - SCHOOL YEAR 1978-1979
One time, I delivered food to Mrs. Cagigas’ house. It was dim, old, and full of cobwebs. My imagination ran wild, I became more convinced she really was a witch. I dropped off the food and ran as fast as I could. Her house reminded me of Quirino’s place near Tagonol, a dark, eerie home surrounded by large trees. People whispered that he was a male witch. There was even an old well beside the house, we believed that’s where he disposed of his victims. He was a big, pale man who walked slowly. But later, my brother Elmer and I became friends with his nephew, and our fear of him disappeared, after all, his eyes weren’t red.
Back home, Mama Asyon continued running the sari-sari store previously managed by Mama Presing as she moved somewhere to help in Mama Tancing’s food business. She was a kind, hardworking old maid who often coughed through the night and kept a small can by her bed for phlegm. We weren’t allowed near it. Sadly, we couldn’t afford to take her to a doctor, and she never asked. She understood our situation too well. I will never forget her kindness.GRADE 6 - SCHOOL YEAR 1979-1980
Our adviser was Mrs. Santos, who also taught English. She was a good and competent teacher, though I clearly remember a moment during enrollment when she asked my mother, “Is he also intelligent?” My mother responded candidly, “Not quite.” That comparison was inevitable, my brother Junjun had just graduated as class valedictorian the year before.
left photo, Junjun during his grade school graduation as the class valedictorian with Mama, Mrs. Santos, and Mr. Gantuangco
My sister May, for example, received honors in Grade V, but it was our teacher, Mrs. Cagigas, who pinned the ribbons on her because our parents weren’t there. Still, that day, I walked to school early and sat near the stage. Thankfully, Junjun showed up with them just in time to deliver his valedictory speech, and I was proud.
photo on the right, my sister May when she was in grade 5 receiving that recognition from the class adviser Mrs. Cagigas
One time, I desperately needed a Pentel pen for an Industrial Arts project, but Mama couldn’t give me money. Instead, she asked me to buy a kilo of camote (sweet potato), cut them into cubes and cooked them in oil with sugar to make it into a "camote cue" to sell. I sold them for 50 centavos a stick in that hut full of boy-gamblers. Only then I was able to pay and buy a Pentel pen.
The ceremony was held at the Pardo Parish Church. I didn’t receive any honors, though I secretly hoped for at least one award. A district-wide exam was given, and whoever got the highest score in each subject was to be recognized. I scored 95 in English, the highest, except I tied with Christine Unabia, a teacher’s daughter. So she got the award.
I still managed to have my graduation picture taken.
I spent hours under the sun, watching my kite dance in the sky until my skin turned dark and my eyes reddened. Mama often scolded me for skipping meals just to fly kites.
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