This 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.
My teacher lost patience with me
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.
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.
(me, first boy from the left, early 1970s)
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.
A transfer to a lower section
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.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.
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 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".
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.
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.
Vacant moments after class
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.
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.
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):
Mabuhay Ang Pilipino Song: