by Manny
City lights hung low tonight. From a distance, a purple haze streaks across what is left of sunset. I squint my eyes to look at the yellow broken lines approaching and leaving me from the windows of the car. As beads of rain wash down my view, I see the yellow lines blurring, diffusing, and finally leaving.
I let out a sigh, and shifted my focus on the road ahead.
"Would you like to stop for dinner?" Mom asked as she began tapping the edges of the steering wheel, while slightly massaging the temples of her head.
"Yup. That would be nice." I smiled at her.
"Okay. Let's pass by some gas station convenience store for a quick st--"
"Mommy, wag naman dun..."
"Hmmm..okay, okay... how about St. Francis Square?"
"Better."
While we were negotiating the crawl from the Valle 5 area up to the Mega Mall jam, I remember how I always wanted the sound of rain beating against the car windows when I was still high school. I would unconsciously stare and listen to the drops of rain for such a long time until I see myself looking at me.
Then there would be silence.
College life left me with less time to continue that habit. Well, first of all, there was no need to drive me to school and fetch me anymore. My parents had an apartment rented just for me a few blocks from campus. Secondly, of the few times that they did fetch me from school for some reason or another, it never rained.
I am glad to see those drops sliding down the windows once again.
Showing posts with label son. Show all posts
Showing posts with label son. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Not Now.
by Omie
A child was named Kobe.
His Daddy and Mommy loved him so much.
They will gave everything to Kobe:
complete vitamins, nutritious food,
and of course, lots of toys.
His mom always talked to Kobe
and tells him to be a good boy when he grows up.
His dad bought him more toys
and played with him everyday.
But one day,
Someone called Kobe:
"you can't be with them anymore."
"but why?" asked Kobe.
"it's not yet time for you to be with them."
"But I want to be with them,
they would be sad without me."
"Not now."
So Kobe kept waiting,
to finally see his Daddy and Mommy
one day.
A child was named Kobe.
His Daddy and Mommy loved him so much.
They will gave everything to Kobe:
complete vitamins, nutritious food,
and of course, lots of toys.
His mom always talked to Kobe
and tells him to be a good boy when he grows up.
His dad bought him more toys
and played with him everyday.
But one day,
Someone called Kobe:
"you can't be with them anymore."
"but why?" asked Kobe.
"it's not yet time for you to be with them."
"But I want to be with them,
they would be sad without me."
"Not now."
So Kobe kept waiting,
to finally see his Daddy and Mommy
one day.
The Last Basketball Game
by Pat Balo
I started playing one-on-one basketball with my dad at the age of 8. We must have played roughly around 500 games all in all.
But this isn’t about the first 499 games we played. This is about the last basketball game we played as father and son.
But first, a brief background. My dad was a good basketball player. Good enough to win a high school championship and earn a FEATI engineering degree on a basketball scholarship. Good enough to get 3 MVP awards from various commercial leagues and get a front tooth knocked out by a younger Robert Jaworski.
But by the time I turned 15, he was 46 years old, an ageing basketball star slowly fading away while I was a rising starter for a championship volleyball team. It was age and experience versus youth and energy…and up to this point, age and experience had always won out.
But this game was different. Right from the very start, it was obvious that things weren’t what they used to be. My father tried lofting layups over my head and I swatted them away. He tried driving on me and I was there, blocking his path to the hoop. I blazed past him for easy lay ups and grabbed my every miss for second and third and even fourth chance points.
Finally, on match point, leading by more than 5 on a race to 11 game, I drove once again for the win. As I soared up, I caught a glimpse of sadness on my dad’s face.
My dad hugged me and congratulated me on my first ever win against him.
And we never played basketball ever again.
I started playing one-on-one basketball with my dad at the age of 8. We must have played roughly around 500 games all in all.
But this isn’t about the first 499 games we played. This is about the last basketball game we played as father and son.
But first, a brief background. My dad was a good basketball player. Good enough to win a high school championship and earn a FEATI engineering degree on a basketball scholarship. Good enough to get 3 MVP awards from various commercial leagues and get a front tooth knocked out by a younger Robert Jaworski.
But by the time I turned 15, he was 46 years old, an ageing basketball star slowly fading away while I was a rising starter for a championship volleyball team. It was age and experience versus youth and energy…and up to this point, age and experience had always won out.
But this game was different. Right from the very start, it was obvious that things weren’t what they used to be. My father tried lofting layups over my head and I swatted them away. He tried driving on me and I was there, blocking his path to the hoop. I blazed past him for easy lay ups and grabbed my every miss for second and third and even fourth chance points.
Finally, on match point, leading by more than 5 on a race to 11 game, I drove once again for the win. As I soared up, I caught a glimpse of sadness on my dad’s face.
My dad hugged me and congratulated me on my first ever win against him.
And we never played basketball ever again.
Cosplay Gramps?
by Ace
My dad was confined in The Medical City for two weeks. Because of this, most of our meals were spent in restaurants near the area. One day, I was having lunch with my mom, my uncle, and my pabling (playboy) grandpa. I told them that a nurse that I was dating, who happened to work in the same hospital, was joining us.
I told my grandpa some interesting stories about her so that he’d have an idea who she was. I told him that she was a very good dancer and that every time we went clubbing, guys drooled when she started shaking her cute booty.
She finally arrived clad in a blue jacket over her white nurse’s uniform (so cute! hehe). I introduced her to my family and she sat between my grandpa and I. And like a true professional, she assisted my grandpa as he ate his lunch. My grandpa was so pleased with her that he even showed her pictures of his former girlfriends.
After eating, I told them that her lunch break was almost finished and that she had to go back to work. My grandpa was surprised. I reminded him that she was a nurse at the hospital. My grandpa answered with a puzzled look on his face, “Nurse? Akala ko ba dancer? Ang aga pa ah. Wala pang bukas na beerhouse!” (Nurse? I thought she was a dancer? It’s still early. Girly clubs are still closed!”)
My dad was confined in The Medical City for two weeks. Because of this, most of our meals were spent in restaurants near the area. One day, I was having lunch with my mom, my uncle, and my pabling (playboy) grandpa. I told them that a nurse that I was dating, who happened to work in the same hospital, was joining us.
I told my grandpa some interesting stories about her so that he’d have an idea who she was. I told him that she was a very good dancer and that every time we went clubbing, guys drooled when she started shaking her cute booty.
She finally arrived clad in a blue jacket over her white nurse’s uniform (so cute! hehe). I introduced her to my family and she sat between my grandpa and I. And like a true professional, she assisted my grandpa as he ate his lunch. My grandpa was so pleased with her that he even showed her pictures of his former girlfriends.
After eating, I told them that her lunch break was almost finished and that she had to go back to work. My grandpa was surprised. I reminded him that she was a nurse at the hospital. My grandpa answered with a puzzled look on his face, “Nurse? Akala ko ba dancer? Ang aga pa ah. Wala pang bukas na beerhouse!” (Nurse? I thought she was a dancer? It’s still early. Girly clubs are still closed!”)
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Gentleman
Monday, January 16, 2006
by Sandy
Last Sunday there were too many children in my son's Sunday School class, so the boys were made to go to a different room. The girls were left behind. My son didn't understand why the girls had to be left behind.
Me, explaining: It's better to move the boys than the girls because boys are stronger. You have to be a gentleman.
Miguel: I don't want to be a gentleman.
Me: You mean that if you are in a train and you are sitting down and there is no other seat left, you will not give your seat to a girl?
Miguel: I want to stay in my seat.
Me, thinking fast: What if you are an adult and mommy is a lola (grandma), and we are in a train and there is only one seat? Will you let me sit down?
Miguel: I will let you sit down
(I smile)
Miguel: ...and I will sit in your lap.
Me, appalled: But Miguel, you're an adult! You will not sit on my lap as an adult, will you?
Miguel: Then I will sit down, and YOU will be the one to sit in my lap.
Mwahahahaha!
by Sandy
Last Sunday there were too many children in my son's Sunday School class, so the boys were made to go to a different room. The girls were left behind. My son didn't understand why the girls had to be left behind.
Me, explaining: It's better to move the boys than the girls because boys are stronger. You have to be a gentleman.
Miguel: I don't want to be a gentleman.
Me: You mean that if you are in a train and you are sitting down and there is no other seat left, you will not give your seat to a girl?
Miguel: I want to stay in my seat.
Me, thinking fast: What if you are an adult and mommy is a lola (grandma), and we are in a train and there is only one seat? Will you let me sit down?
Miguel: I will let you sit down
(I smile)
Miguel: ...and I will sit in your lap.
Me, appalled: But Miguel, you're an adult! You will not sit on my lap as an adult, will you?
Miguel: Then I will sit down, and YOU will be the one to sit in my lap.
Mwahahahaha!
Smells simply glorious
Monday, August 16, 2004
by Sandy
My son threw up on me last night.
Well, not exactly. He threw up on my hands. I forgot that when a kid has a cough, DO NOT give him a cup of milk just before going to bed. He awoke 30 minutes later with a coughing fit, sat up, and promptly threw up. Luckily most of the stuff ended up in my hands instead of on the pillows.
Little bugger went right back to sleep right after that. And me? Here's the best part of my job description: wipe off puke from bed, take off pillow cases, wipe son's face and hands with soapy facetowel, dry him off, soap and wipe the bedsheet, wash pillowcases, hang out to dry (the pillowcases, not the son), wash yucky facetowel, spray disinfectant on stinky bed. Yadda yadda yadda.
You know the routine. And all the while the little angel is snoring on the bed.
Thing is, I really feel that this is the essence of parenthood. That when your child is sick in the middle of the night, who else should he throw up on but mom? Last night was a mild episode; when he was younger and really sick I'd have him in the rocking chair with me all night and he'd throw up on my chest at 3 am. Smelled simply glorious. All the way to my undies.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not being sarcastic. Well, ironic maybe. It's just that I know of a couple of single parents, and unfortunately - perhaps through no fault of theirs - they never got a chance to raise their kids. In other words they never got the privilege of carrying the smell of their son or daughter's vomitus at 3 o'clock in the morning. Doing so says something of your bond, or so it seems to me.
So if anyone picks up a faintly nauseating scent on me today, don't wrinkle your nose. It's my badge of motherhood, and I carry it with pride.
by Sandy
My son threw up on me last night.
Well, not exactly. He threw up on my hands. I forgot that when a kid has a cough, DO NOT give him a cup of milk just before going to bed. He awoke 30 minutes later with a coughing fit, sat up, and promptly threw up. Luckily most of the stuff ended up in my hands instead of on the pillows.
Little bugger went right back to sleep right after that. And me? Here's the best part of my job description: wipe off puke from bed, take off pillow cases, wipe son's face and hands with soapy facetowel, dry him off, soap and wipe the bedsheet, wash pillowcases, hang out to dry (the pillowcases, not the son), wash yucky facetowel, spray disinfectant on stinky bed. Yadda yadda yadda.
You know the routine. And all the while the little angel is snoring on the bed.
Thing is, I really feel that this is the essence of parenthood. That when your child is sick in the middle of the night, who else should he throw up on but mom? Last night was a mild episode; when he was younger and really sick I'd have him in the rocking chair with me all night and he'd throw up on my chest at 3 am. Smelled simply glorious. All the way to my undies.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not being sarcastic. Well, ironic maybe. It's just that I know of a couple of single parents, and unfortunately - perhaps through no fault of theirs - they never got a chance to raise their kids. In other words they never got the privilege of carrying the smell of their son or daughter's vomitus at 3 o'clock in the morning. Doing so says something of your bond, or so it seems to me.
So if anyone picks up a faintly nauseating scent on me today, don't wrinkle your nose. It's my badge of motherhood, and I carry it with pride.
One Less Baby
by Peachy
My hubby and I were driving my eldest son Mackie to NAIA 2. He was going to Bangkok as part of the Philippine delegation to the ASEAN Schools swim meet and it was his first time to travel abroad without us. Like a typical mom, I had a litany of reminders for him which were mostly cultural do’s and don’ts for his 5-day stay there. My hubby on the other hand, like most dads, was more concerned about the big picture. He didn’t want this life changing experience lost on our teenage son. Still trying to be cool, he started a “when I was your age” thread of conversation with him.
“You’re lucky Mackie.”
“Huh?”
“You get to travel at such a young age.”
“Uhhm. U-huh.”
“When I was your age, I was just at home wanking off my sausage. But you, at 15, you get to fly to Bangkok to represent your country!”
“U-huh. And wank off my sausage.”
I laughed my heart out after hearing that exchange. Despite my boy’s answer, I knew his dad’s point wasn’t lost on him. My eldest boy is no longer a child. It was then that my laughter slowly turned into a wistful smile. I realized that today I lost one baby.
My hubby and I were driving my eldest son Mackie to NAIA 2. He was going to Bangkok as part of the Philippine delegation to the ASEAN Schools swim meet and it was his first time to travel abroad without us. Like a typical mom, I had a litany of reminders for him which were mostly cultural do’s and don’ts for his 5-day stay there. My hubby on the other hand, like most dads, was more concerned about the big picture. He didn’t want this life changing experience lost on our teenage son. Still trying to be cool, he started a “when I was your age” thread of conversation with him.
“You’re lucky Mackie.”
“Huh?”
“You get to travel at such a young age.”
“Uhhm. U-huh.”
“When I was your age, I was just at home wanking off my sausage. But you, at 15, you get to fly to Bangkok to represent your country!”
“U-huh. And wank off my sausage.”
I laughed my heart out after hearing that exchange. Despite my boy’s answer, I knew his dad’s point wasn’t lost on him. My eldest boy is no longer a child. It was then that my laughter slowly turned into a wistful smile. I realized that today I lost one baby.
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