I was born and raised in a farm at the outskirts of the village of Calamba in the town of Cabadbaran, Philippines. My father was a farmer and my mother took care of us children, while helping our father in any way she could to augment our family income. Being the eldest, my mother would request me to look after my siblings while she tended her vegetable garden at the backyard or wash our laundry in a nearby creek. Being in a rural area, there were no kindergarten schools where the kids could go to school early. Children would have to wait until they reach seven years of age before they could start grade school.
When I was six, my father and I had a heart-to-heart talk. It was a now-or-never scenario. My father was trying to convince me that it was time for me to go to school. As if, when I missed going to school that year, there was no more next year to start school and I would be illiterate for the rest of my life.
The following Monday morning, my mother accompanied me to school and talked to the Grade 1 teacher, Miss Elealiva A. Pia, that I would be admitted to her class. Miss Pia was not enthusiastic to admit me in her class because of my tender age and small physique aside from the fact that classes had already started a month before. When she requested me to raise my right arm and touch my left ear over my head, I could not reach it---that was the first physical indicator that I was not yet ready for school. But my mother was persistent. We went to see the school principal, Mr. Angel M. Morrondoz, for reconsideration. Mr. Morrondoz was my mother’s teacher when she was a grade school pupil herself. Mr. Morrondoz was very accommodating and suggested to Miss Pia to admit me on a temporary status.
That’s how I started school. The lesson at that time was learning how read and write letters of the alphabet and to write our names on a pad paper. I already knew the alphabet and mastered to write my long name a few months earlier. So I wrote down my name on my pad paper and started teaching my seatmate and neighbors to write theirs. That’s how I became the teacher’s assistant that year. I finished the first grade fourth place from the top.
Fast forward to the fourth grade, our teacher was Mrs. Nenita L. Balsicas. The whole class mastered the geography subject also known as social studies. Well, if we did not master it, at least, we know and memorized so many places and locations in the Philippine map and the world map. Someone started it and it became a regular game during recess and break time. Everyone had the chance to select a place which is very hard to find and then asked everyone to look for it in the entire map. The first one to find it won. Even now, if I see a world map where places and countries are not named, I can identify the places.
It was also in fourth grade when my classmates conferred on me the title “Baby Judge.” “Baby” because I was the youngest and the smallest in the class but the title “Judge” had some story behind it. One time when our teacher was away, two of my bigger classmates had an altercation that almost resulted to a fistfight. I intervened, pacified the two and resolved their conflict. Since then, if there was any potential conflict between my classmates, they would bring the case to me for resolution. There was an unwritten agreement that both parties would have to abide by the decision of the baby judge.
On the lighter side, we had a classmate who earned a moniker “Lake Lanao” to his dislike as everyone would laugh. Lake Lanao is the second biggest lake in the Philippines situated in Central Mindanao. One time when Mrs. Balsicas was conducting the class, our classmates found out that the pants of this boy was wet in the groin area. This pupil urinated in his pants while listening to our teacher’s interesting lecture. That’s how he got the unflattering moniker. See, how effectively we applied our knowledge in geography?
I was 11 years old when I finished elementary school. My parents were hoping that I would finish at the top of the class but I landed only on the third place. That’s the best that you could expect when you send your child to school under-aged. Nena, our valedictorian was one year and a half older than me and Danilo, our salutatorian was a year older.
Like other villages around Cabadbaran, we had no high school in Calamba. To attend high school, the students from these villages had to converge in Cabadbaran where the 5 high schools and a college were situated. I wanted to study at a trade school named Northern Mindanao School of Arts and Trades (NMSAT). NMSAT is a secondary vocational school which provides the students secondary education in preparation for college but also offered additional trade courses so that if the student could not afford to go to college, these students could start working on a trade that one was trained for. NMSAT offered 4 trade courses for boys: automotive mechanic, building construction, furniture & cabinet-making and industrial electricity; and two courses for girls: dressmaking and food technology.
Came enrollment time. When I presented myself to the NMSAT enrollment officer, he outright rejected my application form. I was too small physically to become a trade school student. NMSAT was my only high school of choice so I had no other recourse but to stay at home and wait for the next year. My parents suddenly found a responsible and willing babysitter of their younger children while they devoted more time to earn additional incomes for the family. When I was not babysitting, I also took care of our only carabao (water buffalo) bringing it to the river to drink and bathe and posting it on shady grassy lands so that it had enough vegetation to eat.
The following year, Nena and Danilo were already on their second year in another high school in town when I was finally admitted in NMSAT as freshman. My trade course choice was Industrial Electricity. It was a productive 4 years of my life. On my first year, our English teacher, Mr. Modesto R. Sacote Jr. who was also the adviser of our school paper, The Timberland, recruited me to the editorial staff as reporter. That’s how I started writing short articles for publication. He also accompanied me to a national press conference of student writers held in Cebu City. On my senior year, Mr. Sacote promoted me as the Editor-in-Chief.
Our batch was the last one to take the curricular requirement for boys called Preparatory Military Training (PMT) similar to ROTC in college. The following year, it was replaced with Citizens Military Training (CMT) which is now a requirement for all students, boys and girls alike. My smallness in stature disqualified me outright to become a PMT Officer---not even a platoon leader. Our PMT commandant, Mr. Ancheta, designated me as the attendance checker of the entire battalion with a rank of Sergeant-Major. I graduated valedictorian of Class 1973.
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| Top 5, Boys' Trade, Class 1973. From left to right: Cristito Dingal (3rd Honorable Mention), Jaime Ondoy (1st Honorable Mention), Hermes Herbolingo (Valedictorian), Miss Nieves K. Mora (Adviser), Rogelio Luspo (Salutatorian) and Eugene Cagampang (2nd Honorable Mention) |
During our senior year, a number of us took the yearly collegiate scholarship exam offered by the Mindanao State University. I passed the exam as full scholar. Some of my classmates got partial scholarships. In retrospect, I realized that had I not bagged that scholarship, perhaps, I could not have gone to college since my family was very poor. My father had his hands already full supporting my younger siblings in their elementary and high school education. That realization made me promise to myself that once I finish college and get a job, I would help my parents send my brothers and sisters to school. After 5 years of study, I finished a bachelor’s degree in Electrical Engineering. After graduation, the University hired me as faculty member of the College of Engineering.
After a few years of teaching in the University, I received a handwritten letter from Mr. Morrondoz inviting me to be the graduation speaker of my beloved alma mater that year. It was a good homecoming occasion considering that I have not visited my place of birth for a long time. My family moved to another town after I finished elementary.
Before my commencement address, Mr. Morrondoz made a kind introduction of me by telling a story: Around the time when I finished high school, he felt so proud everytime he passed by the town high schools with head raised high thinking that his three best pupils in a small rural school made good in the bigger schools in town. Nena and Danilo were the valedictorian and salutatorian in the high school that they graduated while I finished valedictorian in another school the following year.
Life has its own way of keeping us all busy. It was only when I started writing down this piece that I began to wonder what happened to the people that molded us during the formative years of our lives. So I messaged Victor, Mr. Morrondoz’s son, asking for updates about his father. He responded to me telling me that Mr. Morrondoz passed away last May 5, 1987 at the ripe old age of 80. To most of us in my generation in our village, Mr. Morrondoz was the only school principal that we knew of. The school graduation in which I was the commencement speaker was the last time that I met him. I’m sure that he died feeling satisfied that he has done his job well.
