Antonio Corporal of the mountain barangay of Maligaya in Caramoan has a sad story which he keeps to himself, except when a relative or a friend plans to go abroad. Some years ago a daughter who had married an American asked him to visit them, of course, all expenses paid with the juicy prospects of bringing home some precious dollars when he returns. at last, he said to himself, this is a dream come true. Triumphantly, he bade his wife and other children goodbye saying he could be staying for a long time in America. Less than a month later he was back to the mountain barangay weeping as he recounted to his tearful wife what happened to him in America. When she arrived in America his three grandchildren just stared at him and said “hi” when their mother introduced him as their grandfather. To them he looked like he didn’t matter at all even if their Filipina mother kept on cajoling them to be nice to their grandfather. Still, he overheard the boy saying the old man seemed not to have brushed his teeth. One day he was left with the grandchildren, including the very mischievous boy, a gradeschooler, who would not stop ransacking things in the house. Unable to control himself, Antonio pinched the boy. He thought it was over. He did not know that the boy had called up the police to whom the boy confided that the grandfather threw something at him. Antonio only realized the trouble he was in when the police arrived, put him in handcuffs and hauled him to prison. Worse, his American son-in-law did not bother to retrieve or bail him out from prison. it was his own daughter after a protracted heated argument with her husband who went to the police station. as soon as he was out he told his son-in- law he was going home. “no more, no more. . going home, going home Philippines”, Antonio said in his expectedly mangled English. “in the Philippines, you spank your son no prison”, the anguished grandfather said. “Here, you pinch only, imprison.”
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In 1998, while with the Camarines Sur Trade Mission to Australia I met with many Filipinos already residing there. While waiting for the helicopter that would take us over Gold Coast City, I had a long conversation with a mother who had lived there for more than ten years already and we talked lengthily about the prosperous life in the continent. “Money is not a problem here” she said, “but believe me I am not happy here and I want to go back to the Philippines”. “When everyone else would want to come here, you would want to go back to our country? You must have missed poverty!”, I exclaimed. “You know, I realized that money is not all that matters in life”, She said pensively. She related that all her four children have entirely lost their Filipino culture, especially their respect for parents and elders. They would never be made to kiss the hand of their parents to show their respect; they are treating their parents like ordinary acquaintances. When they want to go out on a date they just leave without saying anything and would not even introduce to you with whom they are going. When they want to stay overnight anywhere that is exclusively for them to decide, her lamentations went on.
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Respect for parents is indeed a gem in our culture that must be preserved and nourished because it is one facet in our customs and tradition that sets us distinctly apart from other civilizations in the world. Moreover, such is our culture that those disrespectful to their parents are scorned and even ostracized.
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Not every father is ideal. My own father had many faults and lapses in his duty and responsibility of bringing up the family. For instance, I was close to graduating valedictorian in high school when I was told that for several months my tuition fees had not been paid and repercussions included hearing some unpleasant words from school administrators. In my embarrassment, I opted not to attend classes for weeks. In college, I was Bicol chess champion for three successive years but I could not participate in two of the three national competitions because I had no pocket money. The only time I was able to join the national PRISAA chess tournament was in 1965 in Cabanatuan City where I placed third. I was chosen many times delegate to national student conferences but I could attend only once because I had no appropriate clothes. I rarely had any book throughout my student days. I worked as student assistant at the UNC during my first year in college but luckily I became editor of the school paper when I was just in second year college and enjoyed scholarship. Yet my parents were not really very poor. My schooling was simply not a priority.
My father already died in 1984 but I could not remember even once having cursed him for my fate, despite the travails and deprivations I went through. Until today I only try to remember beautiful memories of our hunting trips together when wildlife was aplenty and the NPAs had not yet started to roam the mountains. His mistakes I tried hard to drown in the dark alleys of the past; I would imagine him instead smiling, his gold teeth glistening against the sun.
It is and it must be a universal feeling for God Himself saw that respect for parents is a compelling facet of our earthly existence, which He enshrined even in the Ten Commandments: “Honor thy father and thy mother.”
Those disrespectful to their parents do not only displease people but also offend God.
