30% of diversion

This week, our son Heaven turns four.

Aires and I cannot help but be proud at Heaven's development. When his preschool teacher told us that Heaven is an innately intelligent boy, we both claim that lineage had a lot to do with it. Of course, Aires would outwit me when she reminded me that studies said that about 70% of a child's traits comes from the mother. I have yet to locate these so-called studies though.

But more than his cognitive development, I am amazed at Heaven's emotional intelligence. He isn't your typical angel though. He is committed to his goals. When he says he wants something, he really goes for it. When he trudges along the off-beat track, I usually resort to diversion as a device to straighten him up.

Little did I know that Heaven would quickly pick this up and use it on me.

One morning, Heaven was his usual "committed to his goals" self. He did not want to eat breakfast and would rather wake up Lola so that he could watch TV. At 6:30 in the morning!!! I started with soft-spoken pleas before I used good-old muscles to prop him up in my arms and whisk him away from the scene of the crime. That was when he hit my left ear, leaving me with a ringing that blew my lids off.

I got so incensed that Heaven received an early morning time-out. The ruckus went on for a few minutes before I was able to calm Heaven and myself. Heaven looked for an ally and asked for his Nanay. The morning joust woke Aires up. I carried Heaven and deposited him to Nanay's loving arms. As I was explaining to Aires why I got angry, Heaven interrupted and looked for something.

"Tatay, where is the card I made for you?" A few weeks ago, Heaven made a card at school in time for Father's Day celebration.

I found the card and gave it to him. "See Tatay. Look! You are smiling here! Look at that photo. You are smiling there. And that! You are smiling there too." He went on and on, pointing at photos around the room which show Tatay all smiles.

That's when I realized that Heaven used the very same device I rely on to divert him from one unpleasant situation to a more acceptable one. He just diverted my anger to wonder. Well, that's the 30% he got from me. And what a whooping 30% that is!

Remembering Nene

Nene died in 2005. She died due to complications related to her diabetes. She was in terrible pain, I was told. She died in her hometown in Negros Occidental, while I was facilitating a workshop in Guimaras, just an hour away from Bacolod. I had been meaning to visit her after my workshop but I guess, she didn't want me to see her in extreme pain.

Nene, of course, is my yaya. One time in grade one, a classmate chided me for being disrespectful to my yaya, saying: "Why are you calling her by her first name Nene?" I said Nene means Nanay. Her real name is Fely. Nene said that when I was really young I would call her Nanay. She told me that she was not my Nanay but my yaya. I said I would just call you Nene then. And so she became my Nene, not yaya but still my Nanay.

I grew up telling friends that I have two mothers. Mama, of course, was there to ensure that we are healthy, finish school, and be upright. Nene was there to help.

Nene was there even before I became Nilo. She was the one who helped Mama and Papa come up with my name, Ni-Lo, after combining their names Nicanor and Loida.

I've always wanted to write about my Nene but I would cry so hard that I could not even begin with a decent sentence.

I'm writing now because I think Nene deserves it. And I hope to finish this before my laptop gets soaked with my tears.

My earliest childhood memory is waiting for Nene to come home after taking a leave. She went back to Bacolod to visit her parents. I would sit outside the door and wait for her return. And I remember vividly how I sprinted toward her when I saw her enter the garage gate.

Nene was there when I had my febrile seizures. She was there when I finished daycare and went to kindergarten. She was there everyday, bringing lunch to school from grade 1 to high school. She was there when I finished college.

Nene was there when I had my "skip-work" moods early in my professional career. She would tell me that people do make mistakes and that you learn from these mistakes.

Nene was there when I got married. She was hesitant, though, to go up the altar to join in the family picture, saying she would have a solo shot with the newlyweds later. She kept that photo in a picture frame when she finally retired and went back home to Bacolod in 2004. Aires and I went with her to Bacolod where we spent a few days before hying off to Boracay for our own vacation.

I saw her about five hours after her death. Her body was still a bit warm. She laid on a bed, her relatives were still waiting for the funeral parlor for her coffin. A few days later, my Mama, my four other siblings, Aires and I laid her to rest. We were the family she spent half her life with. She was 68 when she left us.

And in the 30 plus years she was with us, I learned that love knows no education. She would say that she finished only grade 6 but after taking care of us, she must have earned a master's degree already. She thought low of parents who had education but could not give love to their children. She had none but she gave us a lot.

I went to Bacolod last week for work. I had a few hours free to squeeze in a visit to Nene. I almost did not find where she was laid to rest. But a cemetery caretaker helped me out. Her remains were removed, I was told, when her brother died a few weeks ago.

I saw her resting place. She was with her parents. The tombstone reads: Felicitas Tadina. Just that. No birth nor death dates. Just Felicitas Tadina.

I will be back someday. I will know where she is. I will be back with a more fitting tombstone. "Here lies Nene, our Nanay. Felicitas Tadina: October 17, 1938 - March 30, 2005".

Go! Heaven! Go!

On Saturday, Heaven had his first public performance.

His school, ISYC, celebrated its annual grandparents' day. Students in each class performed for their Lolos and Lolas. ISYC had a cool theme of Original Pilipino Music. Songs from the 70s down to the last decade came alive as ISYC pre-schoolers jumped, jived, and wiggled to the tunes of Bongga Ka Day to Hataw Na!.

Heaven and his classmates wore jerseys, acting out the roles of cheerdancers. When it was their turn to perform, the stage went dark and behind the curtain, we could hear them being ushered to their places. And then it started; one by one, the children began to cry.

We were worried that Heaven was one of them. It was dark and an ominous curtain was in front of them. And imagine what the kids were seeing when the curtain slowly opened and the lights went glaring.

All the children had to do was to wave their pompoms. And Heaven did his part. He waved his pompoms until the music ended and curtains closed.

We were as proud as any parent could be. We were proud that he wore his jersey in time for the dance. (He did not want to at first.) We were proud that he waved his pompoms properly. (We were watching out if he would hit the classmate beside him.) We were proud that he did not cry. (He was just too sleepy after his first grand performance.)

One big cheer for the little fella!

So which one is Heaven?

Heaven turned three last July. He has been going to a toddlers' class at the Integrated School for Young Children (ISYC), a progressive preschool in Marikina.

Heaven's school is preparing for a big grandparents' day celebration. His class is performing a dance number for their Lolos and Lolas.

During a general rehearsal, one father was heard asking around: "So which one is Heaven?", looking at the toddlers performing onstage. Alarmed, our yaya approached the inquiring dad, pointed to where Heaven was, and asked sheepishly why.

Inquiring Dad quipped: "My daughter keeps on complaining how Heaven is so kulit. But look at Heaven, oh but he's so tiny!"

Apparently, Heaven's classmate everyday talks incessantly about what Heaven does in class.

Should we be alarmed? We may have to wait for the next parent-teacher conference to quiz Heaven's teachers about his classroom behavior. The last meeting we had with Heaven's teacher was full of encouraging comments about Heaven's cognitive development. The only worrisome remark was Heaven's penchant for doing things his way.

So, we started repeating stories about sharing and learning to wait, constantly reminding Heaven to be more gentle with his classmates. And the last time I checked, no toddler has been kicked out of school yet for being too independent or too expressive or too bossy.

I spy

One evening, Aires and I played "I Spy" with Heaven.

"I Spy" is a great guessing game, especially when travelling. It can be played many ways. "I spy something green." "I spy something big." "I spy the letter A."

Ours was different. When I said: "I spy Mickey Mouse." Heaven immediately responded: "I spy Donald Duck. What do you spy, Nanay?" Nanay Aires replied: "I spy Daisy Duck." To which, Heaven quickly retorted: "I spy Pete."

"Pete, who?" we asked. Pete is a Clubhouse character we are not familiar with.

Our "I Spy" became a word association game, more like "what belong together in a set?" Midway, we would change and lead him to another set. "I spy Superman" for super heroes. "I spent Agent Oso" for shows on Disney Junior. "I spy Justin" for a list of Heaven's classmates.

It went on and on. Aires suddenly shifted and said: "I spy Scotty." Without batting an eyelash, Heaven responded: "I spy James." I was dumbfounded because I could not immediately find a connection to Aires' Scotty. And Heaven beat me to it. Of course, Scotty and James were American Idol contestants.

Aires took it to another level when she said: "I spy Willing-Willie." Just to check if Heaven is exposed to TV shows other than the Disney Junior shows we allow him to watch. In a blitz, Heaven said: "I spy Babaeng Hampaslupa."

Gotcha!!!

We made quite a ruckus. Aires and I laughed our heads off. "So you are watching what you are not supposed to watch!" we told Heaven.

Heaven then said: "I spy Babaeng Hampaslupa no more!" Which was true. Babaeng Hampaslupa stopped airing many weeks ago.

When it was to sleep, I said: "I spy Heaven sleeping."

And Heaven said: "I spy wake up Heaven." Darn! This is a game I can't ever win against Heaven. I simply can't spy what goes on in his beautiful mind.

Febrile

Heaven, you can say, is a miracle baby.

That's why we drop everything if Heaven gets sick. He's a breastfed baby, so he bounces really quickly from coughs and colds and what have yous. But he got from me, of all things, a vulnerability to febrile seizures. When his fever goes really high, he goes into convulsion fits.

He had an episode last year just before his tigdas hangin (roseola infantum) rashes showed up. I knew first aid, having seen how my siblings suffered episodes when they were young. But when Heaven went limp in my arms, after giving him a quick sponge bath to lower his temp, I panicked and thought that I lost him. I rushed out of the house, barefoot, hailed a tricycle, and went to the nearest ER. It was the longest five minutes of my life.

When Heaven was out of any real danger, the ER doctor even managed to kid me about all the drama. Drama ka diyan! I wanted to shut her up with a 1-2-3. Heaven stayed at the hospital for almost a week because of this mild infection.

Heaven had fever again early last Monday. He was out partying with us during the weekend. he must have picked up something along the way. We skipped work to be with him, and made sure that there won't be drama this time. His fever was on and off but mercifully stopped after two days.

Aires was also worried that I was absent from work.

Work can wait. Our son can't. I can deal with backlogs at the office. I can't deal with another febrile backlash at home.

Heaven goes to school

Heaven went to toddler class this week at the Integrated School for Young Children, a progressive school near home.

Nanay took him to his first day. Tatay went on his second day. We both feel proud that Heaven behaved well, played with toys, was friendly to his classmates, and responsive to his teachers.

After school today, he quipped: "Ang galing ko no, Tatay!" "Yes! You are!" I said. That's positive reinforcement but I hope he doesn't get swell-headed. Because, we still have a looooooong way to go.

A month ago, good friend and former colleague Atty. Any Saguisag said: "Can you believe it, Nilo? I will be 40 soon and have a daughter in college."

I replied: "When it's my turn, this will be my version --- Can you believe it? I'm 40 and my son is in pre-school."