I WILL never earn the title as “The Best Son in the World”.
My late father hated my guts.
I am an achiever. He is not.
My 70-something mother hates my guts since I called out her addiction to casino gambling.
I also contradicted her wishes of cashing out what little inheritance we got from my father.
My parents belonged to the generation who believed that their children cannot be greater than their parents.
Or maybe, it’s just my mother.
I mean, look at her upbringing.
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My maternal grandfather, until he died, maintained the aura and reputation that he can never be wrong.
Cannot be outsmarted by his genius of a grandson.
But I saw how wrong he was.
And I proved it to him before he passed away.
Grandpa was smart.
Until I told him I have traveled the world, and saw other things.
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My maternal uncles and aunts, in their own set ways, are a little self-righteous, too.
Especially the two who are serious religious freaks in the non-Catholic tradition.
When I was a seminarian for the Catholic Church 30 years ago, they liked to engage me in debates about faith and religion.
Were they trying to dissuade me from the priesthood?
I wasn’t sure.
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But that I did not pursue clerical formation to the finish is not because of them.
I was a good debater.
I think they were sore losers, who would beat me with their age and seniority when logic can no longer carry their arguments.
So, I don’t think I would win the title as “The Best Nephew in the World” either.
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I also sucked as a brother.
Well, mostly because my siblings cannot see beyond the 14-year-old me.
They think I’m selfish because I was super duper great at self-preservation.
I was great at survival. Learned everything by myself.
And my teenage self was deluded in thinking that my siblings could not be anything less.
I actually overestimated them.
I thought they were as smart as I.
But clearly, they were not.
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I was brilliant as a student.
My teachers in the elementary, and high school, have pronounced me a Genius over and over again.
I was what you may call a straight A student, although we did not use letters for academic grades in those days.
My school grades were all in the 90s.
And, in the case of constipated teachers, always in the high 80s.
To put this in perspective, I always got the highest grades possible in all our classes.
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I was also the Little Teacher.
When our teachers were late or absent, I took over the class.
I discussed the lessons at hand.
When the class could not answer the recitation questions in Social Studies or Biology, for example, I took over the discussion, and lectured both my teachers, and classmates, for at least 20 minutes at a stretch.
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I was legendary as a student.
In a test of 100 items, I scored as high as 120.
(Some teachers fancied that their test questions were so difficult.
That no one could get their 100 items all correct.
So they gave a bonus question worth 20 points to pull up the scores.)
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I valued honesty even as a student.
I never cheated.
I did my assignments all by myself.
I was studious, and hardworking.
I got classmates who cheated a lot.
Who did not do their assignment.
Whose home works were done by others.
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Occasionally, I helped in my siblings’ assignments.
But I also saw a laziness in them.
Like when they wanted me to do their home works for them.
All the time.
While they play, or go out with friends.
I did not appreciate that.
I actually hated it.
I expected more from my siblings.
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So, when my siblings asked me, on the last minute, to do their home work, I was usually in a foul mood.
They’re in a rush, and just wanted their home works done.
They didn’t care how Algebra problems are solved.
They didn’t care about the thought processes in essay writing.
They didn’t want to learn.
And for me, it has always been “teaching people to fish, instead of just giving them fish.”
And my siblings thought I was just being difficult.
Or, selfish with the automatic and correct answers.
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Despite the financial help I have given to my siblings throughout my adult years, I still wouldn’t win the award for “The Best Brother in the World”.
Because the money I have given will always never be enough.
I keep records of the thousands of dollars each of my siblings have borrowed from me.
And what money I have given them, and my mother.
I have the original Western Union receipts from 2006.
None of these loans were paid.
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And still, I am called selfish. Stingy. Tightfisted.
I will not contest their accusations.
Let them talk.
But I am not feeling any guilt.
Because I am not, and never will be, guilty. (500tinaga@gmail.com/PN)
