Remembering A Grade School Boy's Mother

Wondering why I've been thinking of former students' mothers these days.

I was resident playwright of Ateneo Children's Theatre for eleven years. I cannot recall the year this anecdote occurred; it was possibly the year I wrote _Ignatius of Loyola_ celebrating the Ignatian jubilee. My lengthy stint was a difficult one, for it lopped off at least eight months from my life every year. I would write the play, design its cover, attend auditions, rehearsals, and performances, assist with press releases, lay out the annual yearbook, and led an extracurricular playbill and yearbook club. Had I the power to turn back time I would forego all of that and would have devoted all of my energy and my time to my own children.

Helping out faculty members with costumes was part of my responsibilities. I remember long hours sewing feathers and sequins on different costumes. For _Ignatius of Loyola_ I handknitted gauntlets made of silver twine and black yarn. It was common for a parent to bring her child to the house and be fitted for a costume piece I was working on. Yet, I remember only one such parent from all those years.

I don't even remember what costume piece I was working on. All I recall was an afternoon visit by a mother and her sixth-grade son. Both of them were fascinated by all the curios inside our house, especially the Tao altar that my Tao priest friend Ah Hok had been working on. They enjoyed their visit. We clicked. They laughed at my jokes and sat back while the day grew long. I felt that there were things they wanted to tell me but couldn't; I suspect it was about the woman's husband and the boy's father. I was afraid they would overstay and expect to be served dinner. I politely terminated their visit, giving them some gifts to remember me by.

There are times when I prevent others from confiding in me, in order to preserve my privacy and my solitude. When I established the Spirit Questors in 1996 I ensured that I would do the same. Yes, despite the fact that many people believe that I always extended myself to help others, I always knew when and how to say no.

I never saw that mother and her son again.