TEACH your children, teach your parents

TEACH your children, teach your parents. I raised my kids on a pretty much "Do whatever you want to do but you gotta face up to consequences of your decisions later" dictum. I needed to freely give that confidence and trust for them to pursue whatever they want to be. I didn't teach my son how to be an artist, or my daughter what's economics and law were all about, or sat down with them and corrected their school essays. I simply showed them how things are done but on a playful, easy mode. Yet I cannot call myself "loose" or nice, I was in fact very strict. We walked all over the open market and let them choose what's up for dinner, hand them little cash/school allowance and allowed them to buy whatever they please and budget their money, put the VCR and TV on and gave them the freehand in choosing shows and movies that they want. They washed their dirty plates, fixed their beds, kept their bookbags ready, tidied their shoes etc even before school-age. The eldest took care of stuff and the younger ones obeyed. 

         From First Grade onwards, I was the proud dad who pinned their medals and honor ribbons every year, no fail. I am still the proud dad to date. I am very thankful that all my kids are relatively doing better or fine than what I see around (that sometimes worries me). Now I have grandchildren on these days of electronic overkill and computerized reflex. Things seem so easy. But parenting wisdom and strategy don't change just because the world changes. My grandchildren, like their parents, will use those hands and limbs working as well as their minds and brains pondering. Computers will not do the parenting. It is the heart of a parent that does and fulfills that sublime responsibility. That's what we can give our kids/grandkids beyond money and financial "security." The ability to maximize their potentials and continue nourishing their gifts--out there and in here. They have to create their future from scratch and the raw. Nothing is handed on a silver platter, or should I say, an iPhone app. It's all within us--inside and out.

LOVE POEMS and all those aftermidnight sweet shenanigans. To say that I keep more than 2,000 love poems in e-folders and hard-copy file/s is an understatement. The current body of work doesn't include poems that I categorize as “angry poems,” or poems that I read in my featured-poet reading gigs. (I don't normally read love poems in my shows.) Somewhere I left poems that I scribbled on loose yellow pads, concert handouts, napkins, newspaper margins, “blue notebooks,” chocolate wrappers, brown grocery bags etc etcetera. Some I retrieved, some I didn't. I travelled, handed poems to friends and strangers, and left. I just write poems, period. A pet dream or plan is to gather what I managed to keep and compile them into a 5-volume book of love verses and short prose, “Love Poems, Compromises and Negotiations.” It's like a box-set that includes drawings, songs (CD), various merchandise, and a card line. It's overwhelming, I know. 

          So to get things started, me and Cindyrella, are working on a card line first. I'm supposed to work on watercolor or ink or acrylic art rendering of these poems. But I am not yet there. I will. I need to get ruffled bigtime or jump off Chimney Rock waterfalls and then be motivated. Just kidding, of course you know I'm kidding. I will probably sit downtown and begin doodling or sketching on a drawing pad. Meantime, thank you Cindyrella—for getting these one project off the ground.  

SOME of the MADNESSES of a PASCKIE. These are just some of what I call moondances of my little life. Rock journeys and sublime madnesses. I was kind of “silently” all over back in the Philippines in my younger life, and then “more silently” all over in the US in my older life. Right now, at 55, I am just quiet (sort of). Some may disagree and say "silence" and "quiet" are understatements but I am. I am mostly love poems these days.

         I was a member of the media liaison staff of the Philippine Commission on Good Government, directly under the office of the President (Corazon Aquino), in late 80s. PCGG was tasked to recover ill-gotten wealth by the Marcos family. As a theater dude, I was part of PETA-Kalinangan Ensemble in the 80s—which also brought me to grassroots theater teaching and direct contact with countryside folk and urban poor. Of course, I used to write for We Forum/Malaya, a vanguard in alternative journalism in Asia, progressing from circulation hand, proofreader/translator to beat reporter—which helped me gain desk editorship and later editor in chief status in other papers. How many publications I edited and co-published, I don't know anymore. It was a frantic, my pace. I also sat for consulting teams for political candidates, including presidential aspirant Raul Roco, somewhere in my young life—while I put up (musical/poetry) events in Manila, few years before I decided to leave for New York. 

         I was still writing reviews for Philippine Daily Inquirer, largest daily in Manila that time, when I was editing a Filipino/American newspaper in Manhattan, while I co-organized events and concerts in the city. When I rested my Filipino community forays in NY, I moved to Asheville and published/edited The Indie (plus two others) from 2000 to 2011 (on and off). My peace advocacy work for Traveling Bonfires won me a citation from Western North Carolina Peace Coalition in 2004, mainly as recognition of my work as producer/organizer of “Bonfires for Peace” concert events in town and elsewhere in the region (including Baltimore and Washington DC).
I took a two-year “Asheville respite” in Los Angeles (2007-09) and handled the Southern California bureau of Philippine News—as I continued producing Traveling Bonfire shows and activities out there. Of course, these are just a few "bonfires" off my energy level in those years. There are more, a lot more, that even remembering them isn't that easy. I jumpstarted my journalism career at age 14, and then what about the trips and visits in so many places? Yet I feel I haven't really “retired,” I am just trying to “rediscover” the past in my memory and put them all in books--while I frolic in Facebook. LOL!

WHAT IF I AM SUPER RICH? Many times I think, what if I am a millionaire or billionaire? Will my life be altered or changed or different from others? No. Being just like "others" makes me happier than being the contrary "not like anybody rich brat" who rides in a limo or lives in a mansion by a seaside in Big Sur. I would put my money in a foundation (to help poor communities) and hire people to take care of that money in whatever way they choose how--make that money earn so that money would help more people. Managing money sucks. I just want to write and farm tomatoes and watch a TV series or two. My kids may take out loan from that banked money and work to gain mileage to pursue their own version of happiness, although they need to convince me hard before a loan is handed to them--like submission of a business proposal. 

         I'd continue writing and writing. And writing, My work will be my Trust Fund or inheritance. If I was Prince or John Lennon or Hemingway and Stephen King--I'd enjoin my kids to take care of whatever I creatively produce/d, make money out of them, and divide whatever amount among themselves. But again they need to submit business proposals with compelling ROIs (return of investment).
         In my life, I've never really worried so much about money but that doesn't mean I didn't stress about it. I do. Just like you and them. Though I must admit I got more stress when I got more money than I needed on my hand (when was that? LOL!) But I traveled far and wide with technically $10 on my pocket, and just stayed the way I am, and I survived. Didn't steal, didn't sell drugs, didn't take out loans. Just being a pasckie. At 55, I know I've proven that to myself. Money doesn't change everything. I don't owe anyone money (banks and Kingkong got nothing on me!) but I owe my kids and loved ones more time of togetherness. Hence the "journey" should end, I am 56 this month! I miss my family so much.
         I don't want to leave earth with $15 million in my bank sitting there ready for my kin to quarrel with each other about. If I am Warren Buffett's grandson, I'd ask grandpa to build more water pumps and schoolhouses and children's orphanages and hospitals somewhere with my inheritance money--and tell his lawyers to freakin' leave me alone so I can write another love poem and play with my dog and tend to my okra backyard garden in peace and quiet.
         Now I need to prepare to head downtown and enjoy some rock `n roll music and beautiful humanity. If I am a son of a millionaire, I am sure my family wouldn't let me sit there, right? That, I don't like. Moral of the rant: Not having lots of moolah is alright. A peaceful life, not being angry and not being hateful and not being such an ass, is already wealth. See you in the park, superhomeys!

I HAVE been discussing and deliberating and debating—and writing and writing and writing—about politics all my life that I can't help but get bored sometimes with the same subject/s. Yet I do enjoy speaking minds with older people like me who at least got comparative opinion/s about the past and the present or younger people who equip themselves with historical vantage views or they read stuff, they try to know beyond their own “independent advocacies” and super-smart political correctness. Otherwise it's all one-line quips and dismissive sloganeering and “I need to say something” whinings although there's nothing significant to say other than accentuate the “right” to say something. We gotta say something because we got something to say, right? 

         Otherwise it's waste of energy. Just listen and learn and read and observe and then say something next time. Hangin' with kids and pet dogs and cats and pterodactyls or bergaunsaurs or just, I don't know, cooking for dragonflies and Facebook-playing with my photos maybe, are more productive and creative and fun. And sublime. Feel me? Now I gotta go downtown and grab a beer, play pool with Kermit, or just watch people on dreadlocks and reflectorized skirts. And write about them, of course.