(6th of a Series)
I was mischievous as a young kid. Did lots of crazy stunts then. Nothing destructive really, but mostly self-inflicted ‘atrocities’, I’d call it.
At five years old, I decided I was going to be a culinary genius. I’d watched my Mama add patis – that’s salty fish paste – to almost everything, and was convinced it had to be the secret nectar of the gods. So, one afternoon after lunch, the moment the dining room was vacant, I decided to pull a solo heist. I clambered up a chair to the top of the table as silently as the combat soldier I see on TV. I then grabbed the bottle, and took a massive swig at what I had expected would be pure tasty delight. Turns out, patis taken on its own doesn’t taste anything like heavenly juice at all. I felt my soul leaving my body, and I screamed to the top of my lungs. The tears started flowing, and my family – instead of calling for a doctor – just stood there doubling up with laughter over that salty life choice I made for the day.
Another time; coming home, after a trip to the barber at age six. I spotted a pair of scissors and decided that the exhausted barber had done a lazy job. I mean, I thought he left some hair on my forehead. So I then meticulously ‘finished’ the haircut by hacking off my eyebrows; and then I marched off to show Mama my proud handiwork. She didn’t share my vision. And she yelled at me, “Why?!” I calmly explained that the barber missed a spot. To this day, my eyebrows are still feuding with each other, not knowing which direction to proceed.
At 8 years old, I became a big Marvel comics fan. My favorites were the X-Men, the Avengers and the Fantastic Four. I remember saving up my school snack money to buy Marvel comics then. The comics were selling for 3 for 1 peso at the National Bookstore in Sta Cruz, which was in downtown Metro Manila. Calculating my snack money and the cost for this new adventure (roughly P1.30 for comics and transportation cost), it would take me roughly 3 to 4 weeks to raise the amount.
The plan itself felt seemed an elaborate military-style operation – deviously, deliciously dangerous. No one knew – not even my brother Manoy Monching – that I would sneak out of our regular Saturday after-lunch siestas. I had chalked the route from memory: three blocks or a 15-minute walk to the jeepney stop, a 30-minute ride to Sta Cruz, 5 minutes max in the bookstore, then a quick retreat to the home base minus some well-saved coins, and my heart racing with excitement. An hour and thirty minutes, that’s all that I needed; and hopefully, my mama would not be looking for me during that time. This would be one of the first times for me to make a bold gamble in going on unauthorized activities (‘take life’, we would call it in the Academy later). And I have to admit I savored this feeling of conquest in having pulled off a win in those daring ‘Mission Impossible’ adventures at such a young age.
My mama never learned of these little Saturday afternoon capers until 5 decades later, when I was already a senior officer in the Army, when I finally made this revelation to her. Her voice was filled with fear and fierce protectionism. “What? Why did you do that? You could have been lost, you could have been kidnapped or gotten into an accident! Bla – bla – bla…” she scolded me no end. It’s funny now, how a mother’s worry can still sound like a storm five decades later, while the thrilling memory itself remains a bright beacon of risks and rewards, and lessons learned.
I reassured her then, not with a boastful swagger but with a steady, grown-up calm: nothing bad happened, Ma. The truth is that I did not just survive; it’s that those daring solo Saturdays taught me to trust my own instinct, to be able to balance curiosity with caution, and to recognize that spicy dose of adventurism and cool confidence that would help define every choice I would make in my life later.
And I would encounter many, many more ‘take life’ episodes in the decades to come; especially during my plebe year in the Academy, and in my years of field duty in the Army. This 8-year-old kid’s adventure would be a proud badge of courage, of daring, as well as a reminder for the need for proper planning and contingencies if plans go wrong. And this would certainly serve me well in the years ahead.
Looking back, my childhood was a series of wacky disasters and adventures that were actually the perfect rehearsal for plebe year in the Academy. Whether I was treating fish sauce like fine vintage wine, or playing barber experimenting on my own eyebrows, or pulling off a solo “Mission Impossible” stunt to downtown Sta. Cruz, I was inadvertently training for my future in the Army. These escapades weren’t just mischief; they were early masterclasses in audacity, self-reliance, and the art of the calculated risk. I learned quickly that while a bold mindset gets you through the door, it’s the planning and contingencies that keep you from getting caught; or worse – as in my barbaric barber booboo – from having to explain to mama why my face looked like a structural disaster. The lesson to be learned? Just don’t ask me for grooming advice – my eyebrows still haven’t forgiven me for the “shortcut,” and I believe they’re planning a coup of their own very soon.
Cover pic courtesy of WordPress AI. Other pics courtesy of Ars Notaria, The Independent, Pinterest, When In Manila and the holgy Library. For a closer look, just click on the pics.
Color My World 