What Is Wrong With This Picture?

We now lived in a world that mostly fall into a region called “the gray area.” Lots of standards have been redefined that many people have mistakenly identified bad as something passable. Though obviously bad, that they have been labeled as modern should make them widely accepted.

So what is wrong with this picture? Pooh Bear mug, obviously directed to kids. But a Cappuccino Tumbler? What was in the mind of the one who conceptualized this product? Are they really expecting me to allow my 9-year-old to a heaping tumbler of Cappuccino? 

What are kids into these days that brought about this idea they need a caffeine boost via a Pooh Bear coffee tumbler? Too much PSP?

Or have I remained in the dark ages without knowing it? Has coffee become the in-thing for kids as well and I simply missed that trend? I find this all confusing.

I am still trying to figure out the Starbucks concessionaire that I once mentioned in an earlier blog. I do not know if the whole idea was misplaced or that it is now perfectly acceptable for kids as young as 7 to be identified to a coffee shop. OK they serve non-coffee drinks to, I assume, appease children brought in by their coffee crazy parents.

For indeed, coffee will not be coffee if accompanied by screams from a bored kid. Which is exactly why I have coffee when the whole house is still asleep. So give that child some brain-freeze-caramel-flavored-massively-topped-whipping-cream frappe-stuff to stunt any intended wailing while we enjoy our Macchiato. Isn't all these comfy? This is perhaps why coffee shops have turned into family zones. 

Still, in spite of all the modernity, the fact remains that the future is not about gray areas. What brings us there is our ability to identity bad from good. We have all the tools to be able to do that. And we are far more educated now to really be contented, even accept, that good enough can pass off as excellent.

And as a parent, even at the expense of sounding like some blast from the puritanical past, it is my responsibility to be able to define the lines clearly to my young child. There is no future for fence sitters. The future belongs to those who have a clear view of what is good and excellent and work towards it.

So what about that confused Pooh Mug? Ah, it now belongs to this coffee crazy father.

The Homeschooling Dad

“So when is Carmella going back to regular school?

“We will do it until, perhaps, high school.”

“WHAT?!!!”

I can understand their shock. Parenting, after all, isn't easy. But to include home schooling in this already complicated task can, for some, make parenthood all the more overwhelming.

Yes, no one is easily convinced, not even the closest of friends or relatives, that I am capable of giving my daughter the mentoring she needs. Once I was yelled at, jeered, suspected, doubted only because I have considered myself as Carmella's teacher.

But it does not surprise me at all. 

Schools have always been the safest place to bring our children. They have experts who had it all figured out with data to prove their studies, who know what technically works while we parents simply lack that same degree of training.

The only thing going for us is that more than anyone in this world, we know our child. We are a party to his universe. They are of us. 

And inadequate we may be, we are keenly aware of what is really at stake here. For clearly, who they ultimately turn out to be is solely on us. 

Hence as homeschooling parents, we do our best to explore all avenues to make our mentoring count. The whole experience may leave us drained, sometimes frustrated, other times in tears. Still we do not delegate and we trudge on. We learn as they learn.

Indeed we are the brave ones. On our own, we fearlessly took the task of preparing our children for bigger things. 

We may lack the tools that most trained mentors have but are continuously willing to face all the challenges, learn new things no matter how awkward that may sometimes be, recall stuff we would rather forget because once they were dreaded subjects, sing even if signing was never a gift, all for the sake of being a true hands-on parent.

Can there be a nobler task than this?

Birthday Musings

Lately, Carmella was in a private children's party. And so with other parents I was there enjoying the usual party favorites and even more. For some wicked reason, I see parties as excuses to pig out.

As expected in children's parties, moms talk. What caught my attention was a story one mother was telling about a recent birthday of a classmate of her daughter. These children are in early grade school, around age 7, but the extravagance of the event was something that blew this mom's mind.

It was apparent the classmate's parents were pretty well off. Only the moneyed can actually afford to rent a special tent venue right in the vicinity of a former army base now an upscale business park and invite concessionaires, Starbuck's among them, to put up stalls to cater to invited guests who are mostly their daughter's classmates. Instead of the usual and once more personal offerings of party poppers, chicken lollipops, ice cream and cakes, there is now the mini food court.

While trying to process what I was hearing, I was also hard at work trying to remember when hands-on children's birthday parties became passe. I was also trying to figure where Starbuck's fits in all these.

School cafeterias, particularly in the bigger and more exclusive schools, have adopted the food court concept. The wall colors and the table settings are so fast food. Gone are the days when the type of food served are those supervised and prepared by certified dieticians. They have been replaced by concessionaires selling their fat laden, sugar rich, generally oh-so-very-unhealthy menus to kids. After exposing our children to all these, it should not come as a surprise if we are left with obese, sickly wards.

I personally find this approach as selling a life style more than food. So more woe to our children.

Sadly, the same concept is being adopted by the very well off for their children's parties. What was once a pure parental effort has now been sub-contracted. The parents are given to the idea they'd rather pay someone else to make things happen for them, for their children. This leaves me asking questions like where all this will lead, what have become of us as parents, what all these seeming indifference will eventually tell our children.

Please don't get me wrong. I believe that so long as we can afford it, we can go all out in celebrating our children's birthdays. We have actually done it with Carmella.

But when the focus is more on the event rather than the celebrant, then it becomes alarming. Our kids now becomes the excuse rather than the reason.

I believe that on birthdays, they need to be hugged more than the usual. Most specially on this day of remembrance, they need to feel how blessed we are because we have them. These expressions don't cost anything and yet their effect lasts a lifetime.

They need to be guided to become somebody rather than join the ranks of the anybody who would instead indulge on extravagant parties and others like it in their quest to be vainly recognized. They need to know they will always be above all the glitter and glamor this world can offer.

We should help them recognize their own gifts and birthdays are reasons to celebrate these gifts. Let us teach our little ones to share what they have been given to bless others.

Let us then teach our children, on their special day, to hug back.

My Favorite Panadero

This is Domeng, my favorite panadero. He delivers my pan de sal each morning which, I have to admit, complements my instant coffee. 3-in-1 coffee mixes sucks. That is until I have it with Domeng's pan de sal.

So is Domeng's pan de sal to die for? Not really. Though they are clean and oven fresh, the true blue pan de sal eater will surely have a thing or two sour to say of his bread.

But what his pan de sal might lack Domeng makes up through his love of work.

You see, no matter the difficulty of his business, through heat and rain, Domeng smiles.

No matter how little you buy, he continues to smile and will still cheerfully include an extra piece into your paper bag.

No matter how pressed he is for time, he would engage in small chat if he feels you are up to it and often, a little wisdom gets tossed into your conversation.

Adding value in what he does seems to be his call of the day. He loves his work and that love, unaware he might be, extends to those who buys his pan de sal.

In my mind, it is this brand of cheer that creates the flavor in my bland 3-in-1 coffee mix. And it is this happy morning encounter that brings about a positive and enthusiastic start to my day.

And for those unexpected instances, like missing a day's delivery because he has to attend a fiesta at their home town, they are quickly forgotten. After all, a daily dose of kindness is sure to bring out the forgiving spirit.

So after a day that is dominated by chaos due to congested roadways, surly security guards, yapping fuel station attendants, gossiping sales ladies, devil-may-care drivers, inconsiderate fellow road users, overloaded buses, corrupt traffic enforcers, grim office politics, noisy fastfood buzz boys, long queues at ATM machines, the generally unfriendly world, it is perhaps a bit assuring that kindness and good cheer is just a morning away, courtesy of my favorite panadero.  

Rewards

Can all your biking put bread on the table? Will this obsession put money in the bank? Will it really make you rich?

Frankly? No, it will not.

It might, in case someone decides my enthusiasm born of passion is worth investing on. But that is wishful thinking. I am already 52. What is there to invest on this man who may appear to many as merely bike crazy?

Yes, there is no money here.

Only rewards.

I am rewarded with a friend who knew I would enjoy biking more by going clipless and so without much ado, gave me his spare Ritchey pedals.

I am rewarded with friends overjoyed I am going clipless, and rewarded with another who, upon learning I was trying to save up for a set of cleats, biked some 15 kilometers to hand me his brand new set.

I am rewarded with a friend who instead of selling his extra biking apparel, gave them all to me as gift, and with another who, in times of want, would generously cover for me so I can move on.

I am rewarded with a friend who, in spite of being exhausted himself, would cheer me on as I agonize that steep climb, and with friends who are jubilant that I had never given up and had conquered that mountain even if I have to unceremoniously stop or walk my bike plenty of times.

I am rewarded with friends who will keep up with my often laborious pace at the rear of the peloton, would stay on even if they feel they can pedal faster because friendships are far more important.

I am rewarded with friends who look past what I can afford, who insists that biking itself stands taller than what I bring.

I am rewarded with friends from far away who are so eager to share my happiness, and with one specially going out of her way to complete what I lack.

I am rewarded with friends who are basically keen on making the best of what I already have technically and would go one farther by taking on babysitting duties for me.

I am rewarded with biking stories that often challenge the human spirit, stories of bravery, stories of humility in spite of greatness, stories of genuine friendships.

I am rewarded with laughter which all the more makes biking fun.

I am rewarded with a view that changes my often sad perception of life, rewarded with the awareness of the richness of what surrounds me, rewarded with opportunity to enjoy God's grandeur through His creation, rewarded with gratitude for all blessing He has already bestowed upon me.

Many continue to work hard to save enough so they can finally spend time on real friendships, feel God's bounty, and then be filled with gratitude.

Biking did not bring bring money into my savings account but then again, I already had my fill.

Photocred: ASRivera

Why Am I Always Tired?

“Why am I always tired!!!?”

Too often I hear this complaint from well salaried folks, folks whose annual income wants me to turn green with envy.

Perhaps I was being naïve by thinking money should bring comfort, not stress and has figured these complaints as mainly a slang of the rich. But I have, since then, grown wiser and had begun to see that more than often, the cause of this fatigue is self inflicted.

We are tired because we over spent, tired because we lived beyond what we can truly afford, tired because we take on a profligate life style.

According to Dave Ramsey, fun can be bought but not happiness. I think the mistaken notion that happiness is a commodity has people chasing after the wrong goals only to discover their joy lies elsewhere.

This can probably explain why our dresser has more shirts or dresses than necessary, our closet more bags than we will actually use and our shoe cabinet more shoes than we need.

In my mind all this is a consequence of want, which is spontaneous and often superfluous, disguising itself into a need, which is a valid condition, and whatever line that differentiates them has been blurred.

Sadder still, with the midnight madness sales, buy-one-take-one offers, zero-interest options, the line gets even murkier that for some of us, want has mutated into a need. Consequently, we become disoriented and our priorities gets bent.

There is really no reason to be buried in debt. But the humongous cash flowing out of those ATMs can, indeed, inflict one with the I-Can-Afford-This Syndrome or perhaps create some sort of foggy confidence that there is always the next salary to cover any spending oversight.

And while the aim of all our disbursal is to achieve happiness, we still are not. Instead we find ourselves wallowing in an even bigger debt.

I personally believe that to spend is also to understand the value of money. Unwarranted spending is the effect of ignorance of worth which, consequently, leads to a life lived beyond our means.

And so we remain tired.

Photo Cred: vonichi of cpb/armanSrivera

The Birthday Registry

I am turning 52 in a few days. I do not know if senility is starting to set in but I feel I am becoming more and more sensitive about birthdays.

2 years ago, I never knew I was turning 50 and that being 50 was big deal. It took a surprise birthday gift from Cecille, a trip to Boracay actually, for me to realize something unusual is afoot, that a chapter is being started, that I am old.

And old I think I am which is why anything birthday related is contentious topic.

Like birthday gifts.

For some reason, it has become a habit for friends and relations to ask what the celebrant wants to have for his birthday only to give him something "they" want rather than what "the celebrant" himself wants. You know I love to bike, why the long sleeve office shirts? Very puzzling indeed.

Which is why I think weddings are easier.

Many wives may strongly disagree with this timid view but I personally feel weddings always turn into truly memorable events because it has “The Wedding Registry.” The new couple are assured they won't get twice as many punch bowls, twice as many wall clocks or electric fans or frying pans or self cleaning flat irons.

Above all, they can also safely bet that no redundant wedding gift from someone's else's nuptial will find itself “re-wrapped and re-presented.”

Wedding Registries should be the envy of birthday celebrants. Nothing beats writing what you think you need and then actually getting it. Wedding registries are very much like owning a genie in a lamp.

Imagine that happening on birthdays. Imagine if there is also such thing as “The Birthday Registry.”

Think about truly receiving that stuff you have been dreaming of and drooling over for the last 11 months, not something which was hurriedly paid for and then wrapped without much thought accompanying it.

At last you can be sure you will be getting biking shorts and not neckties.

Yes, I am old and am, indeed, getting very sensitive about birthdays.