I called home early Saturday afternoon to check on what everybody was up to and my mother responded that she’d been busy checking out tributes to Michael Jackson (I suppose both in local and international television channels) since Friday when news of the popular icon’s sudden demise hogged the media limelight.
Mama goes showbizy with Gabby C.
My mother recently retired from government service so she has all the time to be preoccupied with the latest news – whether in politics, business or entertainment. I suppose now that she is free from the burden of working at least 40 hours a week under the stringent civil service rules that lord over the government bureaucracy, she has deliberately skewed her interest to anything that is showbizy.
In this blog, I want to pay tribute to my dear mother, specifically in her years of serving the government (faithfully and without fanfare). It is with great pride that I write this entry about her, who before retirement belonged to the throng of often taken-for-granted workers in the government bureaucracy but whose modest presence in the complex administrative system somehow made the abstract term ‘public service’ real.
Mama's graduation pic taken in 1966
The youngest child in a brood of four, Mama, named Estrella (meaning ‘star’ in Spanish; she is known as Manay/Ate Star among her colleagues), had at an early age come to terms with the idea that education was the only legacy her parents of modest means could leave her. She therefore took her studies very seriously, in fact, graduating valedictorian in Libon, Albay’s private high school (although she had to endure somewhat irresponsible complaints from her closest academic rival’s highly educated parents, who did not think that a daughter of an illiterate farmer and a mere housewife who barely reached second grade could top her class, which included those who came from families of teachers and professionals).
After finishing high school in what is touted as Albay’s rice granary, Mama went to
Mama as a geisha with friends
She met Papa in the mid-seventies, perhaps a few months after her father passed on. They got married in April 1975 and had my sister Edelynn in October 1976. In 1977, when she was heavily pregnant with me, she took the exam for a budget and management specialist position at the newly organized regional office of the Department of Budget and Management (DBM) in
Mama would spend a significant number of years of her professional career with DBM serving as budget and management specialist, as public information officer/ media liaison (she would sometimes be heard over the radio or seen on local TV defending her department especially when it would be unfairly attacked by the local media), and generally as a loyal and faithful government employee. She retired from service just before her 63rd birthday which she celebrated on Jose Rizal’s 147th birthday anniversary.
In a way, I grew up competing with DBM for my mother’s time and attention. I still remember that at age 3 or 4, I would cry out ‘Mama’ when she would leave home for office early in the morning. I was told that my loud scream could be heard even half a mile away from our lot which at that time was surrounded with vast privately owned plantations of root crops such as kamote (sweet potato), kamoteng kahoy (cassava) and/or singkamas (jicama or Mexican turnip).
Being the dedicated mother that she has always been, Mama would easily choose her children over work. I remember her saying that throughout her service in the government agency, it was inevitable for her to use up most if not all of her leave credits for each year because she would take a leave from work whenever any of her children was sick or was encountering problems in school. She would specifically take a leave from office to visit my homeroom teacher when I would complain of being bullied in class by my much bigger (and perhaps, well connected) classmates in grade school.
Even after her work-filled 8-to-5 job, Mama would attend PTA meetings and would actively engage in the deliberations as to how student welfare could be advanced in our schools. (She and Papa made sure they attended each of their children’s homerooms’ PTA meetings. I remember that there was only one occasion in high school when I had to represent myself in a parents’ meeting with our section’s adviser. Neither of my parents could make it to the meeting so I had to attend it myself; in the agenda was an orientation on the newly revised National Secondary Assessment Test.)
In high school, my mother was my number one coach in writing and performing my original contest pieces for oratory or public speaking. She would assist me in writing my draft, edit it, type it in the office computer during her free time using Word Star or Word Perfect, and listen to me rehearse my performance. If a district, provincial or inter-school contest fell on an office day, she wouldn’t hesitate to take leave from work to attend and witness my public performance. She was present in my triumphs and defeat. I especially remember that time when I forgot my lines while I was in the middle of my oratorical performance (mastery of the original piece was a major criterion). My mother’s presence among the audience was comforting. Immediately after I left the stage, I sought for her warm embrace. Receiving her warm hug signaled that the debacle was over.
Papa's grad pic circa 1960's
Mama’s modest but hard-earned government salary became the staple source of our family income after Papa retired early from government service in 1989. What she earned as a senior budget and management specialist was instrumental in sending all of her four children to college. Three of us would graduate on time (my youngest brother who had to halt his studies a number of times due to his medical condition is finally in his final academic year and hopes to be able to earn his degree early next year) and that was made possible because of Mama’s dedication to her work in the government, particularly in the budget department.
Of course, Mama’s endurance in the government service was complemented by Papa’s support for her by practically doing the chores at home when he was no longer earning his post-retirement income from a promising but short-lived attempt at swine production, and later, a part-time office job in a local school. I often wonder whether the apparent reversal of roles at home – my mother as the breadwinner and my father as the house husband – was the realization of latter 20th century feminist aspirations. My parents’ mindsets may have remained largely conservative – I tend to see them as more sympathetic to the Catholic Church’s conservative blocs – but the material reality at home, the dynamics of their relationship as husband and wife, has surprisingly shown signs of being progressive.
(Side note: My father’s transformation from nominal Catholic to arguably the most serious Christian believer at home right now is another interesting facet of our family life that is worth talking about, but I’ll leave that for a future blog entry. Or I’ll probably just ask my mother to write about it.)
