Hey, hey, I have survived!
It is truly a wonderful, great feeling to survive something, especially if that which for almost your entire life was one too heavy burden. It is more amazing than realizing I have survived parenting’s early stage in my first thirteen years of marriage, much more than seeing upclose my firstborn survived his six years of elementary school and ultimately became one of this year’s graduates.
To breathe at will after the lump I felt in my throat and carried for a long time has finally gone is like having the most coveted freedom. How sweet it is to survive life’s another stage, literally, after I finally said the last word as the speaker in my son’s graduation program.
Yesiree, lovers and friends, cynics and critics, you read it right: I was the guest speaker before men’s, women’s, senior citizens’ and children’s eyes.
In the past, I tried everything in the book and thus evaded the invitation of my primary education Alma Mater always successfully, turning her down in prose and poetry or threatening with a shotgun all emissaries one after the other as the case may be.
However, and I still wonder, why did as the day of this year’s graduation draw nigh, never become successful was my standard alibi. Shall I give credit (or debit?) to Mrs. Helen Grace D. Montenid, my son’s class adviser, for her magic because she talked to me over the phone saying, “Tô, ikaw speaker sa graduation, bye-yyyyyy!”?
For several days after that call, there was a mixture of feeling of fear and excitement. For the same number of days I could not believe my fever and LBM became permanent. That was the kind of revolting feeling of tremors or a rolling shake. Or it was like for several days I lived a life of a restless rattlesnake.
Imagining myself talking before the public on stage alone, I could not help but breathe heavily as the thought sends shiver to the bone. I admit my kryptonite is the rostrum because I know I am one of the world’s worst speakers regardless of my personal stand. Exhibit A, at home, when I talk repeatedly or at once, my loving wife would often beg a pardon because even she could not understand.
But believe me, baby, I have survived miraculously last Friday. Although my lips and slow tongue hesitated at times, still they made my day. Of course, I’ve had prepared an inch-thick ‘kodigo,’ finishing my draft at 8:57 A.M. for a 9:00 A.M. program, yet, I am not cut-out for public reading too. During the moment of truth, I took my glance at it also but I always believe that it’s always better to speak from the heart than from the script, I tell you.
The sweetness of the spur of the moment gives back the spirit an unexplainable excitement. I didn’t care if I’d fumble in saying my words or they’re absent of flattery as long as I have every truth. Besides, people should know that sheriffs don’t talk; they just simply walk, or shoot, including their own foot.
Many years ago, I did quit in the middle of my speech in the similar program in shame and frustration. I was tempted to redeem myself last Friday by sticking to my script and to try speaking like Churchill or Hitler or Lincoln.
But no, I preferred to be me as all I wanted was to finish that speech 35 years ago in front of many people. I was not there to impress them but just to put formal closure to my message for all.
Of course, it was a whole new message last Friday yet I got full satisfaction. For even in half a word, people had the story of the real redemption.
Of the only salvation.
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