FATHERHOOD
My dad, me and my son

YAYES

(I do not consider myself a writer, yet I am flattered by your comments and encouragement to continue writing. If priesthood is my first love, writing comes second and teaching ranks third……..oh great brown God I hope my wife does not see this! I have promised myself never to write a sad story. I want you to laugh when you read the words I write, perhaps listen to the child inside me as it tries to speak to that little child in you. Today I beg for an exemption.)

I am the son of my father. I am the father of my son.

In nomine padre …………….

My dad is ED BASARES the overachiever: an academician, an administrator, a broadcaster, a politician and a lawyer. He started as a classroom teacher even before I entered my first grade in school, and by the time I did he was already the school principal. He later moved on to become a College Dean, Director for Student Affairs and Vice President for Administration. He capped his scholarly record with two baccalaureate degrees, two masteral (including his Bachelor of Laws) and a doctorate in Education. In his short stint in government service he was a recipient of several Certificates of Merit. In the broadcast industry, he was rated number one radio commentator in the province and earned the monicker from his peers as the DEAN OF BROADCAST MEDIA in Sorsogon. When he entered politics in 1992 he was classified as a sure winner albeit they used a different parameter when counting the votes. He has continued to be present in every electoral process since then and has refused to acknowledge defeat. When I saw him in 1997 after years of absence I was shocked at how old he had become, yet he has refused to fade into retirement. Well, I still have to meet a politician who does not consider himself immortal. My father became a lawyer in 2002 . To date he is practicing his law profession.

Et fili……..

It was hard growing up under his shadow.
I was only in grade four when he required me to learn journalism as he imposed on me to read and re-write the news from the newspapers. Reading was a habit he instilled upon me that no book or magazine from his library was missed. Yet he left me alone to learn. No grade in the line of seven was acceptable to him as he monitored mine every grading period. Bad English for him was and is a mortal sin. I finished my elementary grades with honors and he was there.

I told him I would enter the seminary. He was not surprised. Two instances I remember well of how proud he was during my seminary years--
one when I was assigned to serve an acolyte to the Bishop one Sunday during our summer break, and two when he “gave” me to Fr. Ding Caindec after I became his official acolyte every time Fr Ding would say mass outside the seminary. He never wanted me to become a priest as I am his only son and eldest at that. Yet he acknowledged my identity and duties then as a seminarian as he allowed me to spend days in the parish especially during the Lenten season. Somehow he attributed my decision to leave the seminary when Fr Ding left for Rome on my second year. To a certain degree he was right for Fr. Ding was more like a second father to me.

When I was in second year college (outside the seminary), knowing I had long turned my back on the norms and values of a seminarian, and while he was station manager of DZMS, he secretly invited Fr Ding, then back from Rome, to say mass and compelled me to attend. I cried a lot at Fr Ding’s shoulder.

My dad is a strict disciplinarian and hard on his children, hardest on me. Sometimes I suspect I was his favorite whipping bag. He is a distant father. It is easy for him to shower praises on his students against whom I pale in comparison, albeit he spends most of his nights wondering if he has made me wrong or what in heavens name a curse has fallen upon me.

While sometimes I envied some of his students it was easy for me to understand: ED BASARES is a father to his students, a teacher to his son. And I grew up looking for a father.

It was always a love-hate relationship between us as he perpetually tried to control me during the times I was uncontrollable and stubbornly refused to do so at times I needed it most. He is never satisfied with what I can do yet secretly confides to his friends his amazement with the little things I have managed to do.

These days everytime I go home, I spend all my time with my kids playing with them after school and I would see him secretly watching, perhaps wondering why. But by all means he is a doting lolo.

ED BASARES will always be ED BASARES. He has fought his battle and emerged victorious from it, all by himself as he grew up an orphan. He has carved his destiny and earned the respect of others with no one beside him and with nothing but pure guts and determination.

et mi fili

My son was born in 1995. I had always wanted a son. For five years he was my only child. To date he is about to enter his adolescence period. And I fear so much that he would commit the same mistakes I did. My only wish and prayer for my son is for him to live a different life from mine. So I refused to cast a shadow on him and gave him a different name. At bedtime and away from the ears of his mom he would tell me stories about his girl classmates and, oh God here it goes. Four occasions my son would never miss--my birthday, his birthday, his siblings birthday, and his mom’s birthday.

I know I will never verbally have the chance to tell my dad I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN PROUD OF HIM. It is my hope that just being a father to my own son would speak louder than words.
For the son comes from the father.

In some instances the rock speaks because it is silent, the sand moves because it is still.
The sad story shall continue on and on. Until like my dad, in his career path, it will arrive…..
………….at a time which is not a time,
………….at a place which is not a place.

Happy Birthday Fr. Peewee!

Happy Birthday Fr. Peewee!

peewee, naghuhulat lang kami san pasalubong mo :-)























THE GRACE OF PEEWEE

Yayes Basares

Hey, relax classmate. I am not talking about Grace Dimaunahan or Grace Dimagulangan; I am not talking about anybody else's Grace. It's your birthday and I am talking about your grace: your priesthood.

We have always been proud of your priesthood as we are proud of you as MAELSTROM's one and only one priest.

No, you are not a square peg in a hole in our company. Beneath the jest and the jokes is our admiration for you.

And, believe me, you serve as the most tangible link to our past because looking at you we see each of ourselves then hoping to be what you are now.

You can never have sons and daughters as we have, perhaps will miss the joy of fatherhood as you see your son on his first walk and little by little dislodge you as the only authority in the house. On the other hand, you will be spared from the pains of watching over your son overnight as you wait for that fever to break. You will be spared from the daily pressure of living and caring for a family and will perhaps miss the joy of your sons smile on his first bike. You will miss the rush of early morning in sending your son to school and the anxiety of waiting for him in the afternoon. You cannot marry, literally that is. For in your chosen field of endeavor you are to walk a carved path designed by the Divine Father sacrificing personal joys and pleasures demanding celibacy so that you can give everything in you in service.

You cannot amass millions in terms of fat bank accounts or a fleet of cars or a palatial house. Yet you will not have to work hard to gain power and prestige, clout and influence to gain respect of society. Your priesthood alone already demands respect and prestige.

You will not have a family of your own, yet you will be a father to many. You cannot amass wealth yet your riches cannot be measured.

Such is your grace. Such is Peewee’s grace.

Happy birthday, classmate, and we look forward for more birthdays of Rev. Father Philip Aurelius Renovalles.