It was the evening of December 23, two days before Christmas. I was 12 years old and sulking in the corner of our small sari-sari store (also our house) in Bago Bantay because I was not getting what I wanted for Christmas. I asked my parents for a bicycle but learned there wasn’t enough money to purchase one. My mother also said that I didn’t need it yet. I was upset.

We had already finished dinner, “Roni, nahugasan mo na ba yung mga plato?” my mother asked. “Tapos na, Ma,” I answered. But in my mind, I was saying, “Lagi na lang ako naghuhugas, di naman nabili gusto ko.” My siblings (my younger sister and brother) were watching something on our black-and-white TV, and I did not join them. 

To be honest and truthful, I was not in the mood to watch TV or be with anyone. I was squelching in self-pity and, maybe, carrying a pound of anger. I felt that the whole planet was encapsulating me.

Then my father, who was outside for a while, came back to the house and called me. “Roni, halika, tulungan mo akong buhatin itong dalawang karton, ilabas natin.”  

It seemed that Mang Jerry wanted to say something, but nothing came out of his throat, as if his controlled sobbing snuggled his voice. In the end, his voice trembling, through his tears he spoke: “Salamat. Maraming salamat”

I did not want to get up; I just wanted to stay where I was. My thoughts were creating words of protest: “Hindi niyo na nga ako bibilhan ng bisikleta, pagbubuhatin niyo pa ako ng karton palabas, tsaka gabi na ah. Naghugas na ako ng plato, at nagwalis pa, ngayon may gagawin nanaman.”  

But I understood that my father could not get any assistance from anyone else in our house. My siblings were still young and little, and my mother was minding our store. “Lumakad na kayo, Roni, para makabalik kayo agad,” said my mother softly, who seemed to know what was about to transpire. 

So, I stood up, dragged myself, carried one of the boxes (my father carried the other) and walked outside. I did not know where we were going, so I followed my father. A few moments later, we arrived at a tiny place that looked like a bodega (stock room) for soft drinks, just across the street from our house, near another sari-sari store called Mang Maning. Although we knew it wasn’t locked, we still knocked on the door; someone opened it. 

“Mang Ramon, kayo pala,” referring to my father, “Tuloy kayo,” said a man in a faint voice. We went in. I was surprised to see a family living inside that minimal rectangular space. A man was carrying an infant child; he was limping. Two other children (boys, probably aged 5 and 7) were sitting atop an empty green wooden San Miguel beer case. 

“May dala kami para sa inyo,” said my father as he placed the box on the table. He opened it and revealed a few things; bread (monay), a supot, or bag of rice, a couple of cans of evaporated milk (Alaska), coffee (Blend 45), Chocovim, some hopia, siopao, and a few canned goods. Then, I looked at the face of the man – I swear I saw some tears falling from his eyes as he tried to compose himself while holding his child. 

At that point, I already recognised the man. He was Mang Jerry, who used to work at the gravel and sand factory on the side of the road. Word on the street said he had lost his wife recently because of some form of illness, meaning his kids had also lost their mother. 

Mang Jerry did not look well. He couldn’t work lately and was obviously in need of help. I looked at the kids; they were thin, with uncombed hair, and their deep, sad eyes seemed to be about to cry too. I was immersed in the unfolding scene. My heart broke.

“Roni, dalhin mo yung isang karton dito sa mesa,” said my father. I did not need to drag myself this time as I hurriedly (and eagerly) put the box on the table and opened it. It had two pairs of second-hand children’s Bantex rubber shoes (the best we could afford, but I knew they would last long), socks, children’s sandos, a feeding bottle, and a towel. 

The two kids jumped for joy with scrubby tears on their cheeks as they almost fell from the empty beer case they were sitting on. It seemed that Mang Jerry wanted to say something, but nothing came out of his throat, as if his controlled sobbing snuggled his voice. In the end, his voice trembling, through his tears he spoke: “Salamat. Maraming salamat.” 

I hate to admit it, but tears started to fall from my eyes too, and they would not stop. I had to excuse myself; I asked if I could step out the door. My father understood and allowed me to leave. He chatted with Mang Jerry for a while.

As I sat down on the bulging pavement near the door outside, still crying, I knew at that moment I was a changed person. I could still picture the three kids and their father’s tears. The look of happiness and gratefulness on their faces is unmistakably what they wanted to convey to us. 

Minutes ago, I was upset and mad because I did not get the present I had wished for. How foolish I was to be stressed and irritated just because I did not get what I wanted. I realised that the world is full of people needing care, help, empathy, connection, and… food. I was a jerk for only thinking about myself. 

But then, after playing a part in the demonstrations of kindness and gratitude a while ago, my heart became filled with joy; my soul was experiencing pleasure I had never gotten before. My parents had just given me the best gift – the gift of desire to give. While pondering all these feelings, my eyes began to shed tears again.

“Anong ginagawa mo diyan, anak?” asked my father when he came out of the door. I did not answer him, but rather asked him a question too, “Kumusta sila, Pa? Okay na sila?” I said, as I tried to wipe away my tears with the bottom of my T-shirt. 

My father just smiled and said, “Halika, uwi na tayo.” We were about to walk back when a sudden thought came to my mind. “Sandali lang, Pa,” I said.

I marched back to the tiny place, and without warning, I hugged the two kids, rubbed their heads gently, and then said to Mang Jerry, “Salamat po, Mang Jerry.” I knew he wondered why I thanked him, but I also knew he would understand one day. After all, the faithful essence of Christmas is giving, and the noble aspiration one must have in life is being able to share.

As for my father and mother, they gave me more than a bicycle that Christmas season. That night, they gave me a truck… a truckload of delight to every attitude and act of giving. It’s the best Christmas gift. 

And I whispered in my thoughts…“Makakapaghintay ang bisikleta.”