Growing up, I wasn’t a “lola’s boy”. I didn’t spend afternoons chatting with her on our bougainvillea-adorned porch, nor did I cuddle with her as she watched her favorite afternoon soap operas inside her pink-curtained room. She knew no secret of mine, and we never had any intimate conversations about life.
No, I wasn’t a “lola’s boy”. On the contrary (and in retrospect), I actually wasn’t even a nice grandson to her. I would pocket her spare coins whenever she asked me to buy something. I would lie to her about going to church (she always took part during services, and she’d look for me in the crowd; when she got home I’d say, “I was there, you probably just didn’t see me!”)
The only thing that connected us was our shared passion for academic pursuits.
She was a grade school teacher who eventually founded her own pre-school institution. Her teaching approach was edgy compared to other schools, and her drive to make her students excel was infamous not only in her locale, but in neighboring towns as well. My lola was the most passionate person I knew when talking about education.
Naturally, as her grandson, I had the privilege of experiencing a more special kind of mentoring and guidance from her.
She had a way of motivating me to be better. I wasn't that difficult to please, but whenever I didn’t feel like studying, there was virtually nothing my parents could do to keep me from playing outside. In a very cunning but sweet way, my lola resorted to bribing me with cookies.
That’s right. Cookies.
Not the kind that you buy at the corner store. They were special cookies; the brand name is oblivious to me even up to this day, which kinda pisses me off. I never really knew where they came from, but my educated guesses were that: a) they were being regularly sent to her by one of my aunts from abroad, b) they were from a remote town called Batan, Aklan where she grew up, or C) she just knew of a good place to buy insanely-delicious cookies from, the exact location of which remained unrevealed to rest of the human race.
I’m not sure why I didn’t bother to ask her — which I will regret for years to come — but I didn’t.
She used to put them inside a weird, antique-looking cookie box (technically it wasn’t a box, coz it was made of aluminum and it was round, so it was more of a big-ass can, but I’ll call it a box). Whenever I saw that cookie box, I felt like Scooby Doo in the midst of a Scooby Snack.
All she asked in exchange for two cookies was for me to read an entire Disney book. They were those glossy-covered high-res storybooks that came along with the VHS tapes of The Lion King, Aladdin, The Fox and the Hound, and The Little Mermaid (these were the ones that she had). They weren’t that long; they’re actually very good condensed versions of the stories, if you wanted to refresh your memory of what happened in the movies.
Even though those books were awesome — the lines were exactly as they are in the films, so I would act them out when I was in the mood — I hated the fact that she’d ask me to read them aloud in front of her while she stared blankly at the ceiling, rocking her chair with feminine ease. Sometimes, some of the helpers would also watch, and to their standards, I was Miss Saigon material. But I hated it. I had this weird speaking voice and I never really enjoyed speaking in public, even when reading off a book.
Still, the insufferable 10-minute read was always WORTH IT. Yep, those cookies were that good.
After my “performance”, she’d stand up and she’d have that proud look on her face like I’ve just won the Nobel Peace Prize for Disneyology. Her delight made me pretty pleased with myself too, and that feeling, coupled with two pieces of the best cookies in the world, was childhood heaven.
As I grew older, my lola rarely bought (if she did buy them) those cookies again, and I became too busy with my social life (by “social”, I meant hanging out with 2 friends, sometimes 3). At first I was like, “Man, I miss those cookies.” But then later on I realized that I missed the reading sessions, too.
Before that point, I’ve always thought that she wanted me to always read to her just to entertain herself. I’d be like, “Wow, she really likes these stories; maybe that's why she wants to hear them over and over.” Eventually I had come to understand that she did it to make me feel at ease with the English language, particularly while speaking in front of people. Yep, she Miyagi’d me.
I’m not going to say that lola’s cookies cured my fear of public speaking— it still kinda freaks me out — but it definitely would have gotten worse if she hadn’t thought of giving me a bit of confidence in myself. And it has gone a long way since.
At times I would see weird boxes just like that of lola’s, and I would still smile while picturing her proud look in my mind. It’s just one out of a million reasons why she will be remembered by many.
Thanks, lola.
