This is my contribution to Mothers’ Day, dedicated to young mothers who lament “how difficult it is to raise a child.”
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What I’ll share with you I learned the hard way, hit and miss style, the fruit of my experience (which, we are told, is the best teacher).
Being a good mother is difficult. Indeed, it can be very difficult. But isn’t it likewise true that “creating” anything of value takes a lot of energy and patience? And what can be of more value than a child? Especially in the eyes of God? Let us look on children as gifts (hulog ng langit), lovely gifts that have been given to us to brighten our days and provide more meaning to our lives.
We had a missionary-priest for dinner one evening years ago who related to us his experience in Japan. “I had been in this small town for several months and had sensed that something was wrong. Life seemed to be drab and monotonous—I didn’t know why. Until one day, seated at the park, I looked around and suddenly realized: There were no infants, no children. It was a town without babies! Can you imagine life without children? That’s why I’m so happy every time I visit the Philippines,” he said.
Now, I ask you: Can you imagine your life without your children?
Of course, raising children is expensive. School bills, doctors’ and dentists’ fees, plus new shoes and uniforms and clothes every six months, not to mention huge grocery and market expenses, etc. What to do? Either or both of two things: Try to earn more and/or cut down on expenses if you can.
In our family, my late husband held down two or three jobs right up to the year when he became seriously ill. On my part, I was a full-time professor besides having other ventures on the side. I guess our children must have caught their work ethic from us because all of them have spent their productive lives working, including the married daughters. Work is therapeutic, in addition to giving one a valuable sense of self-worth. Don’t ever be afraid of work, so long as it is honest.
Which reminds me: One day while we were lunching at Villa San Miguel, the late Jaime Cardinal Sin looked at my husband, who was seated across from him. “Felix,” the cardinal said, thumping the back of his spoon on the table, “do you know why all your children are successful?” “No, your Eminence,” my husband said. “Because you never fed them with stolen bread,” the cardinal said, and he laughed uproariously. I have never forgotten those words.
Do you have difficulty budgeting? Let me pass on to you my late comadre’s definition of a budget. “A budget,” she told me once, “is the fine art of doing without.” In practical terms it means:
- Distinguish between what you and your family need and what you want. Take care of the needs. Never mind the wants; they can wait till you become affluent enough.
- Buy only what you can afford. Avoid buying on credit if you can. The add-ons cost a lot.
- Do not keep up with the neighbors.
- Avoid consumerism. It is today’s malady and can bring you to bankruptcy.
To my next-door neighbor who asked “How do I raise my kids?” the only answer, to my mind, is: Love them. “Of course I love them,” you remonstrate. But do you tell them so? Do you demonstrate your love for them? Do you play with them, kiss them and hug them? Today psychologists claim that children have to be hugged seven times a day for them not to feel insecure when they reach adulthood. “I’m afraid that if I love them too much, they may become spoiled,” you say. Please listen, nobody gets “spoiled” by too much love. Have you ever heard of someone dying from an abundance of love? But people die if and when they are not loved. To me, it’s not too much love that spoils, but too much money.
“I love all my children equally,” you add. Perhaps that has to be qualified. Every person is unique. Every person is an individual. Therefore, every child has to be loved uniquely, individually. One pays more attention to the sick child than to the one who is healthy. One spends much time tutoring the child who has failing grades and just supervises the gifted one who always gets medals. Perhaps you have noticed how different your children are from one another—one is a crybaby, the other one is a tough guy; one is finicky at table, the other has a pig’s appetite, etc. Therefore, your love for them cannot be one size fits all.
At our dining table, the chair to my right was considered a special chair. The youngest at the time would always sit there so I could feed the baby, attend to his or her needs and give hugs in between. But when the seventh child contracted rheumatic fever, he automatically sat there until his late teens, when he finally got over his ailment. I don’t think any of his siblings minded.
At one of our family reunions, one son (there are seven of them) told me, “Mommy, when I think of my childhood, I always remember you in a bandanna. I wonder why…” I laughed and told him: “Because whenever we went on trips then, to Matabungkay, Balayan, Olongapo or Baguio, I would wear a bandanna to keep the wind off my hair. You remember those summers?” I inquired. “Yes,” he answered, “all of them. They were fun days—full of laughter and love.” He smiled sheepishly. Why is it that men are often shy when feelings are concerned?
Perhaps it is not strange that people tend to remember the truly happy days more than the painful ones. It seems the heart has a selective memory. Therefore, it is our duty as mothers to create an atmosphere of peace, joy, security and love which the children will remember fondly all their lives.
Incidentally, it’s summertime once again. What a good opportunity for bonding purposes. Now is the time for the whole family to do things together. The idea is for everyone to enjoy one another’s company. And whatever you do, don’t forget to enjoy your kids—with all their idiosyncrasies and demands and strange and funny ways of loving you—because Time being what it is (a thief, if ever there was one), pretty soon they will be grown and you may not hug and kiss the son any longer (Mommy, please, how corny, turning his cheek away) and the girl has graduated and gone abroad. No time like the present, I say, to shake off those negative thoughts and think positively of the family.
As I see it, our contribution to society right now is: to have more faith in God (He always holds our hand, you know, only we tend to forget this fact), to give love (as much as the traffic can bear), and to build hope (especially during those days when we seem engulfed in darkness).
Lourdes Syquia Bautista, 91, is a retired professor of the University of Santo Tomas, widow, mother of 12, grandmother of 27, and great grandmother of 14.