Tales from My Childhood - Episode 4

Training of a Wimpy, Bullied Runt

By age 10 my height was no more than 4 feet! Following all the laws of geometry, social sciences and psychiatry (pronounced “pisikayatree” by Jaques Clouseau) I should have been over 5 feet already! The growth hormones, alas, were active only with the limbs to the detriment of my torso. Consequently, I was forced to be the wimpiest kid in the block – ever evading possible confrontations with the bullies and, predictably, running away from fights.

By age 12, I discovered all was not lost as long as I had extra change in my pocket to buy protection! I befriended the biggest, tallest non-bullies by feeding them roasted peanuts, “chicharon” and “ampao” to be washed down with Dalmar Cola and Cosmos. The arrangement worked fine. The bullies kept their distance as long as my mercenaries were around. The downside: my bodyguards were not available 24/7 and many were the times I was flat broke which forced me to avoid not just the bullies but also my bodyguards!

“I can’t keep an eye on you all the time,” said Monching, nephew of my lesbian aunt’s lover, the bottom non-achiever in our class, recipient of my endless help with all his homework and the biggest item in my National Defense Budget. “I have to train you how to work things out by yourself.”

I agreed, although reluctantly. The commonwealth days must end. I must have my July 4^th epiphany! I was hoping it would solve my problem with Ben “Pingas” – a 5 foot kid with muscles as big as cantaloupes and arms that reached below his kneecaps! Many were the occasion when he asked me to fill him up with “ampao” and “chicharon” which requests I couldn’t ignore unless I was ready to forfeit life on earth. And so for many nights Monching taught me the rudiments of boxing. “When I hit with my right, raise your left to parry my fist! When I give you a swift swing with my left, followed by a  right, step back, duck and dance away! There! Like that!”

Then one day Ben “Pingas” was walking by our house. Very quickly, Monching blocks his way and challenges him: “Hey, Pingas! Wanna fight my boy?” Oh, shit! It was too late for me to back out. Monching had already issued a challenge.

“Sure!” was the eager reply from the biggest gorilla in Barrio Tugatog. He was confident he could beat me to a pulp and I was confident I’d look good as a beaten pulp! Monching stepped back and hastily pushed me at Ben “Pingas.” Despite his long arms, not once did he land a fist on me! Elated, I closed in, parried a left and then threw in an uppercut with my right, followed by a left hook! Ben “Pingas” suddenly became Ben “Basahan” as he bit the dust. I killed him! Monching was on top of Ben “Patay” and counting “…four, five, six…” Ben “Lampa” opened his eyes and whimpered “No more… I wanna go home…”

Later, that night, I looked at myself in the mirror and noticed for the first time: my arms reached down below my knees! July 4^th came at last.

Oh, before I forget – from then on, Ben “Lampa” was treating me to “chicharon” and “ampao”!