The Rogue Who Hated Babies

First Cycle: 1968, Dagupan

TOUGH LUCK befell even before I was baptized.

Dad leisurely drove to Carranglan on the day I was to become a Christian while mom sat in the front seat and a nanny named Patring clutched me at the back of the car. A neighborhood rogue, who was apparently stoned or drunk, blocked our way and halted the car, arrogantly brandished his firearm and demanded money or the baby inside the car would be harmed.

One ordinary Sunday a helium-depleted balloon descended from the ceiling of this Calasiao cathedral and eerily glided directly where the five year-old Wushu sat.

Luckily, there were bystanders around who recognized dad and who were luckily more rogue than the would-be holdupper. I am not so sure whether the villain gave way because dad gave him money or because he was nearly lynched by the mob. I was either busy sucking my thumb to slumber or enjoying the furor thinking it was part of Christendom’s welcome rites.