Wunderkind

At times I want to approach my parents while they're just lying there on the couch, watching yet another one of those intellectually numbing shows on TV. At times I simply want to ask them how they feel about how they fared in their lives, now that theirs are drawing to a close. At times I just want to ask why they made such a mess of helping me grow up as a child. I want to ask, not to rile them up, but because I want to understand.

I envy my friends sometimes, those whose parents are taking active controls over their lives. I envy those parents I see on TV commercials, "nurturing the gift" of their child. Those parents who, you know, seem to want to share what they've gone through. Those who have at least a modicum of know-how on how it feels to become an adult.

My story of growing up seem to be almost completely mine alone. My parents gave me a free rein on almost everything important in my life. Maybe they thought I was too bullheaded to follow whatever they say, but I believe I only became like that on my post-adolescent years. Even when I was just a wee child, they never seemed to guide me at all, and I'm only thankful that I have an inner sense of academic duty otherwise I would have long flunked myself out of school. Some of you might think that the freedom they gave me is actually a good thing, but what I'm pointing out here is the difference between letting me be free and them not knowing how to raise a child.

Like some of you, early on, I already exhibited some promising signs of creativity. I already had a sense of melody when I was in Grade 1, playing my father's cassette tapes and having a grand time just reading the lyrics of those songs out of the album booklet. I was making my own maps by that same period as well, already inventing my own world of wars and capital cities and trying to draw their own flags. I started writing short stories when I was still in elementary school, chronicling me and my friends' adventures on the salt fields behind our school. I recorded my first songs by that time also, using my father's wrenches of different sizes as a very crude xylophone and conscripting my still sane brother to play another makeshift instrument (it led to a lot of frustration on my part since he had a very limited attention span and was clearly not interested in making music). I drew comics as well - the adventures of my toys and their war against Black Master. I made all sorts of make-believe games, most involving pens and calculators and some paper. I also made recipes out of my mother's powders and other school stuff mixed with some juice and the occasional leftover snacks. I even did my own version of Miss Universe (so gay I know) but the contestants were my mother's thread spools or my crayons. They'll have their own scores. Criteria for judging. And usually Black ends up last while Apple Green or Magenta takes the crown.

My childhood was just plain wondrous, not because I had a lot of friends or because I had the best toys but because of my imagination. I can spend my days just on my own, and I'll never run out of ways to amuse myself. My parents couldn't have failed to notice what a weird child I was, who prefers to stay at home and sit on his table, writing down numbers and tinkering with a small calculator (which they should know wasn't taught to me at school yet) instead of going out to play with friends like normal kids do. They couldn't have helped but see that in me, and yet they did nothing. They helped me not to develop any of my inclinations.

I can understand why they wouldn't buy me any cassette tapes since it was more for leisure than for talent development. And I had no grudges when I had to use my own money, earned from winning contests, to buy them. But what I don't fully understand is why I had to buy my very first atlas and that I had to buy my own keyboard. It wasn't a case of saving money since I'm certain that during those days, my father was one of the first guys to own a cellphone and that he could have bought a car. It puzzles me why they didn't do anything to feed my growing curiosity in the arts. They saw me, acting like no normal kid does, and did nothing about it. Nothing at all.

There were even times when they considered me a nuisance. Like they'll scoff at me because I pestered them with my never-ending questions. I used to line up my cassette tapes and ask my Mom which one she likes best and she would just give an irritable noise and ignore me. They never displayed any active interest in what weird stuff I was doing anyway.

And now couple this with the fact of how they paid next to nothing for my tuition. And how my father actively stopped my application for UP, and how my mother had to struggle on her own to secure me a DOST scholarship just so I can go through college. I mean, can you imagine that? What kind of father will save nothing for his son's college education? What kind of father would deliberately stop his son from going to the country's premier university?

I can't help but feel disappointed at how my life could have been if only my parents were more forthcoming with my creative tendencies. How many songs might I have written by this time if they only encouraged me and bought me the right instruments? How many stories might I have written? How many comic books? It has always been me. Just me struggling to go up while they hold me down. I know I can do nothing about all these now, but still I couldn't help but feel regret at what I could have become if only my parents were more knowledgeable on how to properly raise a child, especially an unusual one like me.

And let's not forget to mention how they never even said that they were proud of me for all my achievements. It was only later (as in like this year) that they jibe at me, calling me gifted or that I was good in this or that, but back when I was younger they never gave me one word of praise. Not even a hug for ending up on top of my class through elementary, high school, and college. Not one.

Oh I know they love me in their own ways. I'm sure of that. Only sometimes, I get tired because I've been struggling on my own for a very long time now. I've had this sense of independence ever since I can remember and you know, I just wonder how things would have been if my parents were those I saw on TV, smiling at their son on stage, clapping their hands, supporting him, encouraging him...

I wish I were exaggerating about these things but I'm not.