CABAnata 22: Meeting the Unknown

October 11, 2008.

“What is your most frustrating experience and what have you realized from it?”

Quite a difficult, yet challenging question… but considering my height, surely, this is not one of the most controversial “question and answer” portion in a beauty contest. Maybe in due time, I shall reveal to you what was this question all about. But as of now, let me just share to you my answer as I meet the unknown for the first time…

I paused for a while. Groping for words to say. I thought of my mother’s death or my father’s, but at the back of my mind, I can hear that little voice telling me, “Are you ready to disclose that? You might just break into tears and blow this chance of a lifetime.”

So I listened to that voice.

Then I confidently started articulating what I thought was a safe answer:

“Actually, I don’t consider any of my experiences as source of my frustration. There may be downfalls but I always see things in a positive light that they no longer appear to me as frustrating.”

The woman across the desk was smiling. And so I smiled back, too… nervously though. Hopefully, hers was a satisfied smile.

Come November, if such question will be asked from me again, I would be more honest. And this is what I intend to say:

“Frustrating experience? Oh well, the first time that was asked of me, I said: I don’t consider any of my experiences as source of my frustration. There may be downfalls but I always see things in a positive light that they no longer appear to me as frustrating.”

“On my way home, I realized though that what I gave was such a safe answer.”

“I first thought of my parents’ death… but I don’t consider it frustrating, it is more of a depressive experience than frustrating. So I have two things in mind…” (pause… for a more dramatic air…)

“First, upon graduating from college, I would have preferred pursuing immediately Clinical Psychology, which I thought then, was my ultimate dream. But due to financial reasons, my mother asked me to work so I would be able to support my younger brother’s schooling or else, he wouldn’t be able to finish college. And like any other Filipino eldest child, I did what was asked of me. So I became a pre-school teacher and a shadow teacher to mainstreamed pupils. And even without those sped units, I tried in the best of my ability, to give what was due to these children. That first job, considering all those efforts, which I thought was my most frustrating experience opened a new door for me – realizing that I would still be able to help the less privileged in the society by being a teacher.”

“Secondly, when I was already immersed in special education, frustration hit me hard seeing how unfortunate children with special needs are in the Philippines. In my community alone, public schools have low ability to provide quality education to regular kids, more so to special children. That’s when I started dreaming for a home school for children with disabilities. Then again, financial reasons got in the way.”

“So maybe you would ask me, what then am I doing here – sitting face-to-face with you? The answer is simple: The realization of that dream is in your hands.”




------ Applause! Applause! Applause! ------

He and She

She in her youth
fell in love
He in his passion
got her pregnant.


She in her innocence
gave him her all
He in his ambition
left her pained.


She in her selflessness
took him when he returned
He in his insensitivity
wounded her in every comeback.


She in her deathbed
loved him still
He in his suffering
longed another chance.


She in her last breath
uttered forgiveness for him
He in his other life
welcomed her to eternity.


She is my mother
died of cancer
He is my father
slept and never woke up.


She is my mother
died six months after him
He is my father
died six months before her.


Now, she and he are united
stood by their promise:
Not “’Til death do us part”
but “Death brought us together”.

This was a poem I composed for my parents maybe two or three years ago which I posted in my CABAnata blogsite in 2007... wherever they may be, my only hope is that they are happy and free of all the earthly burdens they have felt in their lifetime. And that, if in their hearts they feel I haven't made known to them in words and/or in actions that I love them... then for one more day, I wish be granted to me.

For One More Day

“Let me guess. You want to know why I tried to kill myself.”
-- Chick Benetto’s first words to me


THIS STORY IS ABOUT A FAMILY and, as there is a ghost involved, you might call it a ghost story. But every family is a ghost story. The dead sit at our tables long after they have gone.

THIS PARTICULAR STORY belongs to Charles “Chick” Benetto. He was not the ghost. He was very real. I found him on a Saturday morning, in the bleachers of a Little League field, wearing a navy windbreaker and chewing peppermint gum. Maybe you remember him from his baseball days. I have spent part of my career as a sportswriter, so the name was familiar to me on several levels……

……What I have written here is what Charles “Chick” Benetto told me in our conversation that morning – which stretched out much longer than that – as well as personal notes and pages from his journal that I found later, on my own. I have assembled them into the following narrative, in his voice, because I’m not sure you would believe this story if you didn’t hear it in his voice.

You may not believe it anyhow.

But ask yourself this: Have you ever lost someone you love and wanted one more conversation, one more chance to make up for the time when you thought they would be here forever? If so, then you know you can go your whole life collecting days, and none will outweigh the one you wish you had back.

What if you got it back?

May 2006



For One More Day is a story of a mother and a son, and a relationship that lasts a lifetime and beyond. It explores the question: What would you do if you could spend one more day with a lost loved one?

As a child, Charley Benetto is told by his father, “You can be a Mama’s boy or you can be a Daddy’s boy, but you can’t be both.” So he chooses his father, and he worships him – right up to the day the man disappears. An eleven-year-old Charley must then turn to his mother, who bravely raises him on her own, despite Charley’s embarrassment and yearnings for a complete family.

Decades later, Charley is a broken man. His life has been crumbled by alcohol and regret. He loses his job. He leaves his family. He hits bottom after discovering his only daughter has shut him out of her wedding.

And he decides to take his own life.

He makes a midnight ride to his small hometown, with plans to do himself in. But upon failing even to do that, he staggers back to his old house only to make an astonishing discovery. His mother – who died eight years earlier – is still living there, and welcomes him home as if nothing had ever happened.

What follows is the one “ordinary” day so many of us yearn for, a chance to make good with a lost parent, to explain family secrets, and to seek forgiveness. Somewhere between this life and the next, Charley learns the things he never knew about his mother and her sacrifices. And he tries, with her tender guidance, to put the crumbled pieces of his life back together.




This is an excerpt from the book and these very lines made me delay my read for almost a year. Because the first time I did try opening the pages of this book, I felt my heart constrict like there was no “later” and that oxygen is an element that never existed in this planet.

But after a year, I found myself grabbing it out my shelf… and I journeyed in the past with Chick Benetto.

When I’m ready, I will disclose in this same blank site I call my blog, my life and why I too, like Chick, crave for one more day…