Based on even a casual interpretation of logic, I should now be dead or at best, severely mangled while lying in a hospital bed, wired up to a ventilator, and with tubes stuck up every orifice.
The accident happened two weeks ago when I was driving my motor bike on the unfinished “new road” from Valencia proper to Sibulan. I was happily contemplating the lovely new Japanese menu I’d be enjoying from my friends Patrick and Charisse at their superb Wilsons Shangri La hostelry when suddenly, I was lying on my side on the road with my motor bike pinning me down as I sped along at 65 kms per hour.
Being the macho idiot that I am, and occasionally harboring the illusion I’m a mature Peter Fonda in the film Easy Rider, I was, of course, wearing no helmet. My clothes were a light T-shirt and shorts.
That stupidity was quickly made clear as the uneven surface covered with jagged stones and chips tore away at my left-hand side. Approximately 300 yards later, I saw large rocks quickly rushing towards my unprotected body. Strangely, just before impact, and my head getting smashed to pieces, my motor bike spun around, then skidded across the road far away from the jagged boulders, then stopped.
What happened next was typical of the goodness that lives in the Pinoy heart. A couple who had been ahead of me stopped, and turned back to come to my assistance. A man from the house opposite the accident also came to check on me.
Contrast that with the last time I was injured. It happened near my home in California. An Irish expression says No good deed will go unpunished, and this was yet again about to be proved correct. I’d been fostering sick dogs for the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. The large dog I was walking jumped suddenly when seeing a large, unsupervised German Shepheard across the road. I got thrown high into the air, and came down hard on my right knee which was badly smashed on impact with the concrete path. It resulted with me having to lay in bed for three months. The owner of that dog ignored my pain as I tried to get up. He even had the audacity to complain about the dog I was walking! A couple, neighbors I used wave to during our respective walks, had been out with their dog and saw the incident, but typically not wanting to get involved, they quickly picked up their dog, and waddled away.
That would never happen in Negros Oriental.
But I digress. I somehow made it back over to Valencia proper, and had my wounds cleaned at the medical center there. Then they brought me by ambulance, at no personal cost, to the Silliman University Medical Hospital where I received excellent and compassionate service. X-rays showed severe tissue damage and many nasty cuts along the left side of my body, but amazingly, no head trauma, no broken or fractured bones, or any other apparent damage.
All my life, I’ve experienced luck that defies explanation. It’s not appropriate here to go into detailed examples, just trust me that it’s true. This latest escape is yet another in a life-long list. I’ve no reason not to believe my outrageous good luck will continue for what’s left of my brief dance through time.
*****
I went to Balamban in Cebu island last weekend to see Jermaigne perform on stage. It was her first time. Jermaigne is a delightful combination of wild Pinoy child, mixed with a degree of modest reserve, strictly instilled by her ambiguously-conservative mother Vhie.
Jermaigne was part of a summer arts program for beginning musicians aged from three to 16. She decided to learn how to play the piano. Her piece was Still which apparently is a well-known recording by Hillsong.
Vhie was nervous, but I had no concerns. All Jermaigne had to do was smile, and the audience would be captivated. Sure enough, she strode confidently into the stage, displayed her glorious smile, and said in her little girl voice, “Hello I’m Jermaigne Leonise Biano. I’m six years old. I’ll now perform Still for you.’’ Then she calmly sat down, and faultlessly played the piano while quietly singing the tune to herself, as her little legs swung to and fro far above the stool she sat on.
I was momentarily drawn back to my childhood, and remembered the first time I spoke in public. I was nine. It was at our Jesuit school in Ireland. Four of us spoke about different aspects of the famous Siege of Limerick. Although initially nervous, I did a solid job, and have always subsequently loved public speaking.
Now, there I was thousands of miles and a lifetime removed from Ireland. Now it was my turn to observe this beautiful spirit beginning to fulfill herself as she embarks on her life journey.
I felt, rather than observed, Vhie standing beside me, with the inevitable phone recording the event. The palpable joy emanating from her was what makes life worth living. And that unique bond of Pinoy mother and child was exhilarating to observe. Vhie looked over briefly to me beaming, and nodded her head. No words were necessary.
Then Jermaigne finished, and we howled with laughter when she abruptly turned her back on the audience and walked offstage without the traditional bowing to the audience.
Jermaigne now calls me Daddy. This both thrills and terrifies me. This relationship with her is my last shot at being a good father. Although now very close to my three adult children, I’ve been a failure as a father each time. Now this beautiful child looks up at me with trust and a loving heart that can only come from the innocent.
My primary goal in life now is to do all I can to guide Jermaigne to the best of my limited ability, and hopefully to be a good influence on her while I still can.
It’s a bitter-sweet reality but if I’m allowed even 10 more years, it should be sufficient time to give her the tools necessary to successfully navigate this often-confusing life journey.
Then I’ll give her a gentle, butterfly kiss to say goodbye, and being fulfilled, will close my eyes one last time before peacefully drifting away into oblivion.
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Author’s email: irishauthormichaelcassidy@gmail.com
