A Christmas Special: The boy who had no gift to bring

That Friday, many Decembers past, was the day of our exchanging of gifts, the day before our two-week Christmas break. Our teacher in fifth grade had told us earlier to each bring a gift worth at least twenty pesos. At that time, such an amount was already big; a dollar then was worth only seven or nine pesos. But none of us kids complained. Like with children today, money was quite easy for us to raise at Christmastime; we had godparents to ask from.

I came ahead of the others, having been assigned to arrange our classroom for a small Christmas party. The desks had to be moved to form a semi-circle, and it would be hard to do that with all the kids already around. I brought a gift: two handkerchiefs neatly folded in a small red box from my mother's cosmetics drawer. I simply taped the box at the sides, and it looked beautiful, no extra wrapping and no ribbon necessary.

Soon, the other kids started coming in, everyone freshly dressed for the occasion. I was sweating all over and went to a spot in the corner of the room, to freshen up and change shirts. Then came Felipe, in the same familiar clothes he'd been wearing since the school year opened. The same dry, haggard look. Meekly, he settled at a desk near where I was.

I whistled to him as I was applying inexpensive cologne on myself. He approached. Then I surprised him with a little spray of the scent. He smiled. How beautiful to see! The very first time I saw his faced brightened.

At the time, Felipe was much too small for his age, and thin, most likely due to insufficient nutrition. He had sad eyes, or maybe they were just tired. His father was a subsistence farmer and his mother worked as a househelp at the home of a public school teacher in the town. All five siblings helped in the farm. He was the only one attending school; the others did not persevere having had to traverse several kilometers of rugged terrain, everyday and on foot.

When Ma'am Tita, our teacher, told the class to put their gifts around the small Christmas tree on the table, Felipe shrank in his seat. He brought no gift. Maybe he just came for the egg sandwich and pineapple juice, the teacher's treat for the class. Everyone turned to him, throwing disapproving glances, murmuring unkind remarks. Seized by sympathy for his humiliation, I volunteered to speak up for Felipe.

I announced that Felipe actually had prepared a gift but inadvertently left it at home, that he had told me what he had prepared and I was opting to exchange gifts with him. I was giving him my gift that day and, in return, he'd bring me his when classes would resume after the short vacation. Felipe looked at me in disbelief; we had no such arrangement.

Our teacher nodded, and the rest of the class went on with the exchanging of their gifts. While everybody was getting all excited in the activity, I sat down beside Felipe and gave him my gift. He could not look at me. I forced the small red box into his hand. He was breathing vigorously. Then, with his head bent, he mumbled, "Salamat, bay."

His gratitude was more than enough for me. But, to my surprise, he had something more to give. He pored into his worn out buri bag, dipped his hand in and then let out something. It was wrapped in a sheet of banana leaf-his lunch. He was giving it to me!

I faked enthusiasm and opened the pack right away. He looked around at the others, a little embarrassed, when the small block of food was exposed: corn grits cooked with chunks of camote and green banana.

Some of my friends, who've heard me make a big fuss over this story, laugh. They say I give too much meaning to such ordinary, even meaningless, matter. They say I'm weird. Sometimes such comments shake my self-concept. I'd think, Maybe I am weird. At times I'd pray silently-that if this is a bad thing, may God take it away.

I've been living this "weirdness" for the past four decades now. I am still moved in seeing other people's burdens. Maybe God does not hear my prayer. Or maybe it is not a bad thing, after all. I am not sure. I really don't know.

I've not seen Felipe in a very long time, since we both finished grade school. Maybe his life situation has changed now. Maybe he is already married and has kids of his own. Maybe he does not even remember me, or that day, anymore. But I remember. He has left an indelible mark in my mind, in my heart, in my being. I will have it in me for as long as I live.

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