Lunch with Nic

I remember him first as an adorable baby, brown, round, with the biggest, brightest, most adorable eyes that lit up so much when he laughed. He had the widest, most wonderful smile. I was crazy about him, the way I was crazy over all my grandchildren when they were babies, a time they don’t remember. I remember once walking into someone’s birthday party then catching a glimpse of him sleeping on his paternal grandfather’s shoulder. I found that scene unforgettably touching. They somewhat looked alike, even if there were maybe more than 60 years between them.

Now he is 21 and graduating from college today. A college graduation is a milestone for me. I am his grandmother. He is my dear, dear grandson with whom I have lunch once in a while whenever I am in dire need of adult conversation. Can you believe that? When I need adult conversation, I call up my grandson. I think that’s wonderful — a success, his success.

His name is Niccolo Magsino. He is my eldest daughter’s second son. Once again he has proven the genogram right. What is the genogram? I learned about it late in my life and only in passing. It’s like a family chart of behaviors. It says that the eldest is either the most responsible or the most irresponsible. If he is the most responsible, the second is the most irresponsible or vice versa. What that told me was that every family had at least one “irresponsible” child. It’s fate or destiny or whatever you want to call it. The third is the most balanced child. The fourth is always out with his friends. Then repeat the definitions. The fifth will behave like the eldest and so on.

Nic is the second son and he is finally the most responsible. From the day he was born, he has followed what I call my patchwork family through its ups and downs. When he turned 15, his family lived in the US. Something made him rebel against that and he insisted on coming home to the Philippines. He could not be dissuaded. So he came back and lived with his father. He finished high school here, then went on to college. I would see him only once in a while.

But little by little, we began to see more of each other. He was in college now, not too happy with his school or his subjects, but going on anyway. I told him I did not think college was that necessary. I don’t have a college degree, I explained, but I became the hired president of an ad agency. I have a master’s degree, which I took because I wanted to teach. Did I learn anything? No, but I got a degree and made many new friends.

“How did you learn, Nannie?” he asked. My grandchildren all call me “Nannie.”

“I read all the time, all sorts of books. When I was young, I had such a hang-up over not having gone to college, so I read a lot. As a result I overeducated myself. That’s more important, don’t you think?”

Nic doesn’t read as much as I used to, but he spends much time on the Net. That’s where he gets his education. He watches TED.com, a site that discusses great ideas. He checks out a lot of websites. He has made me realize that the Net is the new library; more interesting because you see the people, hear them talk. Then you can send them your comments so you establish connections. You can say whether or not you liked the content of someone’s speech and the speeches are very interesting, very casual, not in the style of our Rotary meetings or our association meetings, which I now classify as BORING!

I admit, I must be getting old. I am beginning to find almost everything, including myself, as boring! But there are a few things that don’t bore me. Lunch with Nic never bores me. I have more fun with him than having lunch with most adults.

I am going to his graduation and I put in an order for a ticket. “It’s P1,600,” he protested, “I think that’s terribly expensive.”

“Never mind, I will pay. I want to go to your graduation,” I said. So we agreed to meet for lunch to exchange my money for his receipt. We both ordered Hainanese chicken, which we both love. We both had coffee after lunch. We talked about his family.

“You’re 21 now and I am glad you’re over blaming your parents for everything,” I commented. “I read that at 21 years old children grow up and stop doing that. That’s why when your mom and my other children turned 21 I thought, ‘At last, I’m off the hook.’ We all try the best we can, Nic, but at 21 your life is all yours and I guess we look to your forgiveness of our flaws. Your mom and dad tried the best they could to be good parents. Sometimes they failed, other times they succeeded, but hey, that’s life. At 21, you have to take your own life and live it. What do you want to do?”

“Find a job,” he said.

“What kind of job?” I asked.

“Something in events,” he said, sort of hesitating, but in the end he talked about a recent project he was involved in, where he put up a concert in a club, sold tickets, raised enough money to help a bunch of poor Tondo children. “I really liked that, Nan. I wouldn’t have driven to Tondo so often just to be able to do that. It made me realize, that’s what I like to do, events to raise money for poor children.”

My heart lifted. Look at him, so young, so well-spirited. This is futuristic to me. It isn’t to dream of spaceships and making it to the moon. It’s to do something he likes to help improve the state of people in the world. This is a real adult. “Look in the world of corporate social responsibility. Look for the value you want — to help poor children. Talk to people who know about that. Or maybe start something yourself. Take the risk.”

I am so proud of the little brown round baby with the big brown eyes and the wonderful winning smile. Now, he is taller than I, a veritable sturdy post I can lean on, lunch with, have great adult conversations with. Until I die I will be so grateful to God for giving me Nic and the wonderful lunches with him.

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