SUFFER THE CHILDREN

After taking a nap that lasted all of an hour, the kid behind me (a distant enough cousin for me to hate his guts), started thrashing, ramming his feet into the back of my seat. Repeated warnings from myself were useless-- I wasn't his dad, see (Thank God, or I'd have committed infanticide). Speaking of which, the tyke's father was snoring in the seat next to the kid, and smelling like the liquor he'd consumed the night before. Sigh.

"If you stop kicking my seat, I'll give you candy when we get to the beach," I told the kid. To which, he responded with a vapid stare and a familiar mantra: "Nasa Batangas na tayo?(Are we in Batangas yet?)"

So there we were in a slightly beat-up commercial bus hired for the occasion, rolling along in an enclosed, airconditioned environment when what should happen to break the morning sleep we so desperately tried to re-capture?

Vomiting. And not the dry heaves from an empty stomach either. One of my older cousins, a 12-year-old, who had longganiza and rice for breakfast upchucks his meal in loud chunky spasms. Some of the spaghetti from last night looked like it was in there, too. Fantastic. The kid's father berated him for not warning anyone about his upset stomach. Poor kid was asleep. And he was one of the ones I liked too.

By 9 am, the bus was in view of the ocean, except for a treacherous downward road leading from the highway to the beach area. But an owner jeepney blocked our path at a crucial turn, delaying us some more. The children were in a slowly escalating state of euphoria--knowing that they'd hit the beach in a matter of minutes and that yes, we were FINALLY there.

It was at this juncture however that one of my more independent-minded cousins, an 8-year-old girl named Jenny, decided to take matters into her own hands. While everyone was watching the owner jeep trying to get past the bulk of our bus, she disembarked, hied off to a nearby tree and took off her skirt to pee. Not caring enough to warn anyone (can you tell I was in a bad mood), I simply sat back and watched what would happen. Within seconds of the owner jeepney clearing the way and the bus starting to move, her father looked around in panic and said "Where's Jenny? Driver, wait! My daughter's missing!" Another passenger replied "A little girl? I saw one at the side of the road peeing!" And nonchalantly, Jenny climbed back up onboard the bus. I thought, "Attagirl. Parents? They worry too much, eh?"

The rest of the day was much much better, as nothing could interfere with the good sun, the great pork adobo meals and the great wind. Never mind if the sands weren't as white as the resort's name made them out to be. And never mind if the number of other people at the resort ensured that the showers were mudswamps by the time we had to leave.

By comparison, the ride home was a breeze. All the kids were tired and napped as long as they could on the vibrating vehicle. Even through some of the urination stops, where various vendors clambered aboard to sell buko pies, espasol and tough-as-nails pinasugbu. Which was probably why the inevitable happened.

Somewhere past Tagaytay, the bus suddenly stank of feces. Somebody had shat in his pants. Poor kid, whoever he was. I was too exhausted to care. Especially since they quicly opened a window to let the stench out, and managed to deal with the problem without too much more discomfort for the rest of us.

As I fell back into the land of dreams, I promised myself I wouldn't have kids...at least until the day when I can say I can't stand to not have them.

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<Author's Bio>
Rene Diwa is single and not procreating right now. As usual, he'd love to hear comments and hate mail at yoruba@email.ro