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Heidi M. Pascual*
Publisher & Editor
* 2006 Journalist of the
Year for the State of
Wisconsin (U.S.-SBA)
Publisher & Editor
* 2006 Journalist of the
Year for the State of
Wisconsin (U.S.-SBA)
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By Heidi M. Pascual
It is often said that home is where your heart is. Where you can be
yourself, with no frills, pretentions or anything in between. Home is where
true happiness is found, and as always, the place you seek to rest and be
at peace.
I was barely five years old when I realized how lucky I was for having a
beautiful home with a father and a mother who seemed genuinely in love
and cared deeply for each other. We lived in Barrio Gatid, in the town of
Santa Cruz, where my parents were elementary school teachers. We had a
big backyard with fruit-bearing trees, a garden of vegetables, and a poultry
house with hundreds of chickens. When my dad wasn't in school teaching,
he was always busy with his garden and his poultry. Twice a week, he
would go in the evenings with fishermen to Laguna de Bay and before
dawn, he'd be back with his catch, jumping inside water-filled, home-made
rectangular aluminum cans. I and my brothers Rick and Ed would check
the fishes and imagine the feast the family would enjoy for several days. It
was such a beautiful memory -- long gone but never forgotten.
Our life changed drastically when my parents (the main proponent of
the idea was my mom) decided to buy a house in the town's poblacion.
They said it was a preparation for their children's education in better and
bigger central schools. They had the best intentions; but the change also
devastated my dad big time. He had lost his little garden, poultry, trees, and
his fishing. He also couldn't find a teaching job in town, so he had to
commute to Barrio Gatid every day, something that actually made him
miserable. While mom soon became a head teacher in town, my dad didn't
get a shot at any promotion. Soon, the situation got worse as my dad's
attention focused on other women and a few years after we moved in town,
my dad left us for good. I was 11 years old.
It was this episode in my youth that I had promised myself not to
re-enact. I had promised myself I'd be the most understanding and loving
wife when I started my own family. "My children will never experience a
broken home," I told myself repeatedly.
But the uncertainty of the future is the only thing that's certain, and I
wasn't prepared to accept all heart-breaking blows that came my way. How
could any one be at peace in such a home? Thus, history repeated itself. I
went away and busied myself with many other things as my grown children
started to chart their own lives, as well. That was more than a decade ago.
Today, however, is a new day. My three children have families of their
own, and I am happy to be part of their lives again. We (I and my ex) had
built a house for each of them, on the family lot where our old house used
to stand. They are separated but are together in one place. And that's all
that really matters to me. I am staying with my youngest son Dennis,
meanwhile that my own house is still being planned for construction.
This is home, and if you are a parent like me, you'll agree that this is
where my heart is.
It is often said that home is where your heart is. Where you can be
yourself, with no frills, pretentions or anything in between. Home is where
true happiness is found, and as always, the place you seek to rest and be
at peace.
I was barely five years old when I realized how lucky I was for having a
beautiful home with a father and a mother who seemed genuinely in love
and cared deeply for each other. We lived in Barrio Gatid, in the town of
Santa Cruz, where my parents were elementary school teachers. We had a
big backyard with fruit-bearing trees, a garden of vegetables, and a poultry
house with hundreds of chickens. When my dad wasn't in school teaching,
he was always busy with his garden and his poultry. Twice a week, he
would go in the evenings with fishermen to Laguna de Bay and before
dawn, he'd be back with his catch, jumping inside water-filled, home-made
rectangular aluminum cans. I and my brothers Rick and Ed would check
the fishes and imagine the feast the family would enjoy for several days. It
was such a beautiful memory -- long gone but never forgotten.
Our life changed drastically when my parents (the main proponent of
the idea was my mom) decided to buy a house in the town's poblacion.
They said it was a preparation for their children's education in better and
bigger central schools. They had the best intentions; but the change also
devastated my dad big time. He had lost his little garden, poultry, trees, and
his fishing. He also couldn't find a teaching job in town, so he had to
commute to Barrio Gatid every day, something that actually made him
miserable. While mom soon became a head teacher in town, my dad didn't
get a shot at any promotion. Soon, the situation got worse as my dad's
attention focused on other women and a few years after we moved in town,
my dad left us for good. I was 11 years old.
It was this episode in my youth that I had promised myself not to
re-enact. I had promised myself I'd be the most understanding and loving
wife when I started my own family. "My children will never experience a
broken home," I told myself repeatedly.
But the uncertainty of the future is the only thing that's certain, and I
wasn't prepared to accept all heart-breaking blows that came my way. How
could any one be at peace in such a home? Thus, history repeated itself. I
went away and busied myself with many other things as my grown children
started to chart their own lives, as well. That was more than a decade ago.
Today, however, is a new day. My three children have families of their
own, and I am happy to be part of their lives again. We (I and my ex) had
built a house for each of them, on the family lot where our old house used
to stand. They are separated but are together in one place. And that's all
that really matters to me. I am staying with my youngest son Dennis,
meanwhile that my own house is still being planned for construction.
This is home, and if you are a parent like me, you'll agree that this is
where my heart is.
| (Above) Antler Street; (Below) Corner Antler and Adrian Street |
| With my grandchildren in front of our homes along Antler Street. |