05/12/2019
A living lifelong learner. ❤️
How did I get into the Ateneo? I got here through begging, literally. My lolo is a latero: kapag may butas yung bubong sa simbahan sa Tondo, siya yung aakyat doon para ayusin. The parish priest at the time was a very good man, and he talked to my lolo. My lolo said, “I have an apo who’s very bright. I think he will want to become a priest." Well, that did not happen. With that he said, "Can you bring your apo here? I want to talk to him."
When we talked, I told him what my mother and I have always wanted. "Msgr., I want to study at the Ateneo. But, my parents cannot afford the tuition fee. I come from Cecilo Apostol Elementary School and we live in a barung-barong on stilts." He smiled at me, and said, "I know the president of the Ateneo. I will write a letter, you go to Ateneo and bring this letter to him."
After two or three rides in a jeepney, I finally made it to Ateneo, in Padre Faura. I entered the great big office of the rector of Ateneo then, and said, "Father, I have a letter." and he opened it and asked me a very sincere question: "Why do you want to study at the Ateneo?" And shamelessly, I told him, "Father, it's because I want to speak good English." I was speaking very honestly as a boy from a public school. He smiled and wrote a letter to Msgr. which said, "We are giving Onofre 50% scholarship." When I went to Msgr., I was crying because I said my parents cannot afford the other half. Msgr. said, "Don't cry, Onofre. Don't worry. I will take care of the other half."
Ngayon, madaling makapasok sa Ateneo, all you have to do is pass the entrance exam. Once you pass, there are sponsors waiting for you. In my time, it wasn’t like that. I was the only one who came from a public school. I was always late in paying the tuition fee, so they put me in the boneyard section. They put only the gagos and the tarantados in that class. To make the long story short, I was bullied because I was poor, skinny, short, and the only one who didn't come from the Ateneo. But, I survived. At the end of the first grading period, I got beautiful marks.
Ateneo in Sampaloc was fabulous. All of our teachers were Jesuits, because there were very many people studying to be priests back then. Ours was a small school. There were only two classrooms. In second year we were supposed to have a very outstanding Jesuit, Father John Delaney. And Father Delaney, he's the most dynamic Jesuit I've met. Many Jesuits are, but he was different.
In my third year at the Ateneo, he was the principal. He was such an effective principal that he was able to influence the whole school. All the teachers were influenced by him. Can you imagine, the most popular extracurricular activity then was called The Fish Club? Can you imagine boys being lured to a Fish Club? In the club, we learned about the holy sacrifice of the Mass. We would meet every Saturday morning. No obligations, ha? You joined it if you like, you don't join it if you like. What did we do on Saturday morning at 8 o'clock? We went into that hut, and what did we have? We just had Father Delaney talking about the holy sacrifice of the Mass. And he talked about it in such a magnificent colorful way, that for him, you cannot be really a good practicing Catholic away from the holy sacrifice of the Mass. That's his conviction. You become what you eat. If you eat too much, you become fat. If you don't eat enough, you get skinny. If you don't eat properly, you get sick. You become what you eat. If you go to Communion frequently, what happens? You become like what you eat. You become like Christ. That's what the Ateneo hopes to produce.
It would take me a week to tell you about Father Delaney; he made the biggest dent in my life. I was never attracted to a teacher as much as I was attracted to him. When I was in first year high school, people were laughing at my English. But the Ateneo has done such a good job with me, that by the time I was in college, I was representing the Ateneo in inter-university oratorical contests. And I would bring trophies and gold medals.
One of my secret weapons was, I don't participate in any speaking contests unless I have shown my speech to Father Delaney. So he looks at it, he makes corrections, he makes suggestions. But one morning, he put the speech aside, and he looked at me straight in the eyes, and then he said: "You know, Pagsi, you have a real gift. You have such eloquence that you can talk about things high up there, bring it down to the level of all the lay guys. So that even people on the street can understand you and make a difference in their lives." And then he asked me the million dollar question: "Pagsi," he says, "have you ever thought about being a high school teacher all your life?" It was an innocent question. Have I ever thought of being a high school teacher all my life? All I have been is a high school teacher for 63 years. I still am.
At 92, I have less and less influence. But part of God’s grace is telling me to let go. I used to be a powerful man here. I used to give grades, and rank teachers, and have a big say. I don’t have that anymore, but I’m happier now. Now that I don’t give grades, now that I don’t rank people, everybody is my friend! Nobody is scared of me. And I’m happy. I have a little house, and I’m very happy with it. My wife and I are wrinkling, do I still love her? Because I’m also wrinkling. I’m happy. With all of my brokenness, God has been very good to me.
At 92, I’m still teachable. I still follow. So many things I don’t know. All I can try to do is my best. But this one bishop had this beautiful prayer. I’m not a master builder, I’m just a worker, he says. I am just a missionary, I’m not the Messiah. I cannot do everything. But the things that God is telling me to do, I try to do them. I fumble, I fail, but I try to do.
Down to what keeps me sane: it is a Christmas song, The Little Drummer Boy. I’m just a drummer boy, I’m not Ryan Cayabyab. I am not a great actor. I am just a basic education teacher. I like the way the song goes, “I played my drum for him, parapapumpum. I played my best for him, parapapumpum.” Then I like the way the song ends. “Then he smiled at me, parapapumpum.” When God smiles at me, I say: that’s good enough. That’s good. And I’m satisfied and content.
— Onofre "Pagsi" Pagsanghan
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Photo by Jairus Paguntalan
Layout by Nicole Namoco
Transcript by Johann Espino, Nicole Namoco, Gabriella Mara, Angel Martinez, Raine Rivas, and Renee Alcantara
