Bordeaux Boys... Harold

My new life in Kidapawan Pilot Elementary School, a public school, was full of adventure and realities in life.

I saw several new faces – literally different faces – and I was a bit afraid. Gone are the pupils sporting beautiful bags, well-combed hair, and clean shorts & polo. Only few pupils ever wear uniform and most of them belong to first sections. Unluckily for me, since I was a transferee - a late transferee, I was stuck in section 2. My seatmate was wearing no shoes at all and even had mud between his toes. Worse, the boy on my back was wearing an over used shorts with large holes on it (oh... I can see his dangling balls… hehehe). And the girls? Gee, they are big, burly and dark skinned. I saw them run on the big oval ground like jackals and... one of them, I heard, was a slugger (ugh!).

At first I thought, I was thrown in a wrong grade level and in a wrong room because most of my classmates are “old”. But oh my horrors, I was mistaken. When the teacher came and announced, “Class welcome to grade three”, I almost fainted. Indeed those burly girls, ugly looking boys were my classmates. "This is it", I murmured, “Welcome to Creepshow”.
Months passed, I never found a classmate whom I could claim my friend – not that I was choosy – I just found it hard to blend in to their style. Most of them had a very different interest and experiences in life. There were more mature and I they have different outlook in life. When they talk, they share what they were doing in the farm, their “job” with their parents, and how exciting it was to ride in a Carabao. Wow! I though, that must exciting and I was impressed. However, on their pensive modes, most of them confide to me that... in reality, their life was miserable and hard. They go to school in a hope that someday, they could rise above their poverty.

At that moment, I realized that I was still lucky. Though I was enrolled in a free elementary school, I had a good pair of shoes, 4 notebooks, 1 pencil, 1 pen, 1 bundle of rubber band as eraser, and a hands-me down bag from my Uncle Jimmy. Those were my treasure and I guarded it with my life, in fear that someone would steal any of it.


* * * * *

Months passed and turned to years yet I still have no friend.

One day on my 5th Grade, our teacher introduced us to a new pupil, a transferee from another public school. Just looking at him from a distance, I suddenly felt that this boy would bring trouble on me. Indeed, I was right! Everyday in the next succeeding months, this boy named Harold pick on me, make jokes on me, and borrow things without returning it. I despise every time he came to my side and do bad things on me. To make matter worse, he swap places with my seatmate.

That night, I cried so hard that made my eyes swollen. The following day, I beg my grandmother, who was then a teacher in the school, to transfer Harold to another seat. And I got lucky. Not only I got a new seatmate… I was transferred to another room, to a higher section.

A year later, I was in 6th Grade, Harold crossed my path once more. He was promoted to section 1, my section, and as expected he opted to take the seat beside me. He was smiling like a Hyena when the seat plan was finally announced.

Contrary to my expectations, Harold never picked on me again. He was supportive, kind, and understanding. Almost every afternoon, we would walk together on our way home. He trained me how to “steal” without being caught on the sidewalk vendors, use the sling shot effectively, and taught me so many street lingo that I never knew. He also shared me his life, introduced me to his family, his friends, and immersed me to his environment. Only then, I learn to know Harold personally, and begin to understand why he was a bully. I really admire his friendship with me. He would take a fight when someone else bullies on me.
Harold was my 3rd friend and he showed me the real life… at the very early age.