BENEVOLENCE - ANOTHER DEFINITION OF LOVE

When I reflect upon it in my later years, as a youngster, I was a greedy child.  I had become accustom to expecting three meals a day with snacks in between those dinner bells.  In fact I was notorious for sneaking a half dozen or more cookies in my pajamas up to bed each night (of which my older brother who shared the bed with me benefited too).  I knew I would get a birthday cake along with at least one present for each year of my growth. For Christmas we were always assured a decorated pine tree and gifts beneath.  Even during the lean years of my youthful existence, each of us children had at least one present under that tree.  I never gave it a thought that there might be children in my town, within the state of Iowa, or somewhere within the United States who had never experienced such pleasures.  I was just a kid, inexperienced in the realities of life. I knew nothing of wealth, much less extreme poverty within the microscopic realm of my tiny World.

And, it seems that the habits we had learned, right or wrong, continued with us into our adult lives. I will be the first to confess I was not a perfect child by any means and thus I carried that demeanor into my first marriage. Still, even though there were needy people all around me, somehow I was blind to their existence.  Sure I would put the dollar or even pocket change into the Salvation Army bucket, but never gave it a thought as to the people those coins and bills would sustain during the harsh wintry months ahead. Then the military called and my perceptions changed.

When I was stationed in the Philippines for the first time, I was aware of that poverty.  When I would drive the motorcycle back into the Zambales Mountains, I observed first hand the extent of famine. It was a wake up call for me, but at that time, my income was so low along with a family of four to feed, I could only feel deeply for those children with hungry eyes and malnourished frames. That haunted me for a long time. Even though I kept those memories to myself, they were always there…in the back of my mind. 

After the military, there were periods when I was able to help those in dire straits with food or clothing, but I restricted my active involvement to the Salvation Army buckets. Then came Hurricane Katrina and Rita and I became a volunteer with the American Red Cross.  It allowed me the opportunity to travel to disasters around the country; to give aid to those who had lost everything. It was a chance to make devastated lives a little more tolerable for those victims of nature’s wrath.  For the very first time, I felt I had finally found my niche in life, but somewhere deep within me there remained an uneasiness. I couldn’t explain the feeling, but it persisted all the same.

In 2009, I made a pact with my eldest son Jay to return to the Philippines with me.  Well he reneged on the agreement, but I returned to reminisce and expand on my love and understanding of such a beautiful land.  I quickly discovered that the poverty I had witnessed during my military tour of the mid seventies still existed, but to a greater extent than before. My visit was restricted to three weeks, however it was as if I had never left.  The country may have advanced into the technological age, but its culture and lifestyle in the provinces was pretty much the same. 

In 2010, I returned to explore the land further.  Even as I stayed at hotels in Manila (which I deplored and kept my visits to a minimum), you could see the people (including entire families) sleeping in the alleys, or upon side streets. On my taxi ride to the Victory Liner terminal, the cab traveled through a part of the city I would never walk through in the day time. Abandoned factory buildings were filled with families. Block structures with no windows displayed clothes drying on lines and tiny children playing in the rubble below.  Men in weathered t-shirts and shorts loitered in groups upon the sidewalks. It was finally becoming apparent to me the cause of that relentless uneasiness.  The nightmarish visions of the 70s were still there, in the back of my psyche and those sights allowed them to resurface with their stark reminders.

I knew that something needed to be done for the masses who struggled for their next meal, but I was also aware of my limitations. During the winter months, I would give my housekeeper a little extra money to buy rice and have it distributed to a family or two who were in desperate need.  At the time, it wasn’t much, but it was a start. 

When I returned in July of 2011, I had definite plans.  I had kind of “adopted” four children and that was a start. I kept them in school, fed, and clothed.  Donarae went to garage sales and purchased used clothing for pennies and then placed them in packing boxes for the children. Though what I realized was there were a number of children who needed the clothing worse than my four kids. Another thing I had come to witness was the sight of malnourishment in the countryside. One of the prominent signs of extreme malnourishment was the children would acquire red hair (caused by protein deficiency in their diets).  The visible evidence was mostly seen in the countryside (probably where the condition was most acute), but even within my community, the red tint existed.

As noted earlier, my first project was to pass out tootsie rolls to the kids as I went on my walks. The children (who could not afford treats at the corner store) came to expect those pieces of chocolate candy.  In fact on my way out to this elderly woman I would visit, they came to line up on a long bench along the road to get their treat.  On the rare occasion I did not have any treats, they would smile and still say “Hey George” to me.  I discovered that children who had nothing before, lived with that fact. If I had treats, they were very happy, but if I did not, they were still content with themselves and their lives.  When we are little children, we accept what is and never give a thought of what could be.  

For decades my plans had been to return and distribute food to those most desperate.  By September I decided that I could no longer sit and ponder others fates, but needed to take an active part in the process.  I made a proposal to myself and talked it over with my adopted family in Cebu.  Just before Christmas, we would buy a certain amount of rice and other food and pass them out to needy families in their neighborhood.  Inwardly, I felt very comfortable with that decision and even more so knowing that the family would assist me in my quest. 

On December 21, I returned to Cebu for Santiago’s eighth birthday. It was his first birthday cake, first present and I gave him his first birthday spanking.  With me was loads of clothes for my “adopted” kids and then we set our plans to work. As usual, my “adopted” kids were so happy to see me and with each visit, I was actually beginning to understand them a little more.  On December 22, the kid’s mother (Diana) and her nephew, Jeffrey, went into town and purchased 330 lbs of rice, 110 lbs of corn meal, along with cases of canned sardines and packages of noodles.  At their bamboo house, we broke the grain into smaller plastic bags, added two cans of sardines and three packages of noodles to each sack; we then sent the kids out to specific homes to deliver the festive packages.  I did not accompany them as I wanted to keep some anonymity. The children had a great time going around the neighborhood and handing out their parcels.  Diana went along and took a few pictures of the event. Each time the kids returned for more, their smiles were bigger and bigger. They were discovering how good it felt to give to others.  Although I truly tried to be invisible, that came to an end rather quickly as word spread and families began to walk to the house.  Diana’s father was pretty selective as to who got the gifts and who did not.  He knew the ones in real need and the ones who had come just for the free food and he began to pass out the packages accordingly. 

Now my adopted family does not have running water or electricity.  They live in a two room bamboo hut on bamboo stilts. It is an extended family of seventeen people, consisting of six children, five teenagers, and six adults. That day I had purchased them a 110 pound sack of rice, but unbeknown to me, they also gave it away to the “gathering throng”. After I had discovered this overt generosity on their part, I asked Diana’s mom why they did that and her reply was simple and to the point. “Those families were in greater need of the food than we were.” Into the evening, desperate people came to the compound and asked if we were still giving food away. I had brought fireworks over from Negros and as the evening passed into night, we sat and shot off fire crackers and exploding artillery packets. White clouds of smoke filtered through the moonlight as a result of the flash and resulting bang. It was the flashy ending to a perfect day. The next day I purchased another 110 pound sack of rice and told them NOT to give it away.  In the end, we provided relief to around sixty-five families that day. 

As I reflect upon the many families who benefited from that good will, I realized that it was only a very temporary fix for them.  I saw their attire as they came for the food and wished I could have had crates of clothing to add with the food, but I have not accomplished that feat yet. I did come to admire my adopted family for the selflessness they showed by giving their rice away to others. I found there are a lot of good people in this World of ours, but they have never had an opportunity to pull themselves from that fate called poverty.  And, I resolved that I would work my hardest to save up two or three times what I was able to buy this year to share with more families next Christmas…and just maybe have clothes to provide them too.  I have taken the first step to calm that uneasiness and I hope that I will take many more over the coming seasons.