One's Life Story

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School.  In the Philippines, this means completing ten years of education - six years in the elementary grades and four years of high school.  By U. S. standards, this is sub-par in number of years; however, I believe that ten years of pre-college education in the Philippines is basically equivalent to twelve years in the U. S.    This is because students in the Philippines virtually spend the whole day in classes while students in the United States have short class days. 

I took pre-law courses during my first two years at Saint Mary’s College, located in my hometown.  In my third year, I transferred to the Far Eastern University located in the city of Manila and shifted my major to pre-medicine.  I was an aspiring pre-medical student when I enlisted in the U. S. Navy in January 1963.  While on active duty in the U. S. Navy, I completed a Bachelor’s Degree in Business Administration from Columbia College, Columbia, Missouri; a Masters in Foreign Affairs (credited as such by Navy criteria) from the Army Command and General Staff College, Fort Leavenworth, Kansas; and a Masters in Management from Webster University, Saint Louis, Missouri.  

For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to join the U. S. Navy.  It was an ardent childhood dream.  This was probably because it was imbedded in my mind at a very young age that my father was a U. S. serviceman.  For some reason, I sublimely thought following in his footsteps was the only thing to do.  I didn’t really want to mimic my father; I just wanted to do something similar to what he did.  I didn’t really know my father.  I was never given the chance since he died at that stage of my life when I probably couldn’t even spell my name.  So I thought that by becoming a U. S. serviceman, I would learn more about him.

As I stated earlier, my father died when I was just barely four years old.  Except for a photograph that showed my brother and myself as two sad-looking very young boys sitting side by side looking at our father on his deathbed, I couldn’t recall anything or any event surrounding his sudden departure from this earth.  I understood later on as I became older that his death was untimely and was a direct result of his post war syndrome affliction.  This is as much as I will elaborate on this subject; suffice it for me to know that he didn’t mean to die that soon and that he loved his family very much.  In looking back at my childhood days, I sadly attribute my father’s untimely death as the beginning of life full of struggles for my mother, my brother, and me.  For me, I found myself wishing quite frequently while growing up that my father was alive and taking care of us.  I couldn’t even begin to imagine what must have been the toughest part of the loss of my father from my mother’s perspective.  

I grew up in a town and in a neighborhood where a child really needed the support of both parents, especially the strong and determined presence of a father.  Many-a-time I had to reckon with school and neighborhood bullies on my own, without a father to flex his muscle when the bully also engaged his father to push me or my brother around.  Every bully in school and in my neighborhood knew that we didn’t have a father.  I guess they figured that made us easy prey to them.  The unsettling part of all of my growing up, however, was not so much the dealing with bullies.  I was also wary of my own mother.  I grew up loving and fearing her at the same time.  I stopped wondering a long time ago

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side while he was reading a story book; I taught him to say or pronounce a word when he didn’t know how.  After our