Hold Hands And Stick Together

Life Lessons

Gratitude is the most exquisite form of courtesy. In this season of thanksgiving, I look back in appreciation of the childhood teachings that have modeled my life. 

It is still true, no matter how old you are - when you go out into the world,

it is best to hold hands and stick together. - Fulghum

This story has already been written. Right down to The End. During a family outing, I will almost always end up getting lost, a captive to Dreadful Distraction. 

The narrative starts like all others. Mummie courageously embarks on the requisite pilgrimage to Carriedo for classroom supplies and a new pair of shoes with wriggly school-aged and ­under age kids, plus the ubiquitous toddler of the moment. I hear the drill, Hold hands and stick together! 

Amid a riot of color and noise on the dusty street, our mini convoy is soon swept up among a throng of shoppers.

The scene is enthralling. Despite the heat and humidity, store fronts hum with sales girls proclaiming the virtues of their wares, Buena mano, Manang. Buena mano is a Spanish phrase that literally means 'good hand.' In local business practice, it means the first sale which is believed to bring good luck for the rest of the day. On the sidewalk, rolls of cotton fabric and woven blankets entice, alongside a garish array of plastic and stuffed toys on make-shift stands. Ambulant hawkers enjoying a brisk trade in roasted chestnuts are weaving in and out of jeepneys that beep their horns as they wait for the road to clear.

Then, it happens.

Around the corner, my nemesis comes into sight. Today it is the disheveled, one-legged street musician simultaneously blowing into a harmonica strapped around his face, plucking guitar strings, and rapping on a drum with a stick attached to an improvised rod that is activated by a foot. 

I know that I'm awake and aware of everything around me, but as images and sounds tap in my mind, I unknowingly release my grip from the rest of the world, beguiled by this musical wonder.

As the final notes of the performance fade, I turn my head behind, but find no familiar faces, just an endless view of the street. Shadows are blotting the sun, and I'm now just a speck in the wide expanse of people everywhere walking by in a hurry to get home to dinner. A hideous feeling comes over me. I'm lost, I mumble, my voice trembling. As much as I want to stay strong, there is an odd tear that has crept up at the edge of my eye and I have to keep wiping it off. Sweeping away welling tears, I stumble to my feet and start walking without paying attention to where I'm going. I want my Mummie's hand. 

But just when all seems hopeless, a familiar tug from behind reaches out to my slight shoulders, interrupting my worries. Dios mio! My God! I told you to hold hands, Mum blurts out with all the control she can manage, as she hugs me exuberantly. I hear her words, but for a few moments, I do not comprehend their meaning. She's trying not to let her voice quiver.

I wear a chastened attitude, swallowing the wedge of emotion in my throat. I take in her comforting attention weaving together with my remorse. I nod.

Lesson learned.