44

I always get sentimental, more so since after all the furor of the holidays has died down, all that is left for most people is silence, and a return to the daily grind. For me, I have mixed feelings, because in the post-holiday aftermath of all this generosity (or unnecessary spending) is my birthday. I’ll be 44 on Wednesday.

This is normally a reflective time for me, a look back at the turning points in my life (some of which I belatedly recognize) and a magnified feeling of gratitude for having been, in sequence, a beneficiary, a participant, an eyewitness and story-teller of the enduring grandeur and transcendence of sport.

After the first few editions of my column – the previous owners of which were Tessa Jazmines (Mondays) and Danny Crisologo (Saturdays) – I changed the title to “The Game of My Life” to reflect how I (and we) don’t stop evolving. The games change us, perhaps more often than our perceptions change it, whether we acknowledge it or not.

There’s so much to be grateful for. Firstly, for my mother Lirio, the greatest symbol of enduring love in my life. Thanks, Mom, for keeping me. I know it wasn’t easy. And to my Dad, Luis, for giving me a name and a family to be part of. In return, I’ve helped pass his name on to my own offspring.

As I’ve written before, I was a skinny, sickly child. I had all the factory defects: migraines, scoliosis, asthma, flat feet. And my kindergarten teacher said I was also poor in school. Not a good start. But my Mom believed there was something in me that could be more. So she sat me down, and tutored me for a full year, until I picked my grades up on my own. There isn’t enough concrete and brick in the world to build a monument big enough to pay tribute to her.

Outside the classroom, I swam every day for two whole years, did painful calisthenics, then played soccer, basketball, tennis, karate, anything I could break a sweat in. Anything to be better. And as an unexpected side effect of flat feet, it was uncomfortable to stand around. So I ran. A lot.

At 5, I learned the game of basketball from an uncle, and fell in love with it. Of course, I realized that he also brought me along because he wanted to use my ball. But I didn’t mind.

I also became a student of boxing, because I found out my biological father was a heavyweight boxer in college. But I was just too skinny to indulge in it. Besides, there was already a lot of fisticuffs in basketball, anyway. I loved Crispa. And Julius Erving is still my favorite NBA player. In our garage, I used to imagine myself, like many kids did, that I was Dr. J, dunking in the winning basket in Game 7 of the Finals, or Freddie Hubalde, banking in a winner to claim the trophy for the Redmanizers over dreaded Toyota.

I played ever so briefly for the Blue Eagles, but made the heartbreaking decision to give it up, because I was overwhelmed by the dedication it took, and the politics involved. I was also looking ahead at spending time searching for my biological father, to learn more about myself.

I married my college sweetheart and best friend, my loving, insightful, ever-evolving, constantly searching Maridine. On my 25th birthday. And there has never been a dull moment. There is always something new, surprising, ever-changing. I’ve known her more than half my life, and find it almost impossible to remember not having known her. I can tell her anything, and she always surprises me. Lately, she’s been mistaken for my daughter or my sister, which means she’s still the same sweet sexy thing I met in college. I just sometimes wonder what that means about how I look now. Hmm.

A year later, I celebrated the birth of my first son, Vincent, who represented both my immortality and my biggest responsibility. I always remember how I used to put him to sleep, change his diapers, teach him what I knew (and only the good stuff). He has so much of me in him, and so much of his own identity emerging. He has the same temperament, and intelligence and love for basketball. And he’s praying for the results of his college entrance exams the way I did. He always finds a way to do things a new way, or his way. Not everyone can say that.

Daniel was an unexpected blessing, and we almost lost him. In her second month of pregnancy, Din-din’s placenta detached, and there was no guarantee the baby would stay alive. In her eighth month, our house burned down. Daniel has proven to be an underdog who has always come out on top, through sheer force of will. Until two years ago, he was always smaller, scrawnier, but always street smart. And I’ve never met a tougher kid. I am so proud of the both of them. I joke that they’re my starting backcourt and my retirement, but they’re so much more. They’ve kept me going through the many hard times.

In my career in and out of sports, I’ve been in mortal danger at least twice, seen the worst in humanity, and been exposed to things that change one as a person, and not always in a good way. But that also made me stronger, and wiser, and a better man.

I have been privileged to witness greatness unfold, see extraordinary moments take place, and mark the ordinary becoming extraordinary. I have the best job in the world. As Howard Cosell said, sport is the toy department of human live. I am and always will be a fan, a lover of the good story. And most of all, to the bottom of my shoes I’m grateful that, in some small way, I’ve been able to contribute, hopefully to make it a better place. And thanks to those who don’t believe or agree, since that makes this a free country, where ideas are always welcome.

Thanks for sharing the ride. It’s always a celebration.