Childhood Memory

 
I had a frustrating morning today, the culprit- my memory failing me. I forgot to buy bread yesterday when I was at the grocery store.


So early this morning, I had to go to several specialty bakeshops in the vicinity just to find whole wheat bread. My son is trying to lose weight, and only eats two slices of whole wheat toast with peanut butter and a glass of milk for his breakfast meal. But why do I need to tell you about this incident? The reason - it triggers a trip down memory lane.



Nonetheless, the early morning bread dilemma reminds me of my childhood and prompts me to share it here. This childhood event happened when I was around nine years old. Though I hate recalling painful experiences, there are moral lessons to be learned. 

Pandesal

The story centers on a bread called pandesal or salt bread. This bread is made of flour, yeast, eggs, sugar, and salt. In the Philippines,Pandesal is traditionally served for breakfast as is or accompanied by such items as butter, cheese, scrambled eggs, jams, jellies, peanut butter, etc. with coffee, tea or hot chocolate.

For most families, the breakfast table is not complete without pandesal. Most bakeries bake them at dawn and their patrons expect hot and tasty pandesal in every morning.


My stepmother and my then three year old half-sister liked them as their morning treats as well. My stepmom put aside fifty centavos every day for pandesal, so she and her daughter could have this fresh-baked bread for breakfast. Nobody else could eat the pandesal but the two of them. For fifty centavos you’d get six pieces.


My younger sister, who was then seven years old, was the errand girl. However, every time she came back from the bakery, she had to deal with a punishment. The reason being, she was tempted to eat a piece of bread. Our stepmother strictly ordered not to eat nor take a bite of it. But how could you blame a young child of not resisting such a treat, when her growling stomach has been tormenting her for some food and nourishment.


As always, my stepmom would drag my sister inside a room and I would hear her little cries of pain and the seemingly endless cursing from our stepmom. I felt bad for my little sister; for she would not be allowed to have breakfast and had to do extra chores that day. Sometimes, I wished I could give her some advice but then again I was also just a kid like her. In that house, as kids we don’t talk, we don’t say anything. We were like walking little zombies.


But where was my dad during this time, who was supposed to be there to protect his little children? Well, he left and went to another town to seek an overseas job. He promised that when he came back he would have lots of money and life would be happy again.


One day, our stepmother decided to delegate the duty to me instead. She finally had enough of my sister not following her orders. I was a little worried. Then I realized I enjoyed the morning walk, as I would see people along the way. It was great to feel some fresh air after being in a dungeon-like situation for so long. A few minutes of freedom were great too. I enjoyed the different scenes of life outside; I could hear real happy laughter and not just laughs of our stepmother which I thought were comparable to the laugh of a bad guy in a movie who was getting ready to formulate an evil plan. I could day dream along the way and be away from the harsh reality for few minutes.


However, once I had the bag of mouthwatering bread in my hand, the real torture begins. But I was so determined not to follow my sister’s fate.


At an early age, I learned the meaning of self-discipline and willpower. It seemed a voice on my right would say “eat just one piece of bread, it’s really tasty and good and would ease your hunger”, while on the other side a voice would opposed, “don’t do it it’s not worth the punishment and shame you would get later on.”

my sister, a friend and me (finally smiling again)
Taken a few weeks after we left our stepmom's place.

Usually, I would count the bread hoping the seller had made an error and put one extra piece of bread in the paper bag. Sometimes I would silently pray, “Please, God just one piece”, while watching the seller puts the bread in the bag.


Each morning was a struggle. Thus, I quickly learned some tricks along the way on how to ignore the temptation. I would sing happy songs or I busied my thoughts into a daydream while walking back home. At times I imagined that one day when I grow up and have money of my own, I will buy plenty of pandesal and just eat them till my heart’s content.


Every time I reached the entrance of our place, I felt proud; giving me a pat on the back. Feeling relieved that the most dreaded task of the day was done. Thus, as a child it wasn’t easy being helpless and to worry endlessly with the thought that one day I will weaken and get lured into the bait, and not able to resist the temptation to take a hearty bite into the forbidden bread.


But God knows the perfect timing. He knows when you are barely hanging at the end of the rope and ready to fall. He would be there in time to rescue you!