Wheels

My father used to own a motor bike, the vehicle of choice for many middle-class. I don't regret not ever learning to ride it; it is learning the (mechanical) bike at a rather late age that I regret. We had bikes since we were small, but I never got to learn biking. It was during my college summer break back home when I mustered all courage to learn the bike on my own. At 17, with big built and facial hair and all,  I was like an excited kid  discovering the joys of biking. Although not confident, I would take the main road of our subdivision only to slow down when a car is approaching or is behind me.  The thrill it gave me was all worth the scratches and fear!

Nothing remains of our two-wheeled transportation now. Good fortune has afforded my parents with four-wheeled vehicles which I don't drive. I miss biking when I go home. I might take it up as a hobby when I have more money and when I don't live in a building anymore. However, there is a something with two wheels that I don't think I would want to be hopping on.

Few days a go, I accompanied my class to an outreach at Elsie Gaches, a center in Alabang, whose clients are those with special needs. I thought we were going to cheer up kids, which was the usual thing in the outreaches I had gone to. I was wrong. We were lead to a pavilion to see its residents, men and women of all ages, lying on several mattresses, except for one. Further inside, there were some who were inside cribs, and they weren't babies. I had to admit that I didn't prepare myself for the sight. There were twenty-plus people whose legs and arms appeared to have shrunk. Their appendages looked deformed.

We were to begin our reach out activity. The wheelchairs were wheeled inside; a big man carried each client onto the wheelchair; some were even strapped. As instructed, my students paired up and took a client for a 'walk.' Fifteen pairs of students wheeled the clients on the paved and rolling areas of the center. It was hard telling the clients' emotions about the whole thing; some did show approval by uttering unintelligible sounds while a few managed to smile.  There was but one client who walked on foot, however. I suspected he was born of one foreign parent because of his obvious non-Filipino features. Still, two student accompanied him for he was visually impaired.

The walk took twenty minutes. We headed back to the pavilion for the feeding activity. A number needed assistance in eating while the rest crowded the dining table in the center of the room. The sight drew more emotions from me, but I held a straight face, the reassuring kind, the one telling my students they were doing the right thing. Hate me, but I had to admit it was not the kind of place for me. My teaching vocation came a distant second to the dedication and compassion the staff of the center gave each client.

I am extremely proud of my students, though. Although poor themselves, they saw how blessed they still were. The outreach was more for them, and it achieved its objectives. We went back to school tired, but rich in experience. I, personally, had my own share of realizations. If I were to be wheeled in a wheelchair, I want it to be someone who would do it for me and not for the experience nor the money. But more importantly, I would want to keep these legs, Lord.