Father Chubby

While witnessing the washing of the feet during the Holy Thursday mass, memories of the 1^st time I witnessed a reenactment flashed back on my mind and I remember with fondness Fr. Chubby.  Fr. Chubby was the first Parish Priest at my home place in the Philippines; I was only four years old then when he moved to our barangay (village).  As the first Parish Priest, and also his first parish, he was young and energetic then. The convent was so vibrant during his administration. He tried all his best to observe all the feasts and holy days of obligation with simple yet memorable celebrations. It was then that I remembered, Fr. Chubby as the first priest who made the commemoration of the washing of the feet something to look forward to during Holy Week.

Our house then was only a block away from the convent and every afternoon he would hang out in our small sari-sari store and wait for passersby, which was his own style of integrating with the community.  Slowly people would converge and before dusk, a number of people are already gathered around him, listening to his stories. As a child, I admired him so much and as I was growing, all the more I appreciated him and his closeness to people.

Fr. Chubby was my ‘firsts’.  My first confession was to him, which was done just inside our classroom on my 2^nd grade. I also received my 1^st communion from him as part of the first confession. He was also the one who assisted during my confirmation. Fr. Chubby was around during my childhood, he had seen me excel in everything I do, and he was part of all my success being a great motivator. Every day, he would ask me what I learned from school and during competitions; he would always be there to support by practicing with me the poems that I have to deliver during the inter-school competition, the spelling, quizzes, etc.  I learned to read fast through the comics he was renting which I picked-up every day from another sari-sari store.

Being used to hanging out at home, he had watched me grew up and I became very close to him and even after his service in our place, I always made sure to visit him at his parish. During Christmas, he always made sure that I receive something from him, which in most occasion, a ten-peso crispy note. He was happy to learn, that I enrolled in a Catholic School and even more proud when I completed my secondary studies with honors.  Despite the distance of his parish assignments and my being busy with university studies, I knew he was always there for me. When I passed the board exam, I was surprised and deeply touched when he came to our place with a copy of the Philippine Daily Inquirer; he kept the issue with a list of the Social Work Board passers. Again, he was proud that I was among them.  Later on, I learned also that he was telling other parishioners about my success. Whatever I have reached, I knew he has been part of my prayer brigade.

Sometime in 1998, he got assigned to a parish where my 2nd job was also located.   I was so happy because the convent became my lunch place. If there are occasions at the office requiring overtime, I would stay at the convent but there was always a curfew and on the dot, he would be at the doorstep waiting for me. His main reason for doing it was that he was accountable to my parents. He would lend me his books, he would save me pistachio nuts because he knew it’s my favorite, he would keep the freshest fruits from the offering for me, etc. These are small gestures but meant a lot. During my break-up with my boyfriend for seven years, I cried in front of him while he was listening to my sobs and assuring me that things are gonna be alright. He served as my spiritual advisor. It eased the pain but I knew deep inside him, he was also hurting. I went overseas for 1 ½ yours to do my ‘world peace’ stint and when I returned to the Philippines, I was so happy to learn that he was assigned to the parish next to our place, only 7 kilometers away from our home. However, in less than a year, he had a heart attack at the age of 55. I was shocked and I couldn’t even believe it. I went home from Manila to attend his funeral. At the wake, I told him ‘why did you die? You promised to officiate my wedding” which made those who overheard it, laugh. Once he told me that he was prepared with his homily for my wedding but this event never happened until now and I guess one of his frustrations for me. It has been almost 5 years since he died, and I want to relive his statement in one of our conversations, “Aydle (this is how he calls me), I pray to my dad to intercede for me before I pray to God because prayers from the dead is very powerful”. This Easter, while commemorating Christ’s resurrection, I want Fr. Chubby to resurrect in my life and I hope that wherever he may be, he is always praying for me.  I surely miss him!