tagabungtod

After the local elections in 1988, Mayor Joel O. Bugas, at age 21, became the youngest municipal mayor in the entire country--a position he won by an unprecedented 3-vote margin over his opponent.

Fresh from finishing his A.B. Political Science degree from the University of San Carlos in Cebu, Joel Bugas was thrown into the political fray after his father, Zosimo Bugas, who was a mayoralty candidate at the time, was shot and killed by NPA hitmen right on the stage where they were holding a political rally.

As a town executive, Joel displayed such levelheadedness you could have concluded that he was like a turtle thrown into the water. Not so surprising to most tagabungtod considering that he came from a political family, his father having served as vice-mayor and later as mayor during the 70's. Lauro C. Arabejo, the first municipal mayor and one of the longest serving mayors of Nabunturan, was also his granduncle.

Joel won two more elections which made him mayor for a total of 10 years. When his term as mayor expired in 1998, he could have trained his sights on higher elective political positions and easily win. More so because the new province of Compostela Valley has just been created. But Joel rather chose not to run.

A few months after the 1998 elections, Joel quietly left for the U.S. Years later, he was rumored to have entered the seminary. It turned out to be true. He would be the second Bugas to enter the priesthood, the first one being his first cousin, Rev. Fr. Ricardo Bugas, who is now a missionary in New Zealand.

At 10:00 A.M. on May 30, 2009, Saturday, REV. FR. JOEL O. BUGAS, tagabungtod, third child of the late Zosimo Bugas and Corazon de Ono, will be ordained priest at the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi in Santa Fe, New Mexico by its Archbishop, the Most Rev. Michael J. Sheehan.

He will celebrate his First Solemn Mass Of Thanksgiving on Pentecost Sunday, May 31, 2009 at 8:30 A.M. at the San Antonio de Padua Parish-Penasco, State Highway 75, Penasco, New Mexico and then to be followed by another Mass at St. Anthony Parish-Dixon at 10:30 A.M., State Highway 75, Dixon, New Mexico.

Two days ago, text messages were flying around informing that former Congressman Prospero S. Amatong was hospitalized becaue of a bad fall while strolling in a New York park where he was vacationing with his family. I just got back from General Santos City when I got this sad message from good friend and fellow-tagabungtod, Mayor Rey B. Navarro, of Laak, Compostela Valley.


His short but catchy text message says it all about the long and significant political career of a pioneering tagabungtod:

The great man who "ENGINEERed" the "PROSPEROus" province of Davao del Norte, "FATHERed" Compostela Valley's creation and made the distinction as the only undefeated councilor, mayor, governor and congressman in this part of the country returned to his CREATOR this morning. Join me in praying for the eternal repose of the soul of HON. PROSPERO S. AMATONG.

She was a mother to her children for 50 years.


Patria Villafuerte Gella, was 22 when she met and married my father who was a 38-year old bachelor helping the guerillas as an army medical officer in the island of Panay. After the war, he forthwith brought her to the fertile hinterlands of Compostela Valley in Mindanao. In a span of 14 years, one child came after another. Six boys in a row and later, two girls. I was the fourth.

My father, in his rumination as a government worker, practically left the care of all the children to my mother. In my father's absence, and in her effort to take control of the situation, more often than not, her only appropriate and convenient response to any breach of conduct was anger.

During my childhood, together with friends, I would always wander into the nearby forest or take a dip in the Cabalinan River where I learned how to swim. She always feared I would either get lost, meet an accident or drown.

As a result of my stubbornness, I was the primary beneficiary of her wrath. She devised so many forms of discouragements and deterrents in her effort to keep me home. One very early weekend morning, she discovered I was gone. When she caught up with me, she tied my leg to a bedpost with a sewing thread! Break it and God knows.....

She even developed a special ability to pinch where it hurts the most. Believe me, my cry of "Aray!" came even before her pinch hits the mark. She somehow got tired of doing it so she tried another tack.

Very early each morning, she assigned me the duty of buying the morning's hot pandesal from Pua's bakery. I loved the errand because I had the privilege to eat a few pieces on my way back home. And on Saturdays when my father would be home, she'd ask me to bring a wicker basket to the market with a list of things to buy. I'd hand the list to her kumadre, Irene Bautista-Fuentes or her sister Lourdes "Dondit" Bautista who did the buying. Meanwhile I would be left to sit with a merienda until the marketing's done. I would then bring the goods home for her to prepare and cook. Being the errand boy and the kitchen assistant, I always get first crack at all the delicious food that resulted from her exceptional culinary ability.

For quite a while I was her aide-de-camp. She was satisfied she finally found an effective way of keeping me home. To strengthen our partnership, she bought two pigs which I would feed every morning and afternoon with a bucketful of tahop and shredded tangkong. When it was time to sell the fattened pigs, we both cried. For my effort and good behavior, she brought me with her on a trip to her home province of Antique. I love to think that I was one of her favorites.

An unforgettable experience happened one summer day which would cement our bond of friendship forever. She asked me to wait for the Coca-Cola "panel" so I could purchase a case of the softdrink. She gave me a P5.00 bill, a fortune at that time, with which to pay the salesman. During the '50s, a case of Coke would cost only P1.80 per case. I placed the money in my pocket. While waiting for the truck to pass by, I took time out to play with neighborhood friends.

Finally the truck came late in the afternoon. After they unloaded a case of the softdrink, I reached for the money in my pocket. It was gone! The salesman reloaded his case of Coke and put back the case of empties beside the road and left. I frantically looked for the P5 and it was getting dark. I told my mother I lost the money. She and my playmates helped me look for it in the grassy field where we were playing. It was a futile search.

When my father knew about it, he was so livid with anger. He didn't believe I lost it. He believed I must have spent it on something else like lastiko, candies etc. All hell broke loose in my very young life that evening. I got the worst thrashing I ever received from him. My mother cried for me. All my brothers cried for me.

Later that night, when everybody else was asleep, my mother roused me from a painful slumber and brought me downstairs to my father's clinic. There, in the dim and flickering light of a kerosene lamp, and with tears welling from her eyes, she carefully and tenderly treated all the welts and bruises all over my back, my buttocks and my legs.

No, I never hated my father for what he did to me. We knew the rules. He was always very strict with all his children. And his goodness as a father far outweighed his sometimes mean temper.

What stuck in my mind that evening though, was not the physical pain that was inflicted on me. What I will forever remember and cherish in my memory was my mother's manifestation of maternal kindness, love, and compassion that I saw through the tears streaming down her face.

Years after our father died, we would get to talking about our individual disciplinary experiences with him. We have learned to laugh about those experiences. But insofar as that incident involving me was concerned, our mother would not contribute a single word. She would only listen with a wistful smile.

In her advanced years, she would be in and out of the hospital. One day there was only the two of us in her hospital room. At one point, while we were talking, she said, if I don't mind at all, she wanted to ask me a question which has been left unanswered in her mind. I told her to go ahead.

For the first time, after that painful night, she tearfully discussed and recalled the "Coca-Cola" incident. She told me how she sensed that my father felt contrite for treating me so harshly that night.

And then she asked the question, "Did you really lose that P5.00?"

I said, "Yes, I did. Why, did you ever doubt me?"

And with more tears in her eyes she said, "No, I always believed you".

That was the last time I saw my Nanay cry for me.



HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!!