I have a new student, maybe another transferee but I couldn’t miss him because he was a cut above the rest—in the literal sense.
“What’s your name, young man?” I asked.
“Sir, my name is Abraham Mabagsik, but my friends call me Abe.”
“How about your enemies?” my class lightly laugh.
“Witness cannot answer!” his classmate Roberto Sigalot jokingly interjected, mimicking a cross-examination in court.
“Noted!” I tapped on the blackboard to simulate banging a gavel. “You see, Mr. Mabagsik, your name is not really dependent on who’s calling you, regardless whether it’s a friend or foe, is it?”
“No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“No, no, no—don’t apologize. I’m just messing with you a little bit.” Then I addressed the class, “Class if you’re wondering why all your law professors act like they have short fuses, and jump you on every opportunity they get, you should know we’re not being harsh. Part of the skillset that you must develop as a lawyer is the ability to think on your feet. Here’s a little trick for you. Sometimes your adversary is not really that committed to his own question. A lot of times, he’s really on a fishing expedition. So one thing I like to do is make an oral ‘Motion for Bill of Particulars’ and I do that by returning his question.”
I was met by blank stares.
“Alright, let me break it down for you. You do know what a ‘Motion for Bill of Particulars’ is, right? You are third year law students, for crying out loud. Yes, Miss Pinky…”
“Sir, it’s a motion asking your opponent to provide more details, or to substantiate the subject of his inquiry,” the Fil-Italian enamored with the color fuschia said.
“That’s correct. So apply that in the spontaneous sense, surprise your opponent by quickly returning his question, jamming him into having to expand his question. Then you end up picking his brain, not him picking yours,” I explained.
“So, Mr. Mabagsik, my name is Joel Dizon but my friends call me Jokwel. And you say?”
“How about your enemies?” he threw back the question at me, big stupid grin on his face.
“What about them?”
“Sir? Uh…what…what about…what, sir?”
“Witness cannot answer!” all his classmates chorus and then laugh heartily. His seatmate Miss Ursula Bahag-hari poked him with her elbow, “Nadale ka pa rin ni Sir, tinuturo na nga sayo yung technique eh hihihi!”
“Enough of that,” I said, “I think Mr. Mabagsik understands now that neither his friends nor his enemies determine his name. They can call him anything but only he can chose what name he will respond to.” Abe nods his head.
“Except in my class,” everyone laughs again, “No, here I give the names to my students as I please. And I’m going to call you Shaq.”
His classmates clap their agreement. I mentioned earlier his being a cut above the rest—how much “above”? I’d say about eight or nine inches above the average height among the male population in class. And at least ten or fifteen kilos over the average heft. This student is HUGE.”
“I will respond to that name, sir! I like Shaquille O’Neal.”
“Well, maybe you should wait a few weeks more of this recitation, who knows you might soon be complaining ‘Apay ngay Shaq lagi ti maayaban??” More laughs.
“No, seriously, Shaq. What are you, six-foot-five? Six-foot-six? How’s the weather up there?
“Oh, it’s very lonely here at the top, sir,” Shaq said, “but I guess I am condemned to always having to date two girls, one standing on top of the other!”
Well, the guy has a sick sense of humor. But it’s not only his stately stature that caught my attention immediately when I walked into the classroom.
“That’s a lot of ink you’re wearing there, Shaq,” I said referring to the extensive tattoos on both his arms. He had extraordinarily long arms, the kind that hang on the sides. He looked like Godzilla with a shave.
“Oh these? These are called ‘body art’ sir. I have a friend who is a tattoo artist, he did these for me. I had to lie motionless for hours. Look at this on my right arm sir, it’s my newest. Done only 3 weeks ago, its one of—”
“I can see it, it’s one of Lady Justice. Very appropriate for a law student like you. But you know Lady Justice wears a flowing robe without a cleavage,” I interrupted.
“Actually, it’s Darna, sir,” my whole class exploded in guffaws.
“There are no words,” I said while my class was still laughing, “to describe how stupid I feel right now.”
“Oh, no, sir don’t apologize. I showed this to our other professors and all of your co-faculty members also thought they were looking at a stylized Lady Justice and not a figure in soft-porn!”
“We must all be in denial,” I said, “please don’t make me identify the mugshot on your left arm.”
Miss Pinky Maglia Rosa suddenly perked up, “Oh, I love his tattoos on his left arm sir, they are rendered dominantly in pink!”
“Come on, sir, take a guess!” my students chorused.
“Well, Miss Maglia Rosa is correct, it is dominantly pink and I can read the inscription on the scroll, is that ‘Angat Buhay?’ This is the month of October, I realize it’s the anniversary month of somebody announcing her run for the presidency a year ago, so is that face…uh…no, it can’t be.” I said.”
“It is, sir! It’s is LENI ROBREDO. I have her whole pink theme tattooed on my left arm, including her face. This is my remembrance from her campaign which I was a part of,” Shaq said with such exuberance, I didn’t have the heart to burst his bubble.
“Well, the fact of the matter is she lost. Bongbong Marcos won. Ain’t no tattoo is gonna change that,” I said glumly .
“No, sir but the tattoo changed me. I played varsity basketball in college, sir, and I was being recruited by some PBA scouts. My varsity coach said I had a bright future in the pro league. That’s when the campaign launched last year and I tagged along my little sister who was a friend of one of the Robredo daughters.”
“You have a little sister? How little?”
“She’s five-eleven, sir. She can dunk.”
“I had to ask. Anyway continue…”
“That campaign educated me, sir. Just listening to Leni explain issues on the campaign trail, as well in a large rally as in small meetings, I suddenly had a vision of what the Philippines can achieve if we just propagated more of the sincere and dedicated true patriots like her in our national leadership. So I shifted my dream, from basketball to law, because I want to understand government more. I want to be trained in the field that is best suited for political public service. Leni cannot do it alone. I believe her vision for my country should be the burden of my generation to attain.”
Suddenly, my Omega Class fell dead silent. I was speechless myself. I would have expected pontification like that to come from some nerdy geek wearing eyeglasses. Hearing it from an imposing hunk like Shaq was a surprisingly refreshing experience. Finally, I spoke.
“I am really proud of you for everything you said, Shaq. But more than what you said, it’s your commitment. You put everything not only in black-and-white but in all shades of henna. Everything you said is tattooed on your left arm. I think that is amazing, young man. I feel sorry for the PBA but I’m glad you chose to follow in the footsteps of Leni, who is a private citizen now. But she’s still an awesome lawyer, you understand?”
“She is definitely not Madumb, and she is not madamot, either.” I’m proud to wear her face on my shooting arm—I mean, my basketball shooting arm, sir, not—”
“That’s okey, Shaq. In fact, even the OTHER meaning is totally fine by me. I just have one little concern for the future,” my class braced for me to say something really profound.
“I concede, your tattoo does bear a flattering likeness to Leni. But you realize, of course, she could still end up looking like Liza Araneta or worse Gloria Macapagal Arroyo when you get older and your skin starts to sag, don’t you?”
It breaks up the class and they start laughing again. I thought this was a good enough point to end the evening so I said, “Next meeting, please do your research on medical marijuana and developments in that pioneering legal advocacy spotlighted by Joe Biden. Class dismissed!”*
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