I’ve been unwittingly green since I set foot in La Salle Green Hills, a khaki-shorts wearing brat with my hair pomaded to one side, kamiseta tucked snugly into my Voltes V underwear, and a tear-drenched face smeared with uhog because I didn’t want my Yaya Cora to leave me alone at school.

I became comfortably green during high school, a black pants-wearing lad with my hair drenched with spray net, undershirt tucked snugly into my Rick Astley underwear, and an acne-ridden face smeared with pimple cream. I demanded that Yaya Cora drop me off fifty feet before the school gate so my classmates would know that I was now independent.

And I stayed irrevocably green when I made my way to the Taft campus, a maong-wearing young man with his collared shirt un-tucked (I could no longer tuck my shirt into my Backstreet Boys underwear because Mang Jack, the discipline officer, said that this was a disciplinary offense). I tried to stop myself from crying when I found out that Yaya Cora could not enter the campus because she lacked a school ID.

I was in the same institution for seventeen years of my life because, much like our receding hairlines, studying in La Salle was a family legacy. Green had been hard-wired into my DNA. I am a La Sallian three generations deep and damn proud of it. But my greene-mindedness not only runs deep but it also spreads wide as well: my wife, also a La Sallian, comes from a family of La Sallian men (which probably explains why, when she was still my girlfriend, her dad had me fitted with a chastity belt). When we got married, one of my ninongs was Bro. Kenneth Martinez, FSC, a Christian Brother and my high school spiritual adviser. And, right after college graduation, the University was foolhardy enough to let me teach several classes for all of one semester (my students have since finished with therapy, thank you very much). If I were any more green, I’d be arrested for public indecency.

If you were to ask me what part of my education cemented my love for a school founded by an French priest three hundred years ago, I would say that it was the time in my life that hair began to sprout in unfamiliar places: high school.

As La Salle Green Hills celebrates its Golden Anniversary and a Grand Alumni homecoming, I can’t help but wax nostalgic over my high school days. Unfortunately, I can only recall snippets of the academic portion of my high school education. I still remember what circle of hell I belong to in Dante’s Inferno. I barely remember the theorems from my geometry class. And I can only remember the relevant parts of the male and female anatomy. But I don’t think you can blame my teachers – God bless them all -for lack of trying (This is probably the reason why they wanted to re-introduce corporal punishment into the curriculum). Outside of World War II, my generation probably had the shortest high school career in recent history.

There is an ancient Chinese proverb that goes, “May you live interesting times.” That being the case, my high school life was probably as interesting as a car accident on EDSA. Our freshman year exploded with a bloodless revolution – that was only a few hundred meters from our school, I might add (A great excuse to skip classes). Our sophomore and junior years were riddled with failed kudetas and punctuated by power shortages. And what did we have to cap off our senior year? An earthquake.

(As an aside, do you know what fate is even worse than political brinkmanship or a natural calamity to a sixteen-year-old male? Not having a high school prom. Two times. The Christian Brothers called off our proms because they deemed it inappropriate during a time that called for austerity. Being the obedient students that we were, we attempted to stage underground proms. But our efforts were as successful as two impeachment complaints. As if puppy love, peer pressure and pubic hair weren’t already enough to contend with.)

Although my batch mates and I did have a rather idiosyncratic high school career, it was probably none less idiosyncratic than the other generations who grew armpit hair while studying at La Salle Green Hills. The other generations have had their own share of interesting times – from the First Quarter Storm to Martial Law to the Aquino Assassination to the Estrada dog and pony show to the second and third (and so on and so forth) iterations of People Power to the Arroyo shadow play to the Jun Lozada telenovela to 2010 national elections (that’s just wishful thinking). But despite the spectrum of political melodramas that framed our high school years, there are sanctioned and non-sanctioned extra-curricular activities that have been shared across many generations of La Sallians who called the Mandaluyong campus a home away from home. Even as curriculums change, fashions change, and waistlines change, there are still some things remain incorrigibly constant.

We had our Search-Ins and Discoveries and Circulos and Covenants. We learned how to smoke hit hit buga style during lunch break by Gate 8. We had our Kundirana (and for those who heartbreakingly never made the cut even if we practiced on our minus-ones for a year, we had our Kundisanas). We formed our own profane-sounding fraternities with their own set of puke-inducing rituals. We had our visits to Golden Acres Retirement home. We were engrossed in a brisk trade of pornographic material. We had our Kabihasnan fairs. We skipped class and took a jeepney ride to Virra Mall to enjoy a meal at Le Ching Tea House. We had our school dances. We accepted violation reports (VRs) like they were badges of honor. We had our RIFA and PRADA and NCAA tournaments. We enjoyed the fringe benefits of an unsupervised soiree. We had our Namfrel Quick Counts. We blew up our toilet bowls with firecrackers. We had our high school mass. We were embroiled in hamunans and sapakans at the field after class. We thanked God for our adolescent reward that was the cheerleading exhibition of the Girls Athletic League (GALs). And we always tried to sneak a peek of our teacher’s underwear (Sorry about that, Mr. Espino). All these stories are retold in a perpetual loop among our barkadas, and just seemed to grow bigger and more unwieldy in each re-telling (I wasn’t that well-endowed when I was in high school. Sige nga, I was).

On top of these experiences, the one thing we will definitely never forget is our stratification in the high school totem pole: You were the cono boy or the kanto boy. You were the teacher’s pet or the teacher’s enemy. You were the sosyal or you were the sociopath. You were the nerd or you were the repeater. You were religious or you were sacrilegious. You were the pala-biro or the pala-away. You were the chick boy or the boy who wanted to be a chick. (As for me and my barkada? We were the ‘first among nerds’, a title whose privilege included having our heads dunked in urinals by the ‘first among sigas’). Ah, the saccharine sweet memories of high school life. Some of us want to relive it while some of us will never live it down.

And because of (or some might say, in spite of) our La Sallian upbringing, our Green Hills campus has sprung forth alumni who contributed to the grand production number that is Philippine society – whether or not these alumni were the ones whose heads were being dunked or these were the ones who were doing the dunking in high school. Until now, I still find it hard to believe that I have shared the same set of teachers, smelly lockers, and expired canteen food with these esteemed gentlemen who have inspired me by their example (or by their shenanigans, as the case may be).

If only the campus walls could make tsismis, we could uncover what exactly were the turning points in the secondary school lives that made them the upright Christian gentleman of today – Did Joey Concepcion make his first million by buying and selling hotdogs, softdrinks and airconditioners with his classmates? Did Paeng Nepumuceno score his first perfect rack (no pun intended) at Coronado Lanes after playing hooky from school? What type of gayuma did Ralph Recto and Kiko Pangilinan concoct during chemistry class to make them irresistible to heavenly bodies? Which teacher pressed the fast forward button on Mike Enriquez’s mouth and neglected to press stop? Where was the elusive electrical socket that Gary Valenciano stuck his finger into before his song and dance audition with the Kundirana? What school plays did Ogie Alcasid appear in to prepare for his slew of cross-dressing roles in Bubble Gang? For the sake of our nation, some of these questions must remain unanswered.

As much as I am inspired by these older La Sallian alumni (well, older than me at least), I am just as inspired by the younger alumni who have taken their Catholic education a hop, skip and a jump further. I am in awe of my kapwang green bloods who have chosen to take care of their recalcitrant own, like Bro. Richie Yap, FSC (HS ’96), Bro. Mandy Dujunco, FSC (HS ’97) and Bro. Sockie de la Rosa, FSC (HS ’01). And, I equally awed by green bloods who have jumped the bakod to care for our cerulean neighbors. After being ruined thoroughly by his Katipunan education, my cousin Bro. Mark Lopez, SJ (HS ’92) is now a Jesuit scholastic, and my whole La Sallian family clan couldn’t be prouder. Mark is truly a harmonious blend of green and blue until a La Salle-Ateneo basketball game comes along.

However, what inspires me the most about La Salle are the Christian Brothers themselves, particularly during these interesting times. Because, as the Brothers are wont to remind me when this column gets a bit too green-minded, my La Sallian education did not end when they handed me the diploma.

Over a series of public statements that the Christian Brothers have shared with the country, they have called on our nation’s leaders, (ehem, leader) to be accountable for the truth – not because it is the popular thing to do, not because it is the unpopular thing to do, but simply because it is the right thing to do. After all, as Catholic educators charged with shaping the moral fortitude of the next generations of Christian gentlemen – the Brothers were not only holding our elected (?) officials accountable for the Christian values that were expected of them, but the Brothers were also holding themselves accountable for the values they taught to their students.

The sentiments that the Brothers have shared through their public statements is no different from the sentiments they have shared with their students in the classrooms – the responsibility of putting our faith into action. And, with the actions that the Brothers have taken to be a stand for the truth amidst an atmosphere of fearful silence, my school continues to teach me about my faith. My school continues to teach me about courage. My school continues to teach me about responsibility. My school continues to teach me about compassion. My school continues to teach me generosity. Because that is what my La Sallian education is all about. That, and some geometry, too.

In a recent open letter to the public, the Brothers challenged La Sallian alumni to ‘take cognizance of the education that you have received from La Salle all these years. As dark clouds hover in the horizon, we challenge to you make a difference.’ In so doing, the Brothers have made us hamon to be the spark of hope to all those who have grown jaded by these morally bankrupt times.

And to help ignite this spark, the Brothers crafted a prayer that was written in preparation for 2011, the one hundredth year of the La Sallian ministry of education in the Philippines.

The One La Salle Prayer

Let me be the change I want to see
to do with strength and wisdom all that needs to be done
and become the hope I can be

Set me free from my tears and hesitations
Grant me courage and humility
Fill me with Spirit to face the challenge
and start the change I long to see

Even if I am not the light
I can be the spark
In faith, service and communion
let us start the change we want to see
The change that begins in me

Man, I didn’t know what Yaya Cora was getting me into when she first dragged me to school.

There are a few more things that I share with my fellow alumni (aside from failing to make the cut for Kundirana or sneaking a peek at our teacher’s underwear), things that I share even with those alumni who have been re-painted blue, or splashed by maroon, or who have simply let the green fade away.

Nowadays, maybe not all of us alumni cheer as insanely as a contestant for Wowowee during a La Salle-Ateneo basketball. Maybe not all alumni can recall the school cheers from stock memory. Maybe not alumni fancy attending the homecomings. And maybe not all alumni have fond memories of having their heads dunked into toilets at good ol’ De La Salle.

But if there’s anything that the Brothers want all alumni to remember about their La Sallian education, it is this: To keep a rosary stashed in your pocket and to treasure four lines of prayer that should be skewered like an arrow into their hearts.

Let us remember that we are in the Holy Presence of the Lord.
I will continue, O my God, to do all my actions for the love of you.
St. John Baptist de La Salle, Pray for Us.

And, most importantly:

Live Jesus in our Hearts, forever.

This is what Animo La Salle is all about.