Contributed Article by RJ Ledesma, LSGH 1991

Dear fellow La Sallians,

I hope this article stirs fond memories of our high school alma mater and provides you with some motivation to attend the homecoming this coming Saturday, February 7. Please pass this on to your fellow LSGH alumni.

Animo La Salle!
Rj Ledesma, HS'91

JADED

I have been green-minded for half my life. I’ve been unwittingly green since I set foot in La Salle Green Hills (LSGH), 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 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 drop me off 50 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 the discipline officer, said that this was a disciplinary offense). Yaya could not enter the campus because she lacked a school ID.

I was in the same institution for 17 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 proud of it. In fact, right after college graduation, the university was foolhardy enough to let me teach 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 a French priest 300 years ago, I would say that it was the time in my life that hair began to sprout in unfamiliar places: high school.

As LSGH celebrates its Golden Anniversary, 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

There is an ancient Chinese proverb that goes, “May you live in 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. 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.

Although my batch mates and I did have a rather idiosyncratic high school career, it was probably no less idiosyncratic than the other generations who grew armpit hair while studying at LSGH. They’ve 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 iterations of People Power to the Arroyo shadow play to the Jun Lozada telenovela. But despite the spectrum of political melodramas that framed our high school years, there are “extracurricular activities” that have been shared across many generations of LSGH graduates. Even as curriculums change, fashions change, and waistlines change, some things remain incorrigibly constant.

We had our Search-Ins and Covenants. We learned how to smoke hit-hit buga style during lunch break. We had our Kundirana. We formed our own self-made profane-sounding fraternities. 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 to enjoy a meal at Le Ching Tea House in Virra mall. We had our school dances. We accepted violation reports like they were badges of honor. We had our RIFA 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 sapakans on the field after class. We thanked God for our adolescent reward that was the Girls Athletic League (GALs). And we always tried to sneak a peek at our teacher’s underwear. (Sorry about that, Mr. Espino.) All these stories are retold in a perpetual loop
among our barkadas, and just seem to grow bigger and more unwieldy with each retelling.
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 coño 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 the pala-biro or the pala-away. You were the chick boy or the boy who wanted to be a chick. 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 have contributed to the grand production number that is Philippine society. Until now, I 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) .

If only the campus walls could make tsismis, we could uncover what exactly were the turning points in their secondary school lives that made them the upright Christian gentleman of today. Did Paeng Nepumuceno score his first perfect rack at Coronado Lanes after playing hooky from school? What type of gayuma Ralph Recto and Kiko Pangilinan concocted 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? For the sake of our nation, some of these questions must remain unanswered.

However, what inspires me the most about La Salle is 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 Christian education did not end when they handed me the diploma.

Over a series of public statements that the Brothers have shared with the country, they have called on our nation’s (ahem) leaders to be accountable to the truth — not because it’s the popular thing to do, not because it’s the unpopular thing to do, but simply because it’s 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 are 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 stand for the truth amid an atmosphere of fearful silence, La Salle continues to teach me about my faith. About courage. About responsibility. About compassion. About generosity. Because that is what my La Sallian education is all about. That, and some geometry, too.
Man, I didn’t know what Yaya Cora was getting me into when she first dragged me to school.

Nowadays, maybe not all of us alumni cheer as insanely as a contestant on Wowowee during a La Salle-Ateneo basketball game. Or recall the school cheers from stock memory. Or even attend homecomings. 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.
Live, Jesus, in our hearts, forever.

This is what Animo La Salle is all about.
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For comments, suggestions or if you want corporal punishment in the school curriculum, please text PM POGI to 2948 for Globe, Smart and Sun subscribers. Or e-mail ledesma.rj@gmail. com or visit my blog at www.rjledesma. net.

Silver jubilarians La Salle Green Hills (LSGH) Batch 1984 will concurrently host the annual homecoming and 50th anniversary of LSGH entitled, “ORO, PLATA, VERDE… Never Shall We Fail!” on Saturday (Feb. 7).