Water Day

   Yesterday was the Nativity of St. John the Baptist, a day that always reminds of the time I celebrated it in the Philippines. I was in the Navy, stationed at a little base on the northwest coast of Luzon. My job involved listening in on the North Vietnamese across the sea.

   The Navy provided me with a comfortable bunk in the barracks on base, but some friends and I decided to go native out in the barrio. We rented a small house in a compound and reveled in the Filipino culture. Filipinos are among the nicest people in the world. A local barber told me they liked Americans because we payed our bills. The Japanese just took what they wanted during their occupation not so many years ago. 

   It was two miles to the base and I often arranged with a motorbike driver to pick me up before work. The motorbikes had covered sidecars, with plastic curtains for the monsoon season. I was not aware it was the Nativity of St. John that cloudless June morning when I left the compound. I was surprised to see that my sidecar had its curtains down and the driver was wearing his raincoat. I asked what the deal was, but couldn't hear his response through the plastic.

   The reason came soon enough as water balloons and buckets of water were thrown over the motorbike as we made our way though the barrio. I stayed mostly dry. The driver did not, but I could see he was laughing. He was young. When we got to the base I asked him again. "Birthday of St. John," he said. Ah, we were renewing our baptismal vows.

   I was telling someone yesterday about this little adventure and we speculated that before the coming of water balloons, the people may have dropped coconuts onto each other's heads. Had that been the case, the coming of rubber balloons alone would have raised the life expectancy of the average Filipino by at least two years. On a more somber note, while I was being hit with water balloons the people over in Vietnam were lobbing real bombs at each other. 

Sumaiyo ang kapayapaan.