‘Heaven’s Gate’

The entity my eyes caught was as recognizable as a glowing yellow McDonald’s ‘M’ in the horizon, or as the fiery buzzing orange letters of Jollibee or the warm and attractive colors of 7-11 outlets dotting street corners in the city. What I saw, however, wasn’t flashing, glowing or rotating.

Like these street signs, it was enormous, but unlike them it was the dullest object on earth. Worn-out tires, grotesquely impaled as advertising signage by makeshift vulcanizing shops, are even more appealing compared to what I was contemplating. It was Ed, my journalist friend.

He covered almost two entire seats. Four, if we included his baggage which literally lifetime corporeal extensions of his combined mass and weight. These contain his equipment as a field journalist reporting for prominent papers in the U.S. and Europe. I have to admit that even though he can sometimes throw his weight around, his articles on hot eco-political issues are very well written, objective and amusingly informative.

“Ed!” I wanted to surprise him by patting him from behind. Despite the freezing air conditioning units in the departure area, I realized that he was still profusely sweating. His sweat seemed to have glued my palms to his shoulders. For a few seconds, I felt like a fly helplessly trapped on an elephant wearing fly paper all over its body.

“Zat yuh, Fathu?” his low and strong voice echoed in the room as he turned his head around to check who it was.

“Yeah, Ed…, I guess you caught me there,” I managed to free my hands from his shoulders only for a moment. Ed towered nearly six feet. As he stood up, he slowly revealed his true form and size. It was like watching a World War I blimp being inflated to life. I wondered how long it took his brain to signal to his legs and feet to get up.

He extended his hand to greet me. I was doomed!

“Funny meetin’ here again, Fathu?” It was useless to free my trapped and jellied fingers from the bear trap clamped on them.

Even before Ed could continue, a little soft voice from nowhere said, “Daddy, can I go to the bathroom?”

There he was! It was a cute smiling blond blue-eyed boy tugging at Ed’s pants. The contrast was incredible! He was like Tinkerbelle trying to call the attention of a sleeping mammoth or a sluggish hippopotamus.

“Oh, yeh. Sorry! I almost forgot,” Ed scratched his balding head. “Okay, but first go and get Father’s blessing, Daniel.”

The boy let go of Ed’s pants, and obediently went to me. I felt his hand gently taking my right hand and making his forehead touch it. “Wow, Ed! You really taught Daniel here some good spiritual habits.”

“Nah!” Ed brushed the comment aside. “It’s the wife, yeh know, Father. Women are pretty good at that stuff.”

“Let’s just say it’s because of the parents,” I reminded him. “But I can see that there’s more of Denise’s genes in him, am I not right?”

“I’ll argue about that later. Oh, Fathu…, yeh don’t mind watching my stuff while I accompany Daniel here to the boy’s room?”

“Not at all, in fact I would be delighted. It isn’t the first time I run a flea market you know.”

* * *

“So I guess you’re not here for work, since the kids are with you?”

“Well, yeh can say that I’m here for both work and leisure. ‘Sides Denise said we could celebrate my anniversary here as well.”

“Wedding…?”

“No, my baptism anniversary!” he said. “Don’t yeh remember, Fathu?”

“I must getting on in years, Ed. I totally forgot.”

“How could yuh? You even taught that basic Christian thingy that Fathu Bob patiently continued back in the U.S.”

“Okay, I’ll take note of it. Happy anniversary just the same, Ed!”

“And you know anothu thing, Fathu?”

“What?”

“Daniel here was also baptized on this very same day!”

“Is that so? That’s really great. Happy anniversary too, Daniel,” I traced a sign of the cross on the boy’s forehead.

“Thank you Father,” he said with a wide smile unveiling his missing two front teeth.

“So do you know why baptism is so important?”

“Yes! Because it’s the door to heaven!” Daniel promptly replied.

“That’s a pretty good answer, Dan.” I was impressed.

“Father, is it true dad was baptized already big?” he asked.

“Yes, didn’t he tell you about it?”

“Noooo…,” Daniel’s eyes were brimming with curiosity.

“Weh a minute… Yer not gonna tell the boy that story!” Ed interrupted us.

“Why not?”

“’Coz…,” he looked like Cookie Monster as he rolled his eyes.

“Think about what good it would do for him,” Ed didn’t say anything. He simply shrugged his shoulders as if to say, ‘you win!’

“Now, Daniel…,” I said calling the boy’s attention. “Do you know that daddy’s baptism was super special?”

“Why so?”

“’Coz it was a baptism that helped other people get baptized!”

“How so?”

* * *

I do not wish to detain the reader with further twists and turns. But what follows is a brief narration of Ed’s baptism in a small village Church. He chose it because he said his ancestor’s (after some research) were also baptized there.

He was baptized at the age of 43 into the Catholic faith. He declared he was going to make up for the rest that he hadn’t really lived quite well as God’s son. This simple event was celebrated in the presence of his wife Denise, his children and his siblings who were not Catholics then.

Everything went smoothly in the rite until the part where the priest pours water three times on Ed’s head. Father Ben asked the colossal Titan of a catechumen to bend forward so he could easily pour the water. Ed, of course, was more than eager to comply and leaned his full weight on the ornate alabaster baptismal font.

Whether it was his weight or the centuries that the font had endured of hundreds of baptisms, I cannot say. But as Ed bent forward, the font gave a thunderous groan and crashed into many chunks and pieces beyond repair. And this also did not spare Fr. Ben’s ankle and feet which luckily were still pieced together.

This sudden seismic activity caught Ed’s terrified relatives unprepared. One lady cousin tried catching Ed from falling and instead fell on top of him and broke her hip. In this tragic gymnastic exchange she let go of the candle she was holding. The untamed flame could have easily devoured a nearby hanging liturgical tapestry and with this the entire chapel. Fortunately, Ed’s brother heroically put it off but burned his iPhone and iPad (don’t ask me how), tuxedo and five fingers in the process.

But all that started not-so-well ended well. The poor chaplain still managed to scoop some water to complete the rite before being rushed to the hospital with the other casualties. And a month later Ed’s brother and cousins –perhaps, dazzled by such a catastrophic but providential moment– were also received into the Catholic faith.

* * *

“Wow, daddy’s my hero!” Daniel cheered.

“Of course he is, and that’s quite a lot of hero there,” I winked at Ed who finally sighed with relief to hear the end of it.

Then Daniel tugged my hand and whispered, “Father, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Will daddy go to heaven?”

“Of course, you know you will if you are good. And I think you’re pretty lucky to have a dad like him.”

“Yeah, but I’m thinking…,” Daniel wore a worried look.

“What?”

“Can he fit through the gate of heaven?”