A True Story of Perseverance . . . and Triumph

Many years ago on a visit to the Philippines, I met with with my godchild in my hometown of San Carlos City, Pangasinan. I was there on another purpose but I took the time to talk to her knowing the dire situation her family was in.

She's much too different now from when I was 12 years old and she was just an infant, one of several children that I would have the honor of being a godparent to. I became a "ninang" from that time on.

In 2004 with my son Richard and daughters Rizalyn and Rosemarie in tow, I visited again just to give my kids an opportunity to see what the Philippines looked like, all of them having been born in the United States. My eldest daughter, Rosannah, stayed behind to care for the business.

I inquired about my godchild and was promptly informed that she had left our hometown for some greener pastures abroad. Nobody knew exactly where she was. To hear "abroad" was good enough, however. To me, it meant being able to get out of the terrible living conditions there.

In the Philippines, godparents take on a serious role to the point of being "the other" parents with all its meanings. In my case, I've taken to being a "ninang" on a more sober note the moment I immigrated to the United States three years later when I was 15 years old.

That was also the time when I had my first gainful employment at a McDonald's branch in Guam. Many months later, my parents and my siblings moved to the mainland, specifically in San Diego, California where I put up my bakery.

As a ninang, I felt an obligation to care for my godchild like a secondary parent. Not that my godchild's parents were neglecting her. It was the economic straits they were into that I had to assume a proactive role. Thus, began years of helping out to my first godchild.

In between the time of her baptismal to the time I saw her again as a young woman, many years had elapsed. She was through elementary school, then to high school and later through two years of college education, or a total of almost 20 years.

The time practically parallels the existence of my bakery -- The Original Richard's Bakery -- which is now on its 23rd year serving the Filipino community in the same place in National City, San Diego County, California.

Now on that visit in San Carlos City, one of the first persons to see me in my mother's house was my godchild -- an attractive young lady named Maricris Solomon de Vera. She's grown alright, and appeared very responsible, as I later found out in the course of our conversation.

As I expected, she brought me up to speed in her life. She's been through a lot of hurdles, including her family. Today, she told me that if only she had some money to cover the cost of a passport her work opportunities would vastly improve.

The first time I heard it I was surprised. Here is a young and able lady already seeking a chance to work, except that there's not much she could do.

Without any hesitation, I reached for my purse and handed her the money that she needed, plus a little extra for her other expenses. After that I forgot about it. In fact I did not hear anything from her in the months and years later.

Back in San Diego, I focused on my business and did the same things I love doing -- baking and running my store. I hadn't even noticed that at least five years had passed since my last visit to my hometown with my kids, and many more years since I last saw my godchild.

Last year, I did something no other bakery had done in the United States, or elsewhere that I knew, by creating a specialty bread to honor the first African American ever elected president of the United States. It was to celebrate the milestone of Mr. Barack Obama that I invented the Obama Pandesal.

To make it widely known, I created an account on Facebook, and then on YouTube. I also signed in for a number of online sites.

In one of those easy days after a long weekend, somebody had posted a message on my Facebook account. I could not believe it. I thought maybe it was another person with a similar name. But there it was . . . with a picture to boot. It was my godchild!

She's now Maricris Navarro. I didn't bother at first, knowing fully well I didn't have a friend or a relative with that name. That's when she explained that she's my godchild and I am her ninang.

And then she reminded me of the time we last talked when I gave her some money for a passport. It wasn't the amount that she cared so much about, it's the thought of me helping her that gave her the challenge. She knew I trusted her and felt it with the money I was giving.

It was pitiful, she said, of the situation she and her family were in. "Kahit inaapi nila kami nuon, hindi kami sumuko. May plano si God sa akin," she wrote in her message to me.

"Kung hindi ninyo ako pinag-aral, hindi ko mararating ang kinaroroonan ko ngayon. Proud din ang pamilya ko," Maricris said, acknowledging all the support that I've extended to her over the years.

That made me cry. Tears of happiness welled out of my eyes. I felt so happy that I made a big difference in her life.

"Talagang palaban ako. Nagmana yata ako sa inyo kasi kayo po ang naging inspirasyon ko. Kayo po ang nagpalakas ng loob ko para labanan ang hirap ng buhay . . . " And with that, I was inconsolable. I was crying a river.

After a few more Facebook exchanges, she finally called me. She was crying as she began to update me about everything that happened to her since the passport money I gave her many years ago.

Now she's married and has one kid. She left the Philippines quite recently and now works and stays in Vancouver, Canada as a caregiver.

That's one in a million chance for her, and she grabbed it. Who wouldn't when the promise of a bright future beckons?