by Mario Dimain

Created on: July 10, 2009

ANGELS WITHIN



In the sleepy barrio of San Miguel, nothing really spectacular ever happened that is capable of putting it on the world map. If not for my grandparents who lived in the barrio and the chapel where I found my childhood superhero, the place would have nothing else that would entice me.

When I was about six, my father took me to San Miguel to stay a week with my grandparents. They were thrilled to have me. My grandmother was tender and tolerant. She was the one who would lift the restrictions imposed on me by my parents. I loved her for that, giving me the chance to release all the energies of a restless boy. She was the best. My grandfather, on the other hand, was a man of few words but his words commanded respect when he spoke. He was barely educated but he was brilliant. He had an interesting explanation for everything I asked about. My inquisitiveness amused him. His grandfatherly smile was the signal that his answer to my query would expand to another anecdote. I loved listening to his stories, most particularly the one about an angel-warrior. I enjoyed the story so much that I made him re-tell it over and over again.

I will never forget his opening line that could hook any little boy of my time, "There was a good and brave angel who was sent by God to fight the Devil." Then he would continue as he pointed to the easterly direction, "At sunrise, this brave angel named Michael drew his mighty sword and challenged the Devil who was hurting the children and turning good little boys into demons. They fought from early morning to late afternoon. And at sunset, the devil fell to the ground and valiant Michael won the battle. My grandfather would then finish the story with a whisper to my ears, "He protects good little boys like you." It was his discreet way of telling me to stay out of trouble.

Whenever my grandfather was not around to repeat the story, I would go to the chapel across the road. There I would see my superhero, Michael, the barrio's patron saint. I remember the mound of candle offerings. The light emitting from the flickering flames dramatically accentuated the valiant figure of the angel-warrior who fascinated me. His powerful wings were fully spread out. The mighty sword, tightly gripped by his right hand that was raised up in the air further intensified his fighting form. He looked victorious as he stood over the fallen Devil. His left foot resting on the defeated horned foe was a silent statement that loudly declared: God triumphs

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>