Any Day with You

It’s a bright, clear, day, the kind where the clouds seem so white because the sky’s so blue. Mom, Tatang and I make our way across the UCLA campus. UCLA stands for the University of California, Los Angeles, and it’s not far from our house. Their mascot is the Bruin, so on game days, someone in a fuzzy bear costume runs around giving noogies.
Students walk in every direction. I try to figure out their majors: girls going into a building carrying tall stacks of books are engineers, a guy with a camera interviewing a girl in a suit are broadcast journalists, and two guys playing Frisbee barefoot in the courtyard are undeclared.
Since Mom’s a professor in Asian American studies, I know a lot of things about my culture and it history, like how Filipinos were the first Asian group to land in the United states, or that the yo-yo was invented by a Filipino man named Pedro Flores and yo-yo means “come back, come back” in Tagalog – and tons of other facts that Uncle Roy tells me to tuck away in my Pinoy Pride Drawer. Pinoy and Pinay mean someone who’s Filipino, and my uncle and I want to cheer whenever we hear of someone from our culture doing extraordinary things. Tatang says it’s good to know where you come from, not only in the here and now but before you every became a dot on this planet.
I spot the lecture hall where Mom teaches and sprint to the entrance. She and Tatang catch up and we head for the elevator, but Tatang says, “Stairs, please. I need to exercise these creaky legs.”
Today he’s Mom’s secret weapon.
Tatang’s wearing his best cargo shorts, orange sneakers, and a black short-sleeved button-down covered in unicorns and stacks of books. We walk down a glossy corridor into the lecture hall, which has tiered seating, whiteboards, and a wood lectern. Mom takes her place at the lectern and i sit in the back like a real college student.
Tatang sits in the front row as people file in. He hasn’t brought any note cards or slides. He told me he’s winging it.
Not everyone in class is Filipino or Asian. It’s like my school, with all types of bodies and faces and skin colors, people with all different stories to tell. It’d be so boring if everyone around me looked the same.
“Take your seats, please,” Mom says.
Tatang scans his audience and shouts, “There are open chairs in front, folks! Don’t be shy! My dentures don’t bite!”
A few students chuckle.
Mom says, “All right, class. Any questions about your reading on the 1965 Immigration and Naturalization Act?”
Students listen to Mom, respond, and take notes, except for on guy who’s already fallen asleep. Tatang has a great big smile as he watches Mom – the same expression he had during Lainey’s graduation speech.