‘However difficult and seemingly insurmountable the obstacles were to us then, Father B provided much more than academic guidance — he was not just a professor in the strictest sense.’
WHO wants to go to Camarines Sur with me? No recitation for you” he said as he walked into the classroom, already shuffling the deck of class cards, indicating that the day’s round of recitation was about to start. Without a moment’s hesitation, many hands shot up, an indication of the desperation of any law student to get out of recitation. He took a moment to scan the room and said: “Okay, it’s a 14-hour trip. You drive,” he said, laughing mirthfully. With a collective groan, the class went back to our default mode — silently bargaining with the powers-that-be of the Universe. (“I hope I don’t get called today for recitation” or “If I get called, I hope it is about something that I read.”)
Many will write about the achievements (of which there are plenty) of a respected legal luminary like Fr. Joaquin G. Bernas, SJ. But like many of his generations of students, I remember him for his mildly gruff kindness, his mischievous grins, and his steadfast guidance to those who sought it. Father B, as we called him, was still the Dean of Ateneo Law when I started my freshman year. He taught me for three semesters, and was our class adviser for one. Halfway into the semester, he said to us: “The Admin Office just told me that I am your class adviser. I had no idea. But it seems none of you need advice anyway,” he said with a grin. But he did dispense advice whenever he knew someone needed it, as was the case with a former classmate of mine, who shared this anecdote with me (I am publishing it with express permission, minus details of identity). This is the recollection:
“If you remember, I failed a 5-unit subject badly. It was in between first and second sem. I was in the stairwell, head down, sitting on the stairs, by myself, not knowing what to do.
Eyes were watery. I suddenly hear, what is wrong my child? You know who it was. He didn’t give me false hopes. He said this (law) wasn’t for everyone, but that’s ok, because this wasn’t everything. Anyway, you might remember, I got the highest grade on the midterm exam in Constitutional Law 2 and that gave me confidence for the other subjects. My final grade wasn’t too bad either and I did ok with my other subjects that sem. All that gave me confidence to continue, even if it was in another school. If I fell flat that second semester, I wouldn’t have continued law school. I would never have met my wife if I didn’t continue (since she was in the upper class). Wouldn’t have had these kids I love so much. There’s a good chance that Father B only took pity on me, and that’s why I had that really good grade. But grabe the domino effect of that.”
And that’s who he was to us — mentor, teacher, uncle, father. I also struggled in law school, and he knew it well. Whenever he saw me walking in the hall, he’d jab his finger on my forehead and say “O you are still here,” to which I would always reply with “Yes Father!”
That was his way of checking in on me, and nudging me to keep fighting. Or, as is the case with another friend of mine, his usual question was “What mischief are you up to today?”
However difficult and seemingly insurmountable the obstacles were to us then, Father B provided much more than academic guidance — he was not just a professor in the strictest sense. He looked out for his students without coddling them, without being intrusive.
Rest in Power, Padre. You will be missed very much.
