Fortune Ledesma & true confessions of a mama's boy

Some people laugh about it. Some people shy away from it. Some people receive counseling for it.

But for me, I will always bear the title Mama’s Boy on my chest with pride. Especially since it was my mom who had it tattooed onto my chest in the first place.

I wear a lot of my hats in my life. Entrepreneur. Struggling actor. Events, television and wedding host. Newspaper columnist. Magazine editor. Yoga practitioner. And, most importantly, manservant to my wife and my two-year-old daughter.

But everything that I learned when it comes to multiple hat-wearing, I owe to my mom, Fortune Aleta-Ledesma. My mom wears more hats than the guests at the Royal Wedding combined.

Consul General of Monaco to the Philippines. Chairwoman of the Johann Strauss Society of the Philippines. President of the Inner Wheel Club of Manila. Member of the Zonta Business Club of Makati. Topnotcher of the government exams for optometrists. Company executive. Senior technical adviser to her married children. Commander-in-chief and judge, jury and executioner of the Ledesma household (of which presently my dad is the only citizen). 

But, as she is wont to remind me, her favorite hats are as wife to her big Baby (yes, literally: my dad’s nickname is Baby, how Pinoy can you get?). Mother to three adorable children. Mother to three equally adorable in-laws. Grandmother to four unbelievably adorable grandchildren. And self-proclaimed Chief Lamutak-er of the four unbelievably adorable grandchildren (her three adorable children have already passed the rite of lamutak). 

When we were growing up, my mom was a hands-on mom. In fact, she never took her hands off. So to appreciate the unequivocal privilege of what it means to be a mama’s boy, allow me to elaborate on just some of the titles that I have bestowed on my mom since the days before my receding hairline.

• Drill sergeant. I recall the month-long military-style training regimen that my mom put me through for the grade school elocution contests: upon my arrival from school, she made me guzzle down a cup of warm salabat and honey while going over her notes with me from the previous day’s practice. Then she marched me into the den and locked the doors and made me perform my elocution piece several hundred times until she was satisfied that we could elocute the heck out of the judges in the contest. And you know what? We elocuted those judges for five years straight. From those precious grade school years when the DSWD was still unclear if practicing for elocution contests after midnight was child labor, I learned the importance of discipline, of professionalism, and of melodrama. 

Aside from being a veteran of elocution contests, my mom also made sure to expose me to every possible extracurricular activity that my pubescent body could withstand. I took karate classes. Reading dynamics. Chess classes. Acting workshops. Football classes. Art enrichment. Swimming classes. Singing lessons. Little league baseball. Speech power. Math enrichment. Boxing classes. I suspect that my mom was preparing me to become an Olympic athlete. Or the president. Or a contestant on Talentadong Pinoy. But at any rate, even if I didn’t end up pursuing these career paths, at least I ended up being a pretty well-rounded guy. I now round out to about 34 inches around the waist.

• Biggest fan. My mom wanted to make sure that all her kids not only had a life well-lived, but also a life well-documented. That being the case, the Ledesma household is a real-life Truman Show. We have video coverage of us kids opening up our Christmas presents every year, from Betamax to Flipcam. And each child has a picture album of himself or herself from infancy up to being infantile. At present, I am up to picture album number 25. (The picture albums stopped at number 25 since my mom went digital).

My mom, God bless her, has clipped, filed and carefully stored away 30-odd years worth of everything that I have ever written — from my first short story about Cookie Monster in Grade 2 that was published in the school magazine to five years’ worth of my weekly newspaper columns to 3,000 copies of my books that she purchased so that I could be a bestseller at National Book Store.

When they finally put up RJ Ledesma’s Museum of Unnatural History, my mom will be the curator.

• Spiritual adviser. My mom taught me how to pray. I remember she would kneel down with me at the side of my bed and pray with me to my guardian angel. Then she would tuck me into bed, read me a bedtime story, then plant a good night kiss on my forehead. Those were fond memories of last night.

One of my mom’s greatest gifts to me and my siblings was how she helped nurture our own faith lives. My mom not only taught us about our faith, but she also taught us how live our faith. Every morning before she leaves the house, she spends an hour in quiet prayer in front of our family altar. Despite her hectic multi-hat schedule, she always finds time to celebrate the daily Mass. Once a month, our home plays host to my parents’ Couples for Christ prayer group. And before any of us embarked on a long trip out of town or out of the country or down the aisle, we would all take pause in front of the Sacred Heart of Jesus to offer up my family’s special intentions to Him. 

When we were younger, I remember that she encouraged us to set aside a bit of our savings every year for charity. Then during the holidays, my family would pay a visit to our charity, host a little Christmas party, and spend some time with the beneficiaries. And, God willing, she would make me elocute in front of them as well. From these charity visits, I learned the importance of service, of compassion, and of humility.

Sometimes when I hear God speak to me, He sounds almost exactly like my mom.

There are still numerous titles that I have bestowed upon my mom — guidance counselor, PR specialist, fashion consultant, life coach, social networking expert, senior technical director on all life-changing decisions and soft loan financier — but perhaps one of my mom’s greatest titles is that she is all too human.

Several years ago, when I was working on my first job out of college, my mom sat me down for a heart-to-heart conversation. “Anak. I know I pushed you very hard when you were growing up,” she said as she cupped her hands around my face. “Please know that I did this because I wanted you to be the best person that you could be. And I thought that this was the best way for me to be a good mom to you. But I realize now that I may have pushed you too hard. If my actions caused me to hurt you while you were growing up, I am really sorry.” Then she kissed me on my forehead “I love you very much, anak.” I hugged my mom so tightly that I may have broken a couple of her ribs.

There is a reason that I named my daughter after my mom. And it was not just to ensure that my mom would fully subsidize her education until graduate school. It is because my daughter Fortune means the world to me. Just like my mom made me feel like I was worth a world of treasure to her.

Indeed, my mom is my Fortune.