A ninja I am

The ninja deep in training at the Maculcol (lahar) river, border of San Narciso and San Felipe, Zambales, Philippines.

I love messing with kids’ minds. They’ll believe anything. And I don’t just mean Santa. I would share with my nephews and nieces my most precious secret, that I am a ninja. Oh yes I am. It is a secret, of course, that no one else should know. Not even their siblings. I say that in total secrecy, one at a time, to each of my nephews and nieces.

My brother was a little annoyed when he found out the reason his son refused to take karate lessons was because he would rather take ninja lessons from me. I am the absolute master of the art, you see. First lesson, get me a coke from the ref. Aha, no debates, no questions. The student should follow the master without delay or question. 

By the time they’ve reached the awkward age, my nephews and nieces began talking amongst themselves, was their uncle really a ninja? So they asked me, point blank. I was a little disappointed. It was the most precious secret I have revealed only to them. And I, the fool, expected the one to have not revealed the secret to the other. 

“Who else know now?” I asked. Not the neighbors please! They all answered, no. Only they knew, they swore. 

“So, are you really a ninja?” they pressed. 

After I was satisfied that my secret was safe within the small circle, I finally answered, “Am I a ninja? Oh yes I am!”