But Mang Karyo didn’t listen. He only tightened his grip around his son’s legs. “You see his crippled feet,” he said. “I see his wings. My son will fly.”
Then came senior high school graduation day.
The gymnasium was full—loud and joyful. Parents were dressed in their best clothes. Mang Karyo, wearing his old Barong Tagalog yellowed with age—the same one he had worn at his wedding—sat at the back beside a borrowed wheelchair from the barangay.
The ceremony began. Students with honors were called.
Then came the long-awaited moment.
“And now,” announced the principal, her voice trembling with emotion, “our Class Valedictorian. A student who proved that no mountain is too high for one determined to climb it—Mr. Juanito ‘Jun-jun’ Morales!”
The crowd erupted in applause.
But there was no ramp leading to the stage. Only stairs.
Jun-jun looked at his father. “Dad… how will we do this?”
Mang Karyo stood up. He removed his worn leather shoes. He set aside the cane he used for walking.
In front of hundreds of people, Mang Karyo bent down in front of the wheelchair.
“Get on, my son,” he said. “This is our final climb.”
Jun-jun climbed onto his father’s back.
The entire gym fell silent. The only sounds were Mang Karyo’s heavy breathing and the soft thud of his swollen feet against the floor.
Step one. His knees trembled.
Step two. He paused, gathering strength.
Step three. A teacher began to clap.
Step four. The students followed.
Until they reached the center of the stage. Mang Karyo gently seated Jun-jun on a chair in front of the podium.
The father’s barong was soaked with sweat. He was breathless—but smiling from ear to ear.
Jun-jun took the microphone. He looked at his classmates, then at his father. Tears streamed down his face.
“This medal,” Jun-jun began, lifting the gold medal, “has my name on it. But that is wrong.”
The crowd gasped.
“Because my mind would be useless without the feet that brought me here. For ten years, my father was my legs. He plowed through heat, rain, and exhaustion. He endured back pain and ridicule—just so I could go to school.”
Jun-jun turned to Mang Karyo.
“Dad, this isn’t mine. This is yours.”
Instead of wearing the medal himself, Jun-jun placed it around his father’s neck.
“You are the valedictorian of my life, Dad.”
Emotions broke loose. Teachers, parents, and students wept openly. Everyone stood—one long standing ovation. Endless applause echoed through the gym as the hunched father tightly embraced his brilliant, disabled son.
That day, they proved that the heaviest burdens become lighter when carried with love. And Mang Karyo, the simple farmer, stood as the tallest man in the entire gymnasium.