Back when I was about 8 and my sister was 3, our nannies would sometimes watch tv while we played house. On one occasion, one of them shrieked: “Idol ko talaga yan si Vilma!” I momentarily stopped brushing my doll’s hair and asked her what that meant. She then explained, in the best way that she knew how, that an idol is someone whom you admire, practically worship. I was bewildered, having none of the sort.

So, in search of my own personal idol, I asked my father that night: “Papa, who is your idol?” I was expecting him to say President Marcos— he being the most powerful man in the world that my naïve mind could conjure. (Hey, I was 8.)

I was surprised to hear him say, “I have no idol. You shouldn’t idolize anyone, because they are only people like you and me.”

Those words have had such a profound effect on me. And I think that is the reason why I have sometimes been accused of being too comfortable around, or even irreverent towards “honorable” people such as politicians, larger-than-life demi-gods who drive around in their luxurious gas-guzzling vehicles and surrounded by a dozen bodyguards.

My part-time stint hosting a socio-political tv talk show obliges me to interact with public officials and the like. I have been warned by well-meaning persons to take it easy on my remarks or else I might win a few enemies, if not a libel suit.

Easier said than done, if you ask me. How can you hold back sarcasm, when it is no secret that the dignified-looking gentlemen grandstanding in front of the camera have embezzled your tax payments and denied poor citizens of their right to basic services while funding their expensive hobbies? How can you pretend to be impressed when you know that their explanations are sugar coated, designed to confuse those who don’t know better?

I am still seething from yesterday’s broadcast.