"Here's your order, Mom," GB would declare, holding out a plate to Cousin Trix--never mind that we never really "ordered" anything.
"That'll be P10.00," Patita would declare, handing over a piece of paper with doodles all over it as Ray*-B giggled by her side.
"My turn!" Kirstie would shout out, and just like that, she'd be off running back inside--conveniently forgetting that she did not get any order from us.
The others take it as their cue to run back inside, only to come back out with a new set of dishes for the "diners" at the "restaurant".
Then, it hits me. We used to be the kids who'd run to and fro, pretending to cook, serving baked mud as chocolate cake to our unfortunate parents, titos and titas.
The wheels of time have turned. We are now the parents, titos and titas. Our parents have turned into doting lolos and lolas.
The past few years have made me more aware of our mortality. While the Eduardo's group continues to be a crazy bunch of people, things have been decidedly different after we said goodbye to Tita Thelms first, then Tita Eds, then just recently, Tito Jorge. We continue to talk about them with fondness and laugh at their past antics as boisterously as we would have if they were still with us physically, but really, the loss of our loved ones have brought on, for me, a heightened sense of appreciation for those who are still with us.
When we were kids, I remember Mother fussing about Noni and Daddy Iston, and Father always considering Lolo Danding in his plans. So we grew up with a trunk-full (a gigantic trunk!) of memories rich with the presence of our parent's parents. I don't think Mother and Father deliberately did it so we could grow up with tons to reminisce about. As far as their parents were concerned, I suppose, they really did it so they can "give back". Not that they were being required, but because they wanted to.
The wheels of time have turned. And so, these days, we do (or at least we try to do) as we saw them do while we were growing up.
Now, Father and I have always belonged to a mutual admiration society. Being his firstborn, I suppose, allowed me that privilege. Mother used to say that when Father is in a bad mood, the clouds of gloom and doom are automatically dispelled as soon as I walk into the room. (He may deny it, of course. I don't think anyone will believe him, haha!). When I was younger, I was the quintessential Daddy's Little Girl. As I grew up, our relationship evolved into one of easy friendship (laughter all around) even as the respect between father and child was clearly established. Although....uh.......on occasion, maybe not, haha!
"Father, can I go to with so-and-so to so-and-so's party this Saturday?" I'd ask nonchalantly.
"Hindi," he would say decisively, not even bothering to look up from his paper.
"Ba't hindi????!!!" I'd jump up, hitting him playfully on the arm, half-meaning the playful scowl on my face.
"Eh, ba't nagtatanong ka pa?!" he would reply, suppressing a laugh.
Such easy banter would not have been possible if I didn't have the kind of relationship I had with my Father. On most occasions, I got away with it. On those occasions when he really felt I shouldn't go, he had a ready answer, "Sa mommy mo ikaw magpaaalam." Ngyar.....=S
I suppose to establish some sort of balance, all parents decide that in any situation, one must play the "good cop", the other must play the "bad cop". Truth be told, Father can never be a disciplinarian. He'd attempt to sound mad, and Sister Pusjing, Bro I-gue and myself would all be guffawing by the second sentence of reprimand. Ngyar...=) In any case, with Father away most of the time for work, the task of disciplining us crazy kids unfortunately landed in Mother's hands. (Truth be told, I don't think it's a role she relished, but it was a role that she probably felt she needed to take on.)
To say that I didn't have the easiest relationship with Mother growing up would be an understatement. The fact that I was the firstborn who necessarily had to "test the bounderies of what will be allowed and what will get you in heaps of trouble" made it so. Don't get me wrong. Love and respect was all around. It's just that, I suppose a stubborn, independent-minded teenager and a strong-willed, protective mother do not exactly a match-in-heaven make. Mother used to tell me, "Pagtanda mo, maiintindihan mo...." and I remember my arrogant, 16-year old self thinking, "Nooooo way....not eveeeeeeeer!" The irony was, at some point, I've come to realize that--like some biblical prophecy--her words of old did begin to ring true. These days, my sister and I marvel at the fact that to a great degree, "we have turned into Mother". Haha. =D Which is why, I suppose, I'm appreciative of the kind of relationship I have with Mother now. With me no longer needing to prove anything, and her no longer needing to worry that I would be foolish enough to sneak out on a Sunday morning to jump off some plane, Mother and I have finally (!) met somewhere in the middle. We have finally become more than just mother and daughter; I'd like to think we have finally become friends. =)
And so, while my teenage and early adult years had me dreaming of moving out of House Better to live in a place of my own so I can finally "do what I want to do", I soon realized, no more than a few months after I moved into House Pioneer, that I practically spend the entire work week wishing for the weekend so I can go home to House Better. HAHAHAHAHA! =)
Spending the weekend bonding with Mother and Father is something we all look forward to (we defined as Hubby Sweet, the pups and me), but getting to spend time with them out of the usual confines of House Better is always special. (Such will be chronicled in this series. =)) I suppose, there is something blessed about being able to share our "adult world" with the very people who reared us from childhood to become the very people primarily responsible for the kind of adult life we enjoy now.
The wheels of time have turned.It is now our time to give back. =)
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