One late afternoon when I was about 8, my cousins, my sisters and I were watching Voltes V on TV. So intent were we that we didn't hear the toiling of chuch bells announcing Angelus. My mother's family was terribly old school; we were supposed to kiss the hands of all elders in the house as soon as the bell struck six. Well, it was the episode when Mrs. Armstrong died and kissing hands was the last thing on our minds. Suddenly, my grandfather, God rest his soul, started hitting us with his cane. Everybody, including my teenaged cousins, sprang to their feet to kiss his hand. For the longest time, I did not move. My old maid aunts urged me to do what I was supposed to do. I refused. It took several minutes and one aunt to drag me by the hair to finally bring the top of my head down to my grandfather's waiting hand. I was young. I was small. There was nothing I could do but take my seat and go back to Voltes V.
Re-posted from my Multiply journal.
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2 comments:
Browsing for "anything vintage" led me to your blog, but I ended up finding so much more. You manage to write substantial posts behind your photographs, and I just wanted to drop by and say hello :-)
Not to mention that I'm also a Filipina; moved to California when I was 10. But my Filipino childhood never really left me, and I find myself longing for home. This post definitely brings me back, thanks for sharing.
Hi! Thanks so much for the kind words. I'm only too happy to have people "blasting into the past" with me. More to come, definitely. And hope to hear from you soon! =)
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