My Childhood Christmas Memories
By Geraldine Limpo

Seeing lengua, escalivada, bacalao, and callos on the dinner table a few weeks ago reminded me of unforgettable Christmas lunches shared with maternal relatives in Meycauayan and our family traditions.

My four siblings and I woke up excitedly every Christmas morning, putting on new clothes that we had received as presents (and actually worn during the midnight mass a few hours earlier in the chapel of our elementary school). These were simple, department store-bought clothes, as our doctor-parents were frugal. However, in an era when new clothes were given only on special occasions such as birthdays and Christmas, donning them for the first time felt magical.

The driveway leading to my grandfather’s house would be nearly full by the time we arrived for Christmas lunch. Tatay's house was one of six inside his family's compound. He lived with my oldest aunt, Ninang, and beside them resided Ninang's two sisters and their families. Until the year before she died, the sight of Nanay, my maternal grandmother, smilingly seated beside a can of Fita filled with shiny coins, always welcomed us. Tatay would not be sitting beside her on that wooden bench because he was in the kitchen, standing in front of large pots of calderetta and lechon paksiw, stirring them to mouth-watering perfection. After greeting Nanay by reaching out to her outstretched hand and putting it gently to our bowed foreheads with a whispered “mano po," we marched straight to Tatay to pay our respects (and enjoy a whiff or two of his hearty brews).

My mother was the sixth of nine children. Her sisters were avid cooks whose dishes whetted our appetites. To this day, my taste buds remember Ninang's tocio, Diche's pork embotido and leche flan, Dete's pancit bihon, and Tita Nene's dinuguan. When California-based Dico timed his yearly visit during the Christmas holidays to join us, each table was adorned with colorful heaps of M&Ms, Snickers, and Milky Way. During my childhood, these American chocolates were considered treasures, available only in a few stalls in Cartimar or upscale supermarkets in Makati. Mom and Dad's contribution to this potluck feast was always fruits from the orchard, as Mom’s cooking repertoire was limited compared to her sisters'. (Her strengths lay elsewhere!)

Mom’s siblings came with their spouses, and my four siblings and I were joined by over 30 first cousins on my mother’s side. This meant that our lunch party of more than fifty people took turns at the tables spread across Ninang's, Diche's, and Tita Itong’s homes. By this time, my cousins and I had classified ourselves into age groups, settling in dens and corners to chit-chat and play board games or jackstones after sharing the meal.

My mom and her siblings were hardworking and modestly successful in their occupations. Out of their work clothes and dressed instead in casual wear and loose house gowns, my mom and her sisters remained busy throughout these lunch parties, chatting and taking turns washing plates and utensils for the different batches of people who partook of the buffet feast. Their two brothers stood alongside them, supplying jokes and banter that kept everyone laughing heartily. There was no piped-in music or blaring television sets to steal our attention away from animated conversations. The black rotary telephone in Ninang's house rarely rang; in the ’70s, ’80s, and early ’90s, each family was simply busy celebrating Christmas with relatives and friends. Nobody thought of the telephone then.