My strange family

You may think that strange but I have not been invited to all my children’s weddings. But nevertheless we are very close. We love each other very deeply.

Now it’s September. At the end of this month three-fourths of the year that just began will have ended. How swiftly time flies! I know I keep saying that but what can I do? It hits me every time I think about sitting here in the so-called pre-departure lounge, sometimes idly wondering when my flight will be called. I remember my mother at one of the lunches she hosted for her friends at our house. They were all in their 70s and 80s laughing about being in the pre-departure lounge. Not at the airport, mind you, but to the next life. Now they have all gone that way. All but my mother’s youngest sister who I think is 92 but she lives in Vancouver. Too far for me to visit at my age. Or maybe not. Maybe I will pass by and visit her on my way home from my daughter’s wedding.

 Yes, one of my daughters is getting married maybe next year. I asked her if she was inviting me. You may think that strange but I have not been invited to all my children’s weddings. Never mind. When I got married last January, I scheduled it so all my children were in town because my three daughters planned to have a vacation together. So they were all present though they did not fly over to see their mother marry. It was pure coincidence. Did I feel bad about that? Not at all. We are a strange family. We get together for birthdays, Christmas, Mother’s and Father’s Days, occasional random dates. We have no rules that say we should get together every Sunday for lunch or dinner. I was and still am a very independent woman/mother. I know and cherish that my children have their own lives. But nevertheless we are very close. We love each other very deeply.

 Last Monday my first grandson who lives in San Francisco but came home to attend the wedding of one of his friends called me for lunch on Tuesday. I was planning on listening to a talk on ophthalmology at Sunshine Place because one of my eyes is going crazy but Pow is my first grandson. I took care of him when he was an adorable little baby. He and his girlfriend wanted to have lunch with me. How could I give that up?

 We met at a restaurant in Greenbelt 3 where I could not resist ordering chicharong bulaklak. I will die for that. It’s so delicious! Next time I go there I will ask for three orders of the stuff and rice.

 I thought they were going to tell me that they were getting married. After all, my grandson is at least 33. It’s about time, I think. Instead, they told me they had already gotten married in San Francisco two years ago. So you see, my claims about having a strange family are true. They just got married and wanted to keep it to themselves.

 Over coffee they were talking about getting married again here in the Philippines. They are both Filipinos but they met in the States where Powie became her roommate. They got married legally there, but are planning to marry here. The usual questions — where do you think, what month would be best? Then I asked, “Are you getting married in church?”

“Yes, I think so,” Powie said, because her parents are Catholic.

 I smiled. We got married by a priest because Loy did not want to commit sin.

“Nannie!” both my grandsons, Powie and his brother Nicc, virtually screamed, as they plugged their ears with their fingers. All my grandchildren call me Nannie because when Pow was born my daughter asked me what I wanted him to call me. I said “Granny,” like the granny in Playboy magazine who stalks hotel corridors in her nightie while carrying a bottle of champagne. What do you expect from me? I turned into a grandmother at the age of 40.

 “There are things you don’t want to tell your grandchildren,” Nicc remonstrated.

“You prefer to think I’m not human?” I asked, while Ding, Powie’s wife, and I shared wild laughter. She understood my point of view and theirs as well.

“Yes, Nan, you’re just Nannie to us,” the brothers echoed. “Let’s keep it that way.”

 “Oh, all right, I guess,” I said, “but we’re all human beings and you know what all human beings do whether they’re your parents or grandparents.”

“Yes, we do, but we don’t want to know.”

That I’m as naughty as you are, I almost said but decided to hold my tongue lest I offend my beloved little boys — ages 33 and 28 or somewhere there — again.

 Let me tell you I loved them very much when I saw them sticking their fingers in their ears. They looked like two grown-ups behaving like two little toddlers all over again.

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