Lolo Claro M. Recto and his house rules

My maternal grandfather, Lolo Claro M. Recto, named his youngest of four Maria Priscilla, and affectionately called her “Chona,” from pichona, meaning “my little pigeon.” Lolo Claro then remarried the beauteous Aurora Reyes after strained relations with Abuelita Angie (Angelina Silos, my mom’s real mother). Growing up, I may have noticed, somewhat confused, but now crystal clear, how close my mother was to both women, and how Lola Aurora influenced her. She used to talk about how beautiful Lola Aurora was. Although, if I am not mistaken, Tita Nena, my mom’s eldest sister, was against the union because she was as old as Lola Aurora. 

But neither Lola Aurora, nor Abuelita Angie, could influence Mommy Chona as much as Lolo Claro did. Even if he spoiled her silly with material caprices like clothes, jewelry and travel, he was quite a disciplinarian father, making sure that, not only was all homework to be accomplished, but class honors were pursued as well. Curfew before midnight was implemented in high school, after class parties and socials, and no single dating until she was 18. My mom said he would stay up and show her how angry he was if she came home after midnight. He soon shipped her out to Marymount, in Tarrytown, New York, as Papi Johnny (Ysmael) was already dating her. Lolo Claro recalled her when the war broke out and predicted they would tie the knot —and they did.  

Lolo Claro was particular about hygiene, scents, table manners and old-fashioned etiquette. My mother recounted to us many times: “We always had to be dressed for every meal, including breakfast. We had to be showered and dressed on time.” No wonder Lolo Claro smelled of soap and was always in a white suit or a white barong tagalog. If the occasion called for it, he would wear a white tux with a black or white bowtie.

Here is a list of all the no-no’s, according to my mom:

NO oversleeping or coming to the table in a sando, much less without a shirt.  

NO disheveled hair. 

NO sulking aura or sleepy expressions.  

NO dragging of feet. 

NO rubber slippers.   

NO exchange of disgusting stories, and...  

NO loud chatter.  

These I do remember, as my mother would strictly enforce them, always referring to Lolo Claro’s house rules. The grownups sat together at lunches and dinners, but once in a while we would join them, as long as we held our utensils properly and put napkins on our little laps, or we could tie them around our necks like bibs. NO reaching for platters of food unless we politely asked to please pass them, and NO retorting or talking back discourteously, but expressing differences in opinion by lowering the voice tone.

I fondly called my mother Mopy, and she would respond with tender affection in all her notes and letters to me; even Lolo Claro approved of my term of endearment. She was quite close to her half-brothers, Tito Clarito and Tito Raffy, and admitted how affected she was when Tito Clarito had a freak motorcycle accident in Baguio. He was a handsome pilot married to another beautiful woman, Tita Naty Tuason, who was another favorite of Lolo Claro and Lola Aurora.  

Lolo Claro was a real consoling therapist to her at the time. He was also the family lawyer until his death. Every home we visited — the Recto compounds on Wilson Street and España extension, the ancestral homes in Tiaong, Quezon and Lipa, Batangas — was a window to his deep thoughts and sensitive soul, his love for family and beauty, his passionate and romantic nature, and admiration for our mixed Spanish culture and heritage. His writings were the windows of his soul.

Lolo Claro took care of my mom as a young widow. She would tell us that she idolized him for his wisdom and filial instincts (she would look back at all he had forewarned her about, as her union with Hans Kasten went from bad to worse). She mentioned that he predicted the country’s impoverished state from graft and corruption, and that one day the bases would be used as leverage in dealing with US affairs.

We are proud of his being referred to as an ilustrado, for heading the Malolos Convention and fathering our Philippine Constitution, and for all his poems and writings, most especially Bajo Los Cocoteros. As a second grader, I remember he promised me P1,000 for every subject in my report card that garnered a 90-plus, for every quarter and last grading period. My Mom showed us his report cards during his school days — mostly in the 100s.

Lolo Claro admired many of his contemporaries in the business community, like Don Andres Soriano, about whom he had this to say about (as quoted and paraphrased from the words of Claro M. Recto):

“Nuestras vidas son los rios que van a dar en la mar, que es el morir, alli van los sonorios, derechos a se acabar y consumer.

(Our lives are like rivers that lead to the ocean, just as the dreams and achievements that end or are consummated at death)

“Pero el rio de aquella vida plenamente lograda no fue a dar en el oceano de la muerte, para confundir sus aguas caudales con las de otros rios, vulgares y anonimos, en el deposito comun del olvido y de la nada.

(However the river of a life fulfilled or a life of achievement does not end in the ocean of anonymity, not for its rich waters to intermingle in confusion with the other rivers of lives, vulgar and lackluster, all together in oblivion and nothingness.)  

 “No. Mas alla de la muerte, mas alla del termino de ese viaje de donde no se vuelve, la vida reinvindica sus fueros, pactando alianza con la imortalidad, cuando ha sido vivida a plenitud para el logro de los fines de una elevada vocacion.

(No. Further, beyond death, beyond the end of a journey of no return, an enriched life re-vindicates the past, merging with immortality when such a life was lived with dedication and ambition.)

 “Y fue asi la fama rindio parias a Don Andres Soriano labrandole un nicho en la panteon de los eligidos, para guia, inspiracion y ejemplo de la futuras generaciones de Filipinos.”

(And that is how Don Andres Soriano lived his life, carving a niche in the pantheon, the gallery of the elect, revered to guide, inspire, and role-model for future Filipino generations.)

We beam with pride at Lolo Claro’s being a judge for most of the Premio Zobels during his prime, and for failing the UP bar exam because rumors had it that he daringly questioned his law professor or corrected the way the board examination’s alleged erroneous grammar was expressed at the time. Of course he topped the bar after this.

What is most riveting is that I recall my mother’s comment about the last publicized image of Lolo Claro, feeding the pigeons at the Piazza San Marco in Venice, where he slumped over from a heart attack and succumbed to it in Rome. She would shed tears, go into silent sobs, and repeatedly say, “He was saying goodbye to me when he fed the pigeons.”