betsisanders: it's my Dad's 83rd birthday today

It's my Dad's 83rd birthday today. I phoned him as soon as I woke up this morning. I usually get the machine when I call but this time, Dad answered the phone. He was probably waiting for his daughters to greet him on his special day. He said he was having dinner but it was only five o clock in Roseville. Hmmmm, he must we waiting for us to call him. He said, "It isn't my birthday yet."... I said, "Dad, it is your birthday already in Manila." He laughed. So glad to hear his voice. Sorry Daddy, we can't be with you on your birthday and on Thanksgiving, but I will do my best to see you in the spring.

This blog is a small tribute to my Dad. It is about our summer vacations in his hometown.

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"How I spent my summer vacation" ... that was always what our Language teacher in Grade School would ask us to write about. I've always dreaded Theme Writing. During the start of every school year, our English teacher would always require us to write about our summer vacation and we had to write it on a special sheet of paper, with proper margins, written with a fountain pen using the Paulinian handwriting.

Guess you are not familiar with the way Paulinians write huh? The Paulinian handwriting has two strokes, light and dark. Light strokes are for upward strokes and darker ones for the downward stroke.

Going back to my vacations. Summer breaks usually fall during Holy Week, or at the end of May and semestral breaks coincided with All Saints' Day. These were spent in the little barrio of Santor in the town of Bongabon, the province of Nueva Ecija, my father's hometown. My Dad was a farmer. He studied in a public school, 'several kilometers-walk' to the middle of town. His home was a nipa hut in the middle of rice fields, which was about 'several hundred giant-steps' near a river.

I have always hated going to Dad's hometown. The dirt roads were bad after Cabanatuan City. Even the MB's shock absorbers couldn't provide any comfort. My youngest sister would always throw up during the drive to the barrio, and when we finally reach Inang's home ( now a two - story concrete house ) the MB's white paint has turned into a light brown color.

I remember how excited and thrilled my Dad was whenever he goes home to Santor. We would leave Manila at around three in the morning and arrive at about eight or nine. Just in time for breakfast. Breakfast was the usual dried fish and native eggs. But there were these creepy looking black crispy bugs, called 'salagubang' that were ready to be eaten and waiting for my Dad. The salagubang were first cooked in garlic (adobo style) and then refried to become crispy. These insects (scarabs / beetles) live on the ground and during the first rains in the latter part of May or early June (that's probably why they are also called June- beetles), these beetles would fly towards the trees. That's when the farmers would be waiting with their nets to catch these bugs.

After breakfast, Dad would then go straight to the river with his brothers or nephews. Dad would dive and catch mudfish or catfish with his bare hands inside the 'baklad' or fish pens.

The live catfish (Hito) would then be bludgeoned to death with the dull edge of an 'itak' or a giant cleaver. A mixture of ash and rock salt would be used to scrub the fish clean of its slimy coating. The mud fish or snake fish (Dalag) would be impaled alive with a long sharp bamboo skewer. The fishes would then be grilled on live coals.

Tiny live river shrimps, which my youngest sister called 'hipong-ee', would be sauteed in garlic and coconut milk (gata). A native chicken, Inang's pet, would be simmering in tamarind juice and tamarind leaves. I love this Sinampalukang manok, but I don't like the tough meat of the wild native chicken. Some tilapia would be inside big bamboos and grilled too. This style of cooking inside a bamboo is what's known as 'Binulo'

Dessert was espasol, the barrio's special dessert treat. I have always hated eating 'espasol' because the sticky sweet chewy beige rice looked like it was coated with the dust from the roads of the barrio.

Easter Sunday would be a fiesta. They would roast a black pig. ( The last time Dad visited his hometown was in 2004, he asked my aunt to roast a black pig, wild boar or 'baboyramo'. My aunt said that those pigs have become rare if not extinct.)

Our Recreation ...... That is if you call, going to the fields, pulling fresh onions, grabbing huge heads of cabbage from the ground and picking string beans from the vines, .... recreation. It wasn't fun at all! It was hard work. Maybe Dad wanted us to experience harvesting fresh vegetables. Was just glad it wasn't harvesting season for 'palay' ( rice ).

Swimming or riding the banca ( small wooded boat ) was also quite an experience. The boat ride going to the other side of the river usually took about 20 minutes, but everyone hopped in the banca and it took us three hours to get to where my Dad was fishing. ( we should have taken the car ) My friend, Aimee, was with us. It was sooooo hot and humid, she just dived into the river. When she came out of the water, she said that the bottom of the river was full of long stemmed leaves/ river plants. ;-/

We weren't allowed to climb trees though, I guess that would have been more fun. The cousins would just pick the Santol, mangoes or guavas using this long bamboo pole with a basket at the end called 'panungkit'.

There were processions or some church activities but we never participated. We just heard Mass during Easter Sunday, and head right back to Manila after lunch.

That was how my summer vacations were spent in my Dad's hometown. The last summer break was when I was in high school. .. And the last time I was there was when my Dad's brother died. When Inang died, I had exams in dental school and couldn't go to her funeral. It has been more than thirty years since my last visit. Only the Hubby and Son accompanied Dad in 2004.

Finally, I have written, (rather typed, not using the Paulinian handwriting), a 'complete', more or less, maybe less, account of my summer vacations in the rice granary, central plains of Luzon. This piece is a tribute to my Dad, Bentol, who turned 83 today. Happy birthday Dad! It took me forty years to appreciate those summer vacations in your hometown and the food you grew up with. Thanks Dad!!!