My Grandma's Legacy
Of Childhood Memories
"Silver-gray hair neatly combed in place.
There were four generations of love on her face.
She was so wise, no surprise passed her eyes,
She'd seen it all." ~ Dianne Reeves/Better Days
I woke up this morning with this 80’s song in my head. Before childhood memories come pouring in, one person showed up in my mind– my grandmother. Lola, as Filipinos call them, but we called her Mamang.
Mamang– that woman is a toughie, most especially when it comes to disciplining her children and grandchildren. I got some of that disciplinary brunt that I dealt with resentment, but you know the quote that you know you have forgiven a person or a situation when you only feel Love when you think about them? With a tear and a smile, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and thought about her and my childhood days. Only LOVE remains.
Our father passed away at a young age leaving my mother to take care of us. However, when my mother travels for work, we were left under the care of our grandmother.
I remember a lot of things in my childhood, but when it comes to reminiscing my loved ones, she always comes first place. She has always been there.
I remember, as a child, we used to have power outage almost every week. I recall sitting next to her in the driveway instead of playing with the neighborhood kids under the bright moonlight. She would talk to me about the stars and the moon and ask me what I see. She would tell me fairy tales, ghost stories, and legends that would leave me in wild imagination while ducking from swooping bats.
I remember her sweeping off the dried leaves by our fenced home and light them up in a fire in early evenings, signaling my sister and me that it’s time to the go home for dinner. Hmm, that smell of old leaves burning.
My grandma is also a devout Catholic with her rosary on her hand most of the time, praying unceasingly and only being able to take a deep breath of relief when all her kids and grandkids were safely home. But I also remember some rituals she would perform “to protect us from negative spirits”. Being raised as a Catholic myself, I would not, however, defer from having an amulet sawed into my items of clothing.
I was also an insomniac when I was a child. I remember her staying up until midnight with her “rituals” to help me go to sleep. Those rituals, I remember them and was passed on to me as a “gift” come adulthood. I remember sleeping next to her on scary nights.
Photo by mali maeder on Pexels.com
My favorite time of the year was summertime when we go to the rural province to her old two-story wooden home. How I loved that home! Surrounded by big trees and bamboos, it reminds me of otherworldly-creature stories and legends she used to tell. The stairs and the balcony where we would lay down and watch the tree branches and leaves sway, singing with my aunt, or listening to my grandma tell more stories.
The living room with that big box of baul and all the old clothes and trinkets in it. That old piano that my mom learned how to play with. That portrait. The portrait I’m still fighting for my mom and relatives to look for. The portrait of a beautiful younger half-Spanish-looking woman.
The bedroom where we sleep with the bunk beds where I lay awake at night waiting for that ghostly steps from grandma’s ghost stories.
The big kitchen-dining-room-in-one where I listened to more legends from our lolo (my grandma’s brother-in-law), as grandma and her sister prepare dinner on a step-down smaller “dirty-kitchen”. That smaller kitchen and the clay pots where my sister and I attempt and always fail to make flames.
The outhouse and that old water pump where we bathe in cool water. The trees where we sneak out to climb and grab fruits from.
The best part of the day is when our lolo would come home from the farm with the caribou and we’d ride the sleigh from the side-roads to where the caribou was housed. And that hut by the ricefield!!!
Despite all the creature and ghost stories, I think nothing terrifies me more than going to the market with my grandma. I swear I loved all those candies but I strongly shunned being smothered by kisses from distant relatives. But I see her proud eyes as she introduces her grandkids. I remember following her around the market buying fresh produce, but what I remembered the most was the fresh white wine she’d always purchase. Her humble and simple indulgence.
I asked her once who her favorite grandchild is. She said it’s me. Much to my pleasure, I asked her why. She said because I was the firstborn of her firstborn.
Still, a lot of memories to recall. Beautiful memories and wonderful stories that thrilled my imagination.
Mamang. That tough, feisty, doting, and dauntless grandmother who cared for us. That woman molded me into who I am now and I am grateful to the Universe for having her in my life. She is not well-known. She was not as “successful” compared to how the world perceives success. She is, however, wise and knowledgable of things unknown. She did leave a wealth of legacy–her children, her children’s children, and generations to come.
I say this with love: Mamang, WE ARE YOUR LEGACY. The legacy that you would be proud of birthing. We won’t be here without you. We are your SUCCESS and fairy tales come true.
My son and my grandma. The image of a firstborn, of a firstborn, of a firstborn.
