Living It Up

My parents have been in Manila now for a week. The irrefutable proof of my adulthood is that I'm fairly freaked out about it. I do not care for this gallivanting around the globe where I cannot keep an eye on them. Unlike most of the Filipinos I know, Mom and Dad do not make an annual or semi-annual trek "home." In fact, it has been about fifteen years since my dad was last in the Philippines (and longer still for Mom). It was a work-related trip, and when the spousal unit and I picked him up curbside at SFO, he stomped out his cigarette, climbed in the car, and shut the door. He said, "I'm never going back to that goddamn place again."

Which is so, so, so my father.

While making the travel plans, he announced—with an infuriating glibness that is part humor, part defense mechanism—that he will die soon. I rolled my eyes and told him he was ridiculous, but apparently there’s no way to shake a man off the tree branch of his personal truth. I guess it makes sense, then, to return to the place where he was first loosed upon the world. He is making this trip with two of his brothers and his big sister, plus (most) of their respective spouses. I believe the last time the siblings were there together was before they immigrated. Not long after this photo was taken, I think. Dad's on the far left:



It's all very sweet, I think, and I only wish I were there to watch the whole thing happen. They are far too busy having fun, apparently, to keep us posted on the family board, but an e-mail from my Auntie L. did come in earlier today. Dad just bought a lechon, she reported, and they're gonna party at Uncle P's tonight.

That's as it should be.