Some friends recently sent their kids to Japanese Camp for three weeks of, well, Japanese culture and stuff. I was seized with envy, immediately Googled "Filipino Camp," and fully expected to find one in Daly City. Alas, no. I did find something called Filipino Heritage Camp in Colorado, which appears to be for children who are adopted from the Philippines. That's all good and well, but I'm now making a formal request to...I don't know what they're called—camp inventors?...for a camp in which the American-born children of American-born Filipinos can be immersed in Filipino-ness with the express goal of, um, Filipinoization. Oh, and the camp should be located within extremely short walking distance of my home.
I kid! I would happily trek far and wide if such a thing existed. Especially after the following bedtime exchange with Lea:
Her: I like being Filipino.
Her: Yes. I like the lumpia part of being Filipino.
Me (sighing): Same here.
I can already imagine the first day's curriculum! Language, legends, folksongs, art, dance! Groovy snacks! Piko (okay, I guess I could do this myself)! And some other stuff! Stuff that I don't know about! Which is why this imaginary camp would be so fantastically wonderful!
My Dad did his best in my backyard the other day, teaching the girls some simple words. But then, of course, they wanted to know how to say "butt," and then of course my Dad told them, and then of course they thought it was hilarious because, let's face it, the word for "butt" is very, very hilarious.
I bet you're saying it right now. Uh-huh. Try to keep from laughing.