In My Father’s House

This is a sequel of family reunion parts 1 and 2 done in Florida, USA and the United Kingdom. This time the reunion is in the Philippines, in my father’s house, the very place made as a base by each member of the family to spread their wings and conquer the unknown. 

There are two rooms in my father’s house. One is for the caretaker and his family  and the other for any sibling  who would like to visit the farm for memory sake. Varied feelings ensued as one stepped on the ground. Those who grew up with both parents present and in adversity faced the challenge together, had quenched a nostalgic longing for home. For those who lost a mother in this home and had nursed a bruised feeling carried through the years had ambivalent emotions. For those who experienced both but with a resilient personality felt that “home is where the heart is “.

Since my parents death, our two storey building has been home to different male siblings and their families making do with every space they could utilize. Soon they abandoned the dilapidated house and pergolas of bougainvillea flowers, signature design of my mother, were no longer in good shape. Trees grew in every direction and thick vines covered the branches. Some relatives tried to sleep in the old building, others clandestinely took female partners with them for the night but all told tales of faint sounds, heavy steps and hair raising experiences. The scene was alien to the original inhabitants, my family, when every morning and evening songs and prayers wafted in the air.

A bold step was taken by our former farm hand who worked for us in his teenage years. He chose to stay with his family in the old house so he could work in the farm. He did the cutting of trees and put everything in the house in place but couldn’t do anything  with the old structure. There were threats of fire and collapsed wall in the kitchen that another strong wind would have been fatal to the safety of his family.

Then I entered the scene because there was a need for one to look after the farm as my able bodied siblings migrated abroad. I was the original organizer in the family, my parents and other siblings could attest to the fact. I brought up the idea of repair to my sister next to me and she supported it using almost all of her share in the farm produce to finance the expenses. Other siblings were hesitant  to accept the idea at first but later, they obliged.

Little did I knew that a reunion was  brewing when the repair started. I have been supervising it for almost a year based on my availability. Then the house took shape early in the year 2018. It was face lifted, painted and furnished yet it looked so eerie and forlorn. What an empty space with the absence of noise, laughter, disagreements, sulking, blaming, regrets unexpressed love and  every challenge that characterized a family.

One fine day in September, my father’s house was filled with peals of laughter as his living children came with the four generations that followed them. The highlight of the reunion is the coming of the only living sister of my mother, that at 90 years old traveled with her daughter and granddaughter to our farmhouse. Nieces and nephews added to the fun. 

They came all the way from Italy, London, Northern Ireland, Florida, Ohio, Kentucky, Saudi Arabia, Iloilo, Bukidnon and Davao del sur.

Where once we were recipients of gifts from our relatives, we were now donors of gifts to wives and children of farmhands. 

The field where we once worked seriously with my siblings in order to have money for school and food had now become a fantasy land for our grandchildren. 

The table which lacked food for 13 mouths was now brimming with eatables for 4 generations in a boodle fight.

Our family is perfect with all its flaws and imperfections. We cannot compare it with others because we made  a different journey. If we exchange place with other good families, the memories we created would not be the same thus making us strangers to each other. We cannot hear the same laughter and shed the same tears. We cannot feel the love which is not often times expressed but when the going  gets tough for any of us, all plunged into action of care and support.

We have revived the fun we used to have together as a family but it was short lived. Each generation has its own focus of memories. My aunt was teary eyed as she remembered her favorite sister, my mother. My siblings and I saw clearly our leaps and bounds in the farm, the weddings, the birth and death of some members of the family, our children mimic their uncle who made everyone pose for a black and white picture only to find out in the end that his camera has no film, our grandchildren in the cell phone age posed here and there to capture the moment which will never return. Reunions unite families despite diversity.

The get together was over. The fun died out in a short time. Some relatives would like to repeat the same celebration on ones 80 or 90 years of age. Nostalgia of the farm house set in to those who have good memories to keep.  Moments like this was for each one to keep. There was a promise of going back  again to the old country home, here in my Father’s house.