A Day With My Grandfather

When our parents got sick in the middle of the Second World War we were transported to our grandparents' house on my father's side at Cavente, Tabid Misamis Occ. I was five years old and I can picture a two storey house of wood and thatch surrounded by flowering plants. The first floor was divided into the living-dining room and kitchen with a big table and a stone grinder, while the remaining portion was used as storage for corn and oher food supplies. The second floor composed of two big bedrooms and a balcony.

Our grandma regaled us with folk stories and fairy tales every night to cover up the pain of separation from our parents. My kid brothers, Rudy and Pepe fell asleep after the first story, but my big sister Liling and I were still wide eyed, so she continued until we were very sleepy.
The following morning we insisted on going to the thatch house where our parents were isolated. They were wrapped in blankets that only their faces were shown. We cried but mother motioned for us not to go near. Then we went away.

One day, I woke up very early and sat on the stairs lost in thought. Birds were singing and chirping outside. Then my grandfather emerged from the kitchen with a covered basket on his back.

"Why so early? He asked picking me up, kissing my forehead. "Go back to sleep, or do you want to go with me?"

I nodded. I ran to get my coat and went with him. The air was still chilly but a warm breeze fanned my face. We wandered down through coconut trees, not hurrying. He told me the names of the trees, pointed to a bird's nest so well hidden. Even now I recall the wonders and awareness of nature in the early morning dusk. I learned to pay attention to the sound of crickets ringing in the grass.

He greeted a tuba gatherer who shouted back to us to get our share when we return. Then he transferred the basket to his left arm, lifted me to his back and walked faster among the trees down to a slope till I heard the gushing sound of running water at dawn. We came to a small brook, a stream so clear, I could see the stones in the riverbed. He secured me on a big flat stone so I can see what he was doing without dipping my feet in water. There was an oblong basket made of bamboo slats positioned between two big stones where the river flowed. He peeped through the basket and laughed heartily. He lifted me to see what's inside.

"See?" he laughed.

Lo! Live shrimps jumping inside the trap! I cannot forget the thrill of that moment. He allowed me a few minutes to feast my eyes on the commotion inside the trap, some big, some small trying to find a way to escape. Then he loosened the stones and transferred his catch to our basket, covered it, and returned the trap to its position. Grandpa was slightly hard of hearing so he talked loud to explain what he did, sometimes glancing at my direction to see if I had fallen asleep. I was not only awake. My eyes were very much alert watching our live catch. He also harvested the shrimps from his other traps down the river. Our basket was almost full when we started for home. When we stopped to get our share of tuba, he adjusted his load, and them stooped to let me climb on his back. But I said I could walk.

Smiling, he held my hand and we walked together slowly. He hummed a song. He asked me to sing too. For me at that time it was just fun. A grandpa and a granddaughter were singing on the way home. Looking back at it now, my heart ached. We passed by neighbors who greeted us warmly with big,big smiles. The morning sun began to filter through the tangled branches of mango ang guava trees. My sister and two brothers ran to meet us. Grandma was feeding chickens when we arrived. She smiled tenderly when grandpa patted her back and said he had brought her favorite sweet tuba, exchanging some jokes they only knew. Their grandpa laughed as he picked up and kissed my baby brothers and sister.

After hearing my adventure with grandpa, my brothers and sister, insisted to go with him too. He promised that another one will go with him the next day.

We had a hearty breakfast of boiled eggs, plenty of fried shrimos, cups of chocolte and fried bananas.

That happened a long time ago. My grandparents are gone. My parents are gone. I am now in my summer years with my own grandchildren . Yet there are memories that are never totally forgotten or left behind. How different country life was before and now. Food was abundant, fresh fruits and vegetables were plucked fresh from their gardens. The loving tenderness of my grandparents is something I will not forget.