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by Arnold De Villa
November 21, 2010
Next to 4th of July, I believe that Thanksgiving Day is the most celebrated holiday among Americans. Among the various holidays in America, many foreign born Americans find this feast a very appealing American tradition. Despite historical aberrations, the commemoration of giving thanks crosses religious boundaries and ethnic differences. In a land built through immigrants, there is always something to be grateful for.
The communal dinner of the pilgrims together with the Native Americans back in the autumn of 1621was a feast for a bountiful harvest. Through the years, it has been the centerfold of many family reunions, friends getting together; and recently, the day after, businesses have also used it as a good reason to shop.
Thousands and thousands of turkeys have been slaughtered and given away without any strong historical evidence turkeys were indeed a part of the first Thanksgiving party. As first generation immigrants, some Filipinos do not even serve Turkey on this day. Some ventured preparing the turkey in a not so proper way. I remember having a “tinolang” turkey floating in a soup of chicken broth, replete with green papaya and chile leaves (dahong sili). Once, we also had fried Turkey as hard and as tough as the raw hide that our puppy munches. The turkey drumstick is so enormous that my mother- in-law used to prepare it the same way that “crispy pata” is done – crunchy, brown and yummy. Yes, we do have many Turkey tales. They are very good ice breakers around the dinner table.
And we also have so many turkey acts to reminisce, dumb yet sometimes funny things we did when we first arrived in the USA. A friend used to live with us before who arrived immediately after his graduation. One morning, while he prepared himself for shower, he suddenly went out of the bathroom and asked for a huge glass. Thinking he wanted to have a good tooth brush, we gave him a liter-sized glass normally used on warm summer days. I walked by the bathroom and did not hear any shower water flowing into the tub. Since there was a sound of water flowing and no flooding was on sight, we assumed everything was fine. Finally, after probably an hour, the bathroom door opened and our friend came out. “Mahirap maligo ng tabo lang at walang balde. Matagal kumuha ng tubig sa gripo”, he said. We forgot how to explain the faucet manipulations so as to allow water to flow from the shower head. Back home, because of low water pressure caused by lack of water in so many areas, the use of a shower with a shower head above our heads is not so common. “Timba” and “tabo” (water pail and ladle) were the common tools.
Lola just arrived for a short vacation. Coming from a small town with so many folk stories and superstitious beliefs, she did not mind practicing here some of her own. Since her daughter was both a new mother and a new wife, her first home was an apartment building. She did not like it. Apartments back home oftentimes do not share a common hall or a common entrance. Her only daughter in the US and her grandson lived in an apartment building. One late afternoon, while her daughter and son-in-law just arrived from work, they were surprised by a police car in their building. They were even more surprised to realize that two policemen were in their unit talking with Lola with a pen on their hand, perhaps to write down a report. It seemed they just arrived.
“Opiser (officer)”, Lola said. “I hanged a bawang (garlic lei) outside on my door, because I was apraid (afraid) of usog (evil eye) against my apo (grandchild). I did that early this morning after my daughter and her husband left for work. Someone stole my bawang. It is not hanging on the door anymore. There might be an aswang (evil spirit) among our kapitbahay (neighbor)”, Lola was terribly upset, stuttering while she talked.
The son-in-law intervened. “I apologize officer”, he said. “I don’t think losing a garlic lei is worthy of a police report. Thank you for coming though”. Despite everything, they still made a report to justify their arrival. The following day, a police blotter was printed in our local newspaper. “Garlic lei meant to ward off evil spirit was reportedly stolen”. My friends knew where I lived. They asked me if anything else was stolen. I told them no one even broke in.
Remember the first time we drove? Driving in Manila is a survival of the fittest. Traffic lanes there are the most useless street décor. No one follows them. Stop signs? We do not even follow a red light depending on the time of day or location. That was where I learned to drive ever since I was in High School. Sure, I did the same thing when I first got hold of a car here. I ignored stop signs and drove through the painted lanes of yellow and white. Soon twinkling lights trailed my back. I thought I was driving through a beer garden or something. I did not stop. I brought my hand out of the window to tell the driver behind me to go ahead. I was shocked when I heard his extra loud horn followed by a public speaker telling me to pull over. I sweated and shook as if I had a septic shock. A guy in blue approached the left side of my car, with his hand on his gun. He knocked on the window. “Are you drunk?”, he asked. “You drive in the middle of the road, cross across painted lanes and missed at least three stop signs. Where is your license?”, he growled. Fortunately, I had an international driver’s license. I think that saved my life. After the cop looked at it, with a quick glance, he returned it back and said, “This will expire in one week. If you live here, be sure to get your US driver’s license, but go to school first. Consider this your last and final warning”. And then he left.
“Whew”, now I know I needed to stop on stop signs and not drive through painted street lanes. Despite that grueling experience, when I tried to get my driver’s license, I did so without reviewing US traffic rules. Of course, I failed the written test. I had never before in my life seen so many road signs and symbols.
There you have it, turkey stories for “Thanksgiving Day”. Next week, when we prepare to raise the levels of cholesterol and as we device all excuses to gain weight, have a collective reminiscence of all these funny turkey tales. Try to build a tradition around our immigration stories. Laughter is a good opening before we share the struggles of our initiation to a new culture. Remember those times when we saw the first snow and stumbled on that invisible ice? It was quite fun, until we had to walk across a blizzard and a sub-zero temperature.
Do you recall the first time you tried to have a barbecue inside your house because it was winter? In private houses, there are no fire alarm systems in the Philippines. You ignored the smoke, ignored the fire alarm, until you realized that there were fire trucks outside your door.
Many of us fell through those cracks. They make us smile and give us comfort to know we survived. And then there were more. Can you please share some?