The Grand Old Folks

By Emmanuelle

Let me tell this true story from the vantage view of someone who should be thirty below:

My cousins and I call them the “grand old folks” to refer to both sexes, the “granddys” to refer specifically to the lolos, and “grannys” to the lolas. We call them so, mind you, never with the intention to be unkind, never in disrespect, but precisely as the term implies, in reverence to the grandness of their generation, to which we, of the younger ones, wished to have been a part of – in time, age, place and events.

They were fifteen siblings. One of their grandmothers was Chinese; another was an Englishwoman, the daughter of a ship captain. There was also a half-Spanish grandfather. Breed in the mixed cauldron of our native race, and voila! the typical Filipino of their time – around six-foot tall with big bones and big brown eyes, fair skin and rosy cheeks, red-brown hair. Some, though, are five-and-a-half feet less in height, slightly built, with kayumanggi skin, thick black hair and beautiful doe-eyes. And one or two of them with the classic profile of the Indian – olive skin, thick arched brows and deep dark eyes.

The most prominent feature in the sala of the ancient family home is the wall-length portrait of their father standing beside President Manuel Quezon. Both men were in their white horse-riding breeches, statesmen at their leisure rest. If a visitor knew little of the family’s history, he would presume the two men were brothers. Or twins. They really looked too much alike. One was clone to the other – the face, the sweep of the hair, the lean body, the casual lounging style. Except that one was more than six feet, the other was inches shorter.

The giant was the family patriarch. He served as three-termed governor of the province (thus, the picture with Quezon); one of his sons served as long. They were a family of public servants – government employees, teachers, nurses, agriculturists, engineers.

In this family, the boys and the men kiss the back of the hand of the grand old folks in greeting or farrewell. Or do the “mano po”. Or embrace them with the gentlest of all hugs. The granddys and the grannys would have a daughter (a son or grandchild, a nurse or caregiver) to assist if needed; but discreetly, if you please. All of   them have this streak of pride and stubbornness – “I am not weak, I am just old.”

In all of their homes, even in those of the younger generations, the piano is a rule rather than the exception. A get-together would look like a combined musical recital and food exhibit – clusters around the piano and the dining table overflowing to the patio if not the kitchen.

The grand old folks are not ignored. They are consulted, an active part of the family’s major decision-making process. They remain family patriarchs, not only in words, but throughout their lives.

And they retain the dearest and most known of the old family trademark – that of finding laughter in the dark. A sense of humor, in the most sensitive and even senseless of situations.

The oldest of the grannys, a former concert pianist abroad, would play the piano tirelessly and excellently for almost two hours, then excuse herself for a few minutes of rest. She comes back fresh, her nurse in tow. This granny would look at the piano in surprise, says “Oh, you have a piano? Can I play? I haven’t played for a lo-o-o-ng time.”  She would laugh at herself with the rest of the clan.

Or an older granny would link hands with her younger sister-granny, and would ask “whose grandapos are those little ones?”  The sister would answer, “mine”. “And where have you been?” “Pangasinan.”  “Oh, I have a sister who lives in Pangasinan.”  “Ate that would be me.” “Oh. You’ve gotten married?” And they would pinch each other, giggling all the while, 90 and 85 years old.

And the young ones would enjoy these   moments, interchange places for the other cousin’s granddys or grannys for the day. Use the time to re-introduce or re-acquaint themselves.  Surprisingly, memories are more resilient than one would expect. Sometimes, the young ones have more of the blanked spaces. “How old are you, dear?” “Thirty, granny.” “Who is older, you or Lerma?” “Granny, Lerma is my mom. She is your niece.” “Oh, she looks younger than you. You must worry a lot for her. She’s such a flirt.” Granny and grandniece laugh.

Show me a man or a woman who treats the grand old folks well, with gentleness and patience, with respect and love. And I’ll show you someone who will treat a life partner that same way – when the partner himself or herself is weak, sick, old, and helpless, and (May God forbid!) useless.

From this lonely place, I send these hugs to all the granddys and the grannys of this world.  And beyond.

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