Culture Gap

As a child, whenever there was strife in my home...and boy, there was a lot of that-- I sought refuge in my paternal grandparents' home. I called them Lolo and Lola, the vernacular endearment for Grandpa and Grandma. Lola would make her wonderful 'maruya' or mashed up plantain bananas (saba) in a homemade pancake batter; essentially banana fritters just for me. Just so I could feel better. Sometimes she would regale me with stories of the Bible or of great classics. I first heard about Silas Marner by George Elliot and Evangeline by Henry W. Longfellow. Sometimes she would tell me scary stories when I begged for them. And then sometimes, she would just hum or sing to me while she combed my hair. I loved my Lola. She was a wonderful woman. She was so smart---the only girl of 3 brothers. She was so stubborn that when she was told that she didn't need to go to school, she got really upset and went to school anyway. She was a rarity in her province--a young woman who received a scholarship to a Presbyterian college called Silliman Institute, the oldest college in Dumaguete City. Most of its graduates at the time were men. My grandmother beat the odds. She graduated with a degree in History and began to teach school shortly after. She loved learning and reading. She spoke two dialects: her primary language was Ilonggo. But she also spoke very halting Tagalog. And she spoke English better than Tagalog actually. She also spoke Spanish. She was born in 1900 just two years after the Philippine-American war. She was also the one who let the LDS missionaries in her home that one day in 1964 and shortly after was baptized with my grandfather, Pedro, who was also a very active freemason. My lola was an active member of the Eastern Star as well. She liked to wear hats and dress up. She always wore jewelry. And heels. She was ahead of her time.

I always remember my grandparents. I remember everything they taught me. I remember what it was like to be with them. I still see them frequently in my dreams and feel their presence. Just a few days ago, I felt them close to me.

I've always had a special reverence for my Lolo and Lola. In my culture, we always revere and respect our elders. We kiss our grandparents' hands as a sign of respect. We never call them by their first names. And we always use a special respectful and formal way of addressing them. Our language has special pronouns we use for anyone older than us.

My children are raised here in a culture were the kind of respect and honor given to parents or the elderly are supposed to be earned, not just given willy-nilly. They have the option to talk back. That is not even a thought in my culture...it just simply will not cross anyone's right mind.

It is very difficult for me to bridge that gap because my children do speak their minds and do not use the respectful language that I am used to. I am not saying they are rude but by what I am used to, by my culture, they would be right on the border. It's hard for me mentally and emotionally to sometimes cross that gap because in reality, I am the only one who is required to cross because no one knows there's a gap. And so most of the time, I feel crappy. The reality is starting to hit me because I am getting old and if something happens to me, I don't want to be the burden that the elderly are wont to be in this culture. In my culture, its unthinkable to NOT take care of elderly parents. And I understand that the cultural infrastructure does not allow that to happen. My hope is that I will die a quick death.

Anyway, I think the trick in this culture is to mentally and emotionally disconnect from my children-- to just drive it through my head that they are separate, distinct and no longer need nor want my input in their lives.

I am going to find a nice condo in Spain and live out my life taking care of other people. Parents are disposable here. And that's a sad deal.