Traditions and groups of support are all in the eyes of the beholder. Do you see with the ego and thoughts of rank, privilege and power? Or do you see with love and the joys of life?
For many years, during mealtimes or family get-togethers, my husband would witness my mom remind me to make a plate of food for him. He had begun to believe that my mom was ordering me to show my subservience to him as a man. And that I was being the good daughter and following her tutelage. Ken is pretty much a modern guy, and very much into equal rights between us as life partners, so it sort of bothered him. He never really said anything about it until recently when his view on this tradition was finally brought to a new level.
A few weeks ago, we went to a birthday party of Ryan, my son’s playmate, and Iole’s son. Iole is a Filipina and married to an American. They are just like me and Ken. This was our first time to go to their home as a family. There at the party, all of their friends were also women who were Filipinas whose husbands were Americans, ranging from young couples to elderly couples. Some of these Filipinas had known each other for a long time. Some of them were very new in town. Michelle, a young women, had only been in Austin for just a few months. I met her because her husband was once my co-worker. He had shown me pictures of her when she was still in the Philippines. At the time, he was excited to bring her over to the States. Finally here and just married, her father had sadly passed away almost immediately after she had left the Philippines. She was still mourning and still adjusting to her new life in the States. A while back, I had connected Michelle and Iole together during a lunch date. Iole in turn connected Michelle to all her Filipina friends. Their group embraced her immediately.
At the party, there were the usual introductions all around. Children playing outside and inside. The men folk upstairs watching a football game or playing pool. The women folk downstairs in the open space of the adjoined kitchen, dining and living rooms. Some parents outside watching the kids enjoying themselves like water bugs in the pool.
Ken and our kind host, Iole’s husband, stood close by the kitchen talking and getting to know each other, as we women prepared the pot luck food. We were discussing the recipes and ingredients. Many of the men were health conscious so most of the Filipino dishes were prepared by these Filipinas with the best and leanest cuts of meat, the least fatty and freshest ingredients, and with little variations here and there to please their American husbands and their own Filipino palates at the same time. There was a glow in the kitchen coming from the pride of the women as they talked about their dishes, complimented one another on the goodness, and enjoyment of cooking, eating and sharing it all.
Oh, the food was all so delicious. And I think that this was Ken’s first time, to stand by the kitchen and witness meal preparation where so many Filipinas were gathered at the same time.
I made two servings of plates for Ken and he ate them all up—dinuguan, ginataan na langka, pancit, afritada, lumpia shanghai and all. Of course, my mom, out of habit, again reminded me to be sure “to make a plate for Ken” even as I was spooning rice for his first serving.
Later, there was one mahjong table, karaoke and dessert. Michelle joined us in the living room, and one of the grandmothers, wrapped an arm around Michelle, all the while, as if she was comforting her or as if she herself were gaining comfort by the gesture.
The next morning, I and Ken were sitting at our back porch, taking in the fresh crisp air and growing sunshine. We talked about how nice the party was, how lovely the home and the new pool were, how laid-back and down to earth the people were… and lastly, how these Filipinas, even if they just met someone or are not even related to each other by blood, embrace each other and show each other support. As per his witnessing the acceptance of Michelle. I could tell that that really touched Ken. Then what Kenny said next surprised me even more and touched me with its insight.
He said that he now realized that “making the plate” was not a mere act of womanly domesticity. He used to think of it as a way that my mom was trying to say that a man should be served and the woman should be subservient.
He now realized that the food, lovingly prepared with the bounty from the earth, was being gathered on to a plate and brought to the man as an act of love, gratitude and a celebration of life. And this was the tradition that I and my mom, the other Filipinas at the party, and my aunts and cousins at our family gatherings were continuing and living with each of our husbands, children and family men-folk, whether Filipino, American or otherwise.
Ken really deserved a big hug for realization just how life already Is. I gave him an affectionate hug for some long, quiet minutes as we sat sipping our hot tea and coffee, with the birds singing and the sun gently shining in on us.