THIS HAPPENED TO ME/ASIAN-AMERICAN EXPERIENCE/NOSTALGIA
The Filipino-American Cookouts: A Slice Of My Mom’s Culture For Me
And so much more, let me tell you about them and their impact on me.
Oh, if you didn’t already know from my many previous stories. I’m Asian-American. More specifically, Filipino-American. Filipino from my mom’s side. Many generations of Americans are on my dad’s side. A true mixed cultural experience.
Many times, I had to relate to one side or the other. During holidays, our Filipino side was very prominent. Various parties were done through the church I went to or just one of my mom’s friend’s houses. Some of her friends had large houses that could host many people.
It was truly spectacular some of the venues the parties were hosted at. One even had a golf course in the backyard. Not a full 18 holes but definitely a large green with some putting area. That kind of money. They wanted to invite the entire community and their families. And most of all show off their houses.
There were also times when those gatherings would be at the park. There was a community park in my neighborhood that was massive and in high demand for securing large parties. We always found a date and carved out an area we wanted and always secured it well ahead of time, sometimes a year in advance.
These parties in themselves were a monster to plan and execute. It involved the help of most of the community. Filipino Americans certainly focus on the community aspect of that. Growing up, I was always roped into helping at many of the events, despite only being a child. These demands grew more as I got into my teenage years.
How could I say no to my wealthy godmother who wanted my able and strong arms to help? I would usually be there with a group of children setting up the decorations and getting the food ready.
I would even carry the lechon in.
I didn’t particularly love the idea of eating or even touching a whole roasted pig, especially when I could still see its eyes and snout. But I did it because I was committed to helping get the party ready.
We would also have the tinikling. I have an embarrassing story of what happened to me one year trying to do that traditional Filipino folk dance but I’d rather leave that embarrassment in the past. Let’s just say my pants fell and everyone could see everything. Enough said. I just shouldn’t try to dance when I have no rhythm and absolutely fewer moves. Ask anyone who’s ever danced with me.
At these parties, when I wasn’t embarrassing myself, we would play games, sing karaoke (because we’re Filipinos, obviously), and eat as much food as we could stuff on our plates. I introduced my first girlfriend at one of these parties. She also happened to be Filipino-American, but she was born in the Philippines and was fully Filipino (both parents, as opposed to just one in my case), so she was more approved and accepted than I was, but that’s another story for another day. It helped that she could speak Tagalog and I couldn’t.
One thing that surprised many of my Filipino “family” and friends was my impression of their accents. I had heard my mom talking to me my entire life. It’s the one impression I’m confident in. So I’d show it off at some of these parties. This was more to fit in than to make fun of my fellow guests. I wasn’t Filipino enough for many of them because my accent was perfectly American and I was born in the States with only English as my primary language at the time.
It didn’t help that my mom didn’t want us to learn her native language since we had a Caucasian and American father. English was the only language we spoke at home. Filipino (Tagalog) was the language of the in-crowd, the people who were born there and also were fortunate enough to learn it from their family growing up.
My impression was the only thing binding me to the rest of them. A chameleon? Someone who is half-Filipino but fully committed to mimicking the native accent of my mom’s ancestors? They ate it up.
They knew I was trying my best to fit in and gain favor with the rest. I was a charismatic type at these parties. These were the only times I got long exposure to many of these people so I always tried to make a good impression. Some setbacks did cause me to lose favor eventually and my coming of age and coming to terms with my sexuality alienated me further. I never wanted to fully come out to the community I’d spent so long interacting with.
I just did what I was naturally inclined to do eventually. I retreated from the group. I stopped interacting with the parties.
I was reminded of the community the other day when I talked to one of the parents of the kids I went to church with. He’s in his sixties now and retired from his regular work. He talked to me on the phone on my mom’s birthday for a brief moment.
It was comforting to hear his voice. I immediately recognized him. He’d commented how much it sounded like I’d grown since the last time we talked over 25 years ago. After all, I was a teenager when he last saw me, and I’m 42 now. This, in itself, made us both realize how much time had passed, and he realized I wasn’t a kid anymore, even though he watched me grow up from one when I was very tiny.
Thinking about these parties was a reminder to me about my true roots. Even though I wasn’t fully immersed in the culture like others in the group, I still got a glimmer of the culture through all of these big, extravagant parties. I got to see a huge glimpse of the Filipino-American mindset through the community my mom allowed me to access based on birthright.
I’m lucky and grateful that I got to grow up with this diversity and breadth of knowledge of one of my backgrounds. Looking back, I wish I hadn’t taken these for granted, and that I could’ve possibly spent more of them with the group. Many of the people, especially the older ones, are starting to pass, and it makes me nostalgic for a time when we were all together.
I look back at all of the fun times had around lechon, dinuguan, tinikling, paluwagan, lumpia, pancit, adobo, and all of the other goodies and things that came with group gatherings. I think back at how much more I would’ve gotten out of them if I were more present. I still enjoy those small moments that I got.
Even if I thought that I didn’t fit in then, and tried my hardest to with my best efforts, in retrospect, I think I truly did fit in and that my contributions didn’t go unnoticed. I’ll have all of this to look back on, especially if I outlive my mom. I can at least carry on her legacy and memory by honoring my culture and thinking back fondly on all of the great times we had as a family, as a community.
I want to thank Elle Becker for making this a prompt when she hosted the Wordsmith Weekly organized and generally hosted by Susan Brearley. I could’ve made this funny like I normally do, but I decided to do a more serious piece this time, sharing a bit of my own culture, on my mom’s side, with everyone.
I’m a proud Asian-American and I definitely want to write more about that experience on Medium, as I feel I don’t do that enough. Anyway, if you want to gain inspiration to write, you should join the Wordsmith Weekly workshops with the Garden of Neuro. They meet weekly. Previously, it was on Sunday afternoon. Now it’s on Saturday morning at 11:00 am EDT. Hope to see you there.
