The Ties That Bind
Last February 6, 2005, another godchild was added to my ever-growing roster of “inaanaks”. I’m now a godfather eight times (or is it 9?) over. Time flies when you’ve had too many godchildren.
This baptism was a quite a departure from the others I’ve attended before. For one, I haven’t had yet the pleasure of meeting both the parents and the child. All I knew was that the dad is my 2nd cousin and the place would be in Cavite. It also marked the first time I became a godfather to a relative from the paternal side.
Like all other typical family gatherings, I had a strong inkling that the affair would be overflowing with food and booze. Thankfully, my conjecture was right on the mark.
Having come from a “dawn-ending drinking session”, the night before, I really wasn’t that excited to face the day ahead. Yet, I was resigned to the fact that my presence was required. A hangover while driving under the scorching mid-day heat isn’t exactly something to look forward too. After several persistent wake-up calls from my parents, I eventually mustered the will and the strength to go about my morning rituals and get dressed. By now, we were already way behind the scheduled time for the christening.
With our trusty steed, Ironhide (our Lite Ace van, for the uninitiated) leading the way, we coasted along Coastal Road and Bacoor with nary a snag. Maybe we could still make it in time to the church after all, I surmised. Our expectations were eventually dashed as we encountered a nasty buildup on the way to the church. It was 30 minutes of hellish gridlock that we had to endure before we got to the appointed place.
All of us are quite familiar with the role of being a godparent. For starters, it requires attending the christening ceremony and all the other rituals associated with the sacrament of baptism. Lack of adequate sleep and the bottleneck we encountered prevented me from fulfilling my avowed obligation to my godson. Mea maxima culpa.
Thus, the next logical thing to do was to proceed directly to the reception place – the family’s house inside one of those all-too familiar subdivisions dotting the suburbian Cavite landscape.
Arriving at their abode, I was naturally hesitant to make the customary social greetings as is the wont when meeting new people for the first time. Sure, they were my relatives, but they were still all perfect strangers to me. Fortunately, my folks made all the necessary introductions and all I had to do was reply with the perfunctory smile and handshakes.
The celebrant was truly a sight to behold, a chubby cherub (christened Dirc Martin, the father being a huge NBA fanatic) with the cutest of smiles. Coming out as a healthy 10.5 pound offspring, he was very much the little bundle of joy his visibly proud and ecstatic parents wished for. My only fervent hope was that I would be able to see him grow up as a self-confident and unassuming young man, devoid off all the trappings and frustrations of this mortal coil.
The buffet table was already buzzing with action and the influx of guests made for a disorderly scene. The dishes were a sumptuous cacophony of local cuisine with a few typical party staples thrown in. Needless to say, the gastronomic delights were more than enough to satisfy my already famished state.
Logic and social norms dictate that a hearty meal be followed with a massive serving of drinks to go around. My folks and other relatives gamely started the proceedings as they gathered around a long wooden table. Me? I was still taking my sweet time and contemplating if I’d be able to weather another drinking session. You see, I was nursing this slight hangover that was made worse by a lack of meaningful sleep. The sweltering heat made things as worse as it already was.
After a lot of prodding from my relatives, I eventually caved in and joined the fray. The kid’s father was a superb and gracious host as he attended to all our needs and made sure the booze and food was in ample supply. My initial hesitation was now turning into a rather strong urge to guzzle up till a trace of drunken stupor made its way to my still alcohol-saturated system.
It was also during this time that I got to know my formerly “unfamiliar” relatives better and deeper. My initial shyness and misgivings were overpowered by their warmth and hospitality. From the celebrant’s father to his siblings and parents, they all made me feel like family, like we’ve known each other for the longest of times. Clearly, events like this serves to strengthen the natural bonds that exists among relatives.
They regaled me with tales from their life experiences – their exploits, struggles and some little known facts about our family that further reinforced whatever scant knowledge I have of our huge clan. The laughs and jokes were aplenty, matched only by the free-flowing deluge of drinks and chow. It seemed that the fun and fellowship would last till the wee hours of the evening.
Our relatives were rather appreciative of my coming that they were already looking forward to our next drinking/bonding session. Chalk up another prospective “tomaan-tambayan” venue for this weekend warrior.
Like all good things that must come to an end, we bid our farewells at around 5pm. By then, I was still in my elements and more than fit and able to meet the rigors of the long drive ahead. Blame it on my oft-repeated role as the designated driver even while inebriated. After the long, drawn-out goodbyes, it was back to the urban jungle for us and the promise of another manic Monday.
It was indeed a cathartic and heartening experience to bond with long lost relatives and to serve as a godfather to the newest member of our ever-expanding clan. Without an iota of a doubt, this familial bond would only grow stronger as the years go by. The challenge now resides on us, the younger set as we continue to bridge the generational gap and establish deeper and more meaningful links.
I am greatly heartened by the fact that even if this kind of gatherings are few and far in between, the distance and the lost years can easily be transcended by the ties that binds people sharing one common heritage.
One love, one blood. We have just got to share it.
