As a kid I remember my family used to visit Pa and Ma (that’s how we fondly call our grandparents) and our relatives in Bicol on summer vacations. We would stay at Pa’s house. One of the things I would always look forward to is breakfast time. Pa has a dining table and wooden bench set that’s about 7-8 ft long, enough to sit all his 8-12 grandchildren (aged 4-12yo). We would gather at the table every morning to eat breakfast. I remember seeing some of my younger cousins still in their pj’s and half-asleep. Obviously, no one wants to miss breakfast at Pa’s.
While Ma prepares our food – boiled saging na saba, kamote (sweet potato, the purple ones) or two pieces of cookies (to our delight because this seldom happens), Pa fills our cup with rice coffee while the aroma of his kapeng barako fills our nostrils. Pa usually sits and eats with us while either listening to his battery-operated transistor radio or talking mostly about daily chores. While we all delightfully eat, Ma goes around finishing up her kitchen chores. After breakfast, we’d either go with Pa in the mountains to check on his farm, play or simply stay in the house with Ma.
|Pa, my grandfather|
So what makes breakfast at Pa’s special that no one would want to miss? I really don’t know. I guess it was just a simple family tradition of gathering everyone together, eating together and being together specially during summer mornings. Some of my cousins have kept the ‘tradition’ of getting all the grandchildren eat breakfast together and where else but at Pa’s house, of course.
I miss those mornings with Pa and Ma.