So I went to my parents’ first house the other day.  The one Hector Senior and my mom lived while in the Philippines.  4 Hercules in Makati.  It’s in a gated community so when I got there I had to explain my reason for wanting to visit.  I wasn’t making much headway with the guards what with my lack of Filipino and their limited English.

Was I expected?, they asked.

Well no.  I mean, they were living here back in the 60’s.

Then I’d have to talk to the rental office they told me.

I took a stab at it, going under the assumption he meant the place is for rent, and said, “I know, that’s why I’m here.  To maybe rent.”  Now that it looked like I might be willing to spend some money, the gate opened. 

Here’s the place. 

You can see in the corner, the place was indeed for rent.  I talked to the guy showing the place and he led me around.  I took a bunch of pictures pretending they were for the little muisus who couldn’t come with me today.  Here’s the livingroom:

It was kinda cool to think about my mom coming from the airport her first day in Manila–a bellyful of butterflies–dropping her bags on the floor right here and surveying a place she has no idea will soon be home.  Odd though; in my tour of the house, I must’ve missed the guest room where she slept til they got married.

Fifteen minutes from this place was the Manila Polo Club where they were members.

 Nice place.  A little stuffy.  Then again, it is a polo club.  I’m no expert on polo clubs, but I’m guessing you wouldn’t be a self-respecting polo club if you weren’t at least a little stuffy and stodgy.

This is Gloria, the by-the-book GM who gave me a tour and looked up some files for me.  Back in the day, my father would throw parties for the Time-Life dignitaries who would come to town. 

 

This is apparently from a 200 person fling they had for the publisher of Fortune and a Time-Lifer.  To become a member here, I guess Hector Senior conviently jumped a waiting list of 185 people.  The more I’ve learned, the more I realize he had a way with scamming the system.  Or a way with bribes.  Both work equally well. 

In another similar instance in the Philippines, when my mother was later pregnant, the airlines wouldn’t accept her, so he had to pull some political strings and get an “alien” visa.  And to save my mom the hassle of coming to the office, he just had the bureaucrat use his fingerprints in place of my mom’s.  I’m just picturing some immigration guy looking at these big meaty paw prints that were supposed to belong to this 5′5″ 100 and something pound woman.

It’s a little heartbreaing to read my mom’s letters from this time period.  She’s so unabashedly happy having met this guy and fallen in love and exploding with excitement.  She says it point blank, but you can also hear it in the way she speaks about things there.  Having nightmares that she might have missed that flight to Bangkok that put her on this path.  The heartbreaking part is knowing what she doesn’t as this point.  Just how short it all lasts. 

For me, I was so young when he died, I never had a chance to miss him.  Not to mention I had the good fortune of having a phenomenal stepfather, who could hardly be considered a step.  But to be a 29 year old with two kids and lose your husband?  Ouch.  And add to that, she lost her own father two months prior.

And then I think about it from my sister’s vantage point and it’s even more heartbreaking.  Imagine you’re 4 and just getting to figure things out a bit and know who’s who.  Then in February they tell you, “oh, you know that nice older guy we taught you to call grandfather in Spanish?   Well, he’s gone to a…uh…better place.” 

Then September–”Uh, this is a crazy coincidence, but well, that other guy we had you call grandfather?  He’s gone to a better place too.”

And November– “You’re never going to believe this, but remember how we spent a couple years getting to learn to say ‘da-da’?  Wellllllllll….Turns out, we didn’t really need to bother.”

Tell me that wouldn’t all be a little confusing.  After awhile you’re probably wondering why you don’t get to go to Disneyland or wherever this ‘better place’ is everyone is talking about. 

Losing three male figures before the age of 5?  Is that not a textbook entry in a stripper’s bio?  But rather than playing the ‘male figures abandonded me as a kid’ card and gone onto a string of self-destructive relationships and working the pole, she became a professor with a great husband and two awesome little girls.  I guess what I’m trying to say, is kudos to my mom for stepping up during a very difficult year, and a well-deserved slow clap for my sister for not ending up at Cheetah’s.

Wait.  Why am I talking about my sister and strip joints in the same sentence?  I think I need to change the subject back to Manila.  Fast.

 My father was also a member here…

…and here…

Casino Espanol de Manila.

Not a bad trio of memberships. 

So to tally up:

Hector Senior:  Member:  Manila Polo Club, Manila Yacht Club, The Casino Espanol de Manila.

Hector Me:  Member:  The McBurney Y on 14th, NY Public library, Blockbuster.

But I’m on the no-late-fee plan, so I’d call it a draw.