We use chopsticks...

Fall 1996--

I was a 40ish year old woman with a six-year old cute little boy. I was dating a man three years my junior. He was a very good catch; educated at an Ivy League school, Georgetown Law magna cum laude, successful, no child support checks to write, with only an ex-wife-to-be, threatening to collect alimony until death does her part (with the alimony).

I was on the other hand, well, a catch- I was a relatively well traveled but at that time a single mom of an adorable six-year old boy, gainfully employed, owner of a seven-year old Saab 900 that has milk stains, and a closet full of old clothes, belts, purses, and shoes. I can cook, swim, ski, act, direct, dance, eat fire and balance on wire...And damn, I have nice legs.

Prior to Kris being born, I have had the opportunity to travel through Europe and Asia, staying in pension houses and inspired, not by the destination, but by the partying with my equally adventurous friends. I lived in a nice 7th floor coop, 10 minutes away from Washington, DC, a self-indulgent twenty something who one day realized that there was really more to life than Gucci purses.

This fateful day, I would meet my future mother and father-in-law. I was warned that I was not to hug either of them. They are from New England and will be shocked at the gesture. They are WASPs. They do not show emotion. That was an understatement. I do not recall them laughing or smiling once when I met them. But they were not unfriendly either. They were just sticking with the program.

They did not show any interest in me. And I was not interested in them either. I was interested in their son :-) hee-hee. At the time of the meeting, I did not have the slightest idea of where this relationship was going but I was sure that it had possibilities. That I might marry a prince. Hee-hee-hee.


So there I was, extending my acrylic manicured-hand to the Queen dowager:-) I was doing and saying all the wrong things. It was as if my tounge had retracted and my brain had forgotten how to speak English or any other language. I was literally mute and when I spoke, I babbled like an idiot. An idiot savant.


Then I offered to help set the table. Dowager Mom handed me the flatware. I asked her what she wanted me to do with them. She told me to set them on the table. Like how? Like what? I said, "We do not use knives and forks in the Philippines. We use chopsticks." Oh no I did not just say that! Oh well, I had once told her that my sisters taught Scott how to eat with his hands. The dowager was not impressed. "I did not raise my son so he could eat with his hands." She realized at that time that her son was dating a savage. I said, "He told me you raised him to accept other people's culture." I won that round. Hee-hee-hee. At this particular instance, I just stood silently, while she took the flatware and laid them out. Okay, one down. Very, very down.

I was clearly nervous and Scott held my hand under the table while we ate. I dared not say anything unless I was spoken to, which did not happen a lot. Every word I uttered made me sound like an immigrant from Idiotastan. I spilled my coffee and dropped my dessert. I was convinced that if I were wearing dentures, they would have fallen out as I spoke. That night, I tearfully told Scott that I wanted to go back to Washington. I told him that I could not do this anymore. In the first place, this trip was not supposed to be one of those "meet your future in- law" trips. This was a skiing trip at Killington! Instead, this trip was killing me!


The next day we left his parents' home to ski. Afterwards, we drove to the B&B where we were going to stay for the night. I was enjoying a bag of roasted peanuts on the way from the slopes. When we arrived at the place, he announced that the B&B owners are friends of his mother. Oh great, so I got out of the car, went to the reception and mustered a friendly "Welcome to Disneyworld" smile. When we got to the room, I realized that I had peanuts in between my teeth. This was like having a wardrobe malfunction during evening gown competition. Definitely lost the pageant at this point. Loser!

The truth is, in spite of the fiasco during that visit, and the fact that I had to later admit to dowager Mom that Filipinos do not eat with chopsticks, and despite the fact that I did not win the title of Ms. "Amrika", in Scott's eyes, I was the real deal. I was Miss Universe. Because I was and still is real. I am perfect in my imperfections!

I speak with an accent, but I can speak three languages and fake my way into speaking two others; I am neither blond nor blue eyed or any of the day's special combo but my natural brown skin is the color of almond, I laugh loudly despite, inspite of, and at myself. And lest it be forgotten, I declared that if my son does not like the man I am with, then I choose my son and that is the deal.

My relationship with my son was non-negotiable. He was not an issue. He was the rationale. He is first, last, and everything. As in Barry White's -my first, my last, my everything and the answer to my prayer...

Two years after my brain freeze about flatware, I became Scott's wife in a beautiful religious ceremony and my son had a Dad. In our household, we eat with chopsticks, flatware, and as a nod to my culture, even with our hands!