Aaaarg this one took so long to put together as photos came from 3 different cameras, plus Diego arrived so I am one distracted tita!!  The Fourth happened way way back, but here it is, ba-boom!!

July 5, 2011

Yesterday was a long day, my first Fourth of July.  Flags and buntings were popping up all over lawns and porches in Sullivan.

B’s parents got me an American Flag shirt to wear for the day.  I had mixed feelings about that shirt, and I whispered a vague plea for forgiveness, as I pulled it over my head.  I’ve been taught all my life to be proud of my country and where I come from, but an unfortunate downside to that was to be overtly suspicious of anything that blared “American-made”. So ending up with B, right smack in the middle of small town USA, with a US flag on my chest, had me feeling a weird mix of guilt, self-consciousness, and well, anticipation, as I prepared to join the festivities.

I will not pretend that getting to spend an actual Fourth of July with an American family wasn’t fun.  Tito Dan, as usual, cooked up a storm:

                                                                Fried Chicken and Gizzards

                                                            baked beans, tasting of smoky garlic

                                B’s favorite hamburger dip, an  almost horrifying creamy combo                                         of velveeta cheese, hamburger bits and jalapeno , but soooo good,

                              more dip, re-fried dips and chopped greens and cream cheese (gulp!)

                                                                  and pulled pork sandwiches

                              I made my own small contribution of rum cake     

I helped Tita Connie decorate the back yard with tinselly Fourth of July stars and sparkly buntings,  and even stuck  AMERICA in jelly stickers on their window (there goes that guilty twinge again) 

She’d been cleaning the house top to bottom in preparation for the Fourth, scrubbing, mopping, vaccuming, and mowing the lawn.  She even wanted to chainsaw some branches off the walnut tree in the back, much to B’s horror.  By the time the big day came, the house was spotless, the cats were cowering from the vacuum noises, and the backyard was all festive, the table laid out with a flag themed table cloth, complete with little flag candle holders and an Uncle Sam centerpiece.

B and his Dad were riding in the parade, so me and Tita Connie got our cameras ready and planted ourselves on the sidewalk, now lined with people. Once again felt seriously Asian in the very red, white and blue crowd, and I awkwardly tried to cover my shirt with my camera.  I felt kind of phony standing there, but as soon as the parade started, I tried to relax and just enjoy it like any other strange foreign holiday.

Kids were waiting with plastic bags or buckets for the candy that was being thrown.

I tried to act dignified and did not steal candy from any of them, but when they started throwing out ice pops, I was sorely tempted, what with the heat. It was an orderly little parade, with vintage cars on display, the high school marching band, the cheerleaders, and peculiar groups of men in fezes driving tiny cars in formation.

Frankly, I kind of missed the noise and chaos of our parades, with our marching bands playing Hawaii 5-0, led by our masungit majorette. At walang rumarampang bading.  This parade was very, ahem, decorous.

 A giant American flag was carried by,  outspread, held by an assortment of teenagers, seniors, one tattoed Hells Angels looking gentleman and a soldier in his camouflage uniform.

Some people stood up from their lawn chairs, some people clapped, and some took off their hats.  I had to stop my face from lapsing into goofy embarrassment.  Ah, American patriotism, you make me a teensy bit uncomfortable. 

Tito Dan and B passed by, throwing out Tootsie rolls, and later, B would proudly proclaim he bulls-eyed two police officers in the head. 

We escaped the heat and retreated to the house and played cornhole, where you mainly try to aim a bean bag into a hole in a small raised wooden board. This is very fun to play drunk.

Then Tita Connie’s cousin arrived with her son and her grand children, food was eaten, more games were played, until dusk settled and we went off to the carnival where I surprisingly bonded with the two youngest grandkids, Dom and Jade, as towheaded and American as they come, all of 13 and 14, well mannered, bright, and curious about where I was from.  

 The carnival was small, and the lines were long, but I managed to ride two with Jade, where we rattled back and forth in rides like the Scrambler that looked like they weren't maintained too regularly, but what the heck, I've survived Payanig sa Pasig and the kapanghian of Star City. I regaled Dom and Jade with tales of Big Bang Sa Alabang and the Giant Slide and the touchy feely ghosts of Bahay Sa Balete, and they oohed and aahed, and I wish i could pack up those kids and take them with me to Manila, they were adorable.

There were tempting signs that said Corn Dogs, Cotton Candy, and Elephant Ears (a type of funnel cake, all crinkly and dusted with sugar, and  big as a plate)  I saw a man laying out taffy apples on a tray, and B even offered to buy me a deep fried Snickers bar, but thankfully for my thighs, the lines were just too long and we were all pretty wilted by the time we stumbled off the rides.  The night was finished off with fireworks, and then it was off to bed.

I’m keeping the shirt.  The Robinsons are going to be my family very soon, and I’m going to have to set aside my suspicions, this automatic assumption that they are, in some way, the ENEMY.   They’re simply good, decent people who haven’t seen their son in a long while, who’ve welcomed me into their home without question, and I’m glad I came here.

*some photos from Tita Connie's camera

(up next: Carded in Chicago!)