Christmas in the Highlands

In grade school, I dreaded Kris Kringle, you know, the gift-exchange portion of any Christmas Party, mainly because half the time, I already knew what I was going to receive: another handkerchief. In fact, I lost count of the number of Christmases I got them. I was sooo tempted back then to suggest to my teacher to impose a “no hanky” policy, which of course I never got to do. To even the score, I lost count of the number of times I gave out handkerchiefs myself.

Some kids resent receiving underwear briefs; they consider it insulting and simply not proper. I actually saw one drop his underwear gift out the window. Personally, I didn’t really mind, as long as it was my size.

It was also de rigueur to attend the annual party in brand new clothes, preferably in the latest fashion. And it was considered cool if it was bought from the city, in Cagayan de Oro, from either Gaisano or Ororama. Bonus points if you had a relative from the States, Manila or Cebu who sent you the shirt or shoes you were wearing.

Wearing something from the local cooperative in Camp Phillips was way un-cool because everybody knew you bought it through credit. And that means the family may have fallen on hard times.

It was also considered a crime to wear something from Memen Lopez’s variety store in the nearby Agusan Canyon, because every Sunday after Mass, every kid making his way to the weekly flea-market never fail to pass by the display windows showcasing the in-house tailor’s latest creations. If you wear those, everybody in school would immediately know where you bought it. And besides, only barrio folks from far-flung areas patronize Memen Lopez’s creations. Yes, we kids were an elitist lot.

When you’re nine or ten years old, blasting firecrackers seemed like a rite of passage. My brother and I, as well as our cousins all resented the fact that we were still made to blow horns made of paper material called torotot during New Year’s celebration rather than the usual “triangle” and “whistle bomb” of the older kids in the neighborhood.

The adults would fashion “cannons” from hollow bamboo poles and that metal thing with feathers that you throw upwards and which gives out a loud explosion when it hits the ground. I found it extremely dangerous, because kids who have no sense of direction and weak throwing power can send the blasted thing right in your direction before you can even run and cover your ears.

Since our parents vehemently refused to allow us to even go near these firecrackers, we had to create our own fire crackers. My brother devised what we called a “duslit bomb” (duslit- a Cebuano term for striking a match). We simply scraped the phosphorus off the matchsticks onto a piece of paper the size of a candy wrapper, wrapped it tightly with scotch tape and attached a small string.

The verdict: Oh, yes it exploded. But honestly, our farts sounded louder.

Christmas officially begins right after All Saints Day, when people deck their homes with lights and decors, hang lanterns and make plans for all sorts of contests: lantern, belen (nativity scenes), amateur singing, tableauxs and the most eagerly awaited, carol singing.

You wouldn’t believe the number of reunions taking place: grade school, high school, civic groups, sports circles.

The excitement of Christmas rises to fever pitch during the midnight masses on the 24th and the 31st. The whole community assembles in the parish church and it transforms into a big social event. Your seatmate in grade one who kept on picking her nose suddenly makes her entrance in high heels and heavy make-up.

The kid you wrestled on the ground one time now wears a neck-tie beneath his sweater, as if he were enrolled in an Ivy League College.

When the clock strikes midnight, the church bells start ringing, my father, from his helm in front of the choir, strikes the opening chords of Lucio San Pedro’s magnificent Simbang Gabi in the organ, amidst the deafening noise of “whistle bombs”, kwitis, pla-pla, sawa, all imaginable firecracker known to mankind, blasting off at the same time, or one after another, as we celebrate Christmas as one community.

¡FELIZ NAVIDAD Á TÒDOS!!