It was one of those regular Sunday lunches in Sikatuna. It was some time after Lolo’s stroke so he was a bit forgetful at the time already. When he seemed to be in a good mood, we would encourage him to identify us around him at the table. By then, I think he had completely forgotten who I was and was conveniently lumped under the category “Apo.” It was funny to watch my dad and uncles try to get Lolo to say their name when they ask Lolo which of his sons were the most handsome. Even in his forgetfulness, Lolo was still the very wise and witty man, who would always innocently reply to the one who asked him, “Ikaw.”
Like I said, it was one of those regular Sunday lunches. We were all sitting around the dining table and surveying what was to be devoured that day. One of the ulams was this regular-looking medium-sized slightly-flat fish that did not have anything particularly remarkable about it called “kitang,” or spadefish (yes, I Googled it). As the moms and aunts were discussing what the fish was and how it was cooked, Lolo suddenly announced to the entire party at the dining table:
“Anong sinabi ng isang kitang sa isa pang kitang?”
Immediately transformed into an attentive audience (which in our family means shutting up and putting our utensils down), we asked, “Ano po?” (I was sort of expecting a profound lesson or memory that he wanted to share with us.)
Lolo burst into this big grin, his eyes squinting with effort not to laugh before his punchline, said, “Kitang ina mo!” before bursting into huge gales of toothless giggling that sent the loose flesh round his neck and on his arms jiggling.
We all collapsed laughing. We were all laughing so hard that Lolo’s dogs waiting for handouts under the table pricked up their ears and looked concerned at all the commotion.
Before we had all managed to catch our breath, Lolo continued, “Ano naman ang sinagot nung kitang dun sa unang kitang?”
Gasping with effort from laughter, we managed to wheeze, “Ano po?”
Lolo could barely get his response out because he was laughing so much, “Kitang ina mo rin!”
Lolo Jack
Dr. Joaquin S. Sumpaico Sr
Dec. 31, 1912-Feb.17, 2007
Like I said, it was one of those regular Sunday lunches. We were all sitting around the dining table and surveying what was to be devoured that day. One of the ulams was this regular-looking medium-sized slightly-flat fish that did not have anything particularly remarkable about it called “kitang,” or spadefish (yes, I Googled it). As the moms and aunts were discussing what the fish was and how it was cooked, Lolo suddenly announced to the entire party at the dining table:
“Anong sinabi ng isang kitang sa isa pang kitang?”
Immediately transformed into an attentive audience (which in our family means shutting up and putting our utensils down), we asked, “Ano po?” (I was sort of expecting a profound lesson or memory that he wanted to share with us.)
Lolo burst into this big grin, his eyes squinting with effort not to laugh before his punchline, said, “Kitang ina mo!” before bursting into huge gales of toothless giggling that sent the loose flesh round his neck and on his arms jiggling.
We all collapsed laughing. We were all laughing so hard that Lolo’s dogs waiting for handouts under the table pricked up their ears and looked concerned at all the commotion.
Before we had all managed to catch our breath, Lolo continued, “Ano naman ang sinagot nung kitang dun sa unang kitang?”
Gasping with effort from laughter, we managed to wheeze, “Ano po?”
Lolo could barely get his response out because he was laughing so much, “Kitang ina mo rin!”
Lolo Jack
Dr. Joaquin S. Sumpaico Sr
Dec. 31, 1912-Feb.17, 2007
