30 Days of Thanksgiving – Day 16

Aunts and Uncles to me are like an extension of my Mom and my Dad.  They have filled in different roles that were parental in nature.  After all, we had lived in one house at one time or another – in my Grandma Herminia’s house.  More than once, I heard one, if not most of them, consider me the youngest sibling in the family.

This is just a first part of two, a grateful note to my Dad’s siblings, with the first two sisters of my Dad highlighted today.  Tomorrow will spotlight my Dad’s three other siblings.

Auntie Abigail.  I think of her as an embodiment of the song, “Take My Life And Let It Be” by Frances Havergal.  A woman of substance.  One with incredibly lasting imprints of a Christ-like life to those she’s known for a lifetime and for a short while.  She fiercely loves her Abba and she’s dedicated her life and her household to His call.  She also fiercely loves her husband.  She told me once, “I know some wives can learn to live without their husbands…they have to, when the husbands have to work outside of the house so much for a long period of time.  But when your Uncle Dan leaves, even for just a week, I can’t stand it.”  I’ll never forget her words.  Now that I am married, I realize even more the value of what she’s told me then.

When I was growing up in my Grandma Herminia’s house, there is a corner part of the house stacked with piles of boxes up to the ceiling.  I never dared touch that thing because I was afraid of getting reprimanded but I was always curious.  Across from it was also a little space with a trunk where my Mom’s college books and recipes, scribbled in notepads, were kept.  On top of the trunk were more boxes with who-knows-what’s-inside of them.

One day in high school, I finally summoned the courage to tackle those boxes.  After all, I was cleaning house so I had valid reason to look through that pile of junk that had been sitting there for years, collecting dust.  I opened the first box and, to my delight, I found a treasure trove of letters neatly tied together with a rubber band, addressed to my Uncle Dan from my Aunt Abigail.  Love letters!  I suppose I should have asked before delving into reading but I didn’t know any better.  Mind you, they were good ol’ fashioned courtship letters, day to day events written to her beloved during their time of physical separation because of work, one year prior to their wedding.  I was struck by the depth of her love for him, expressed in the simplicity of her words.  She must have sent at least one letter a week.  There were three boxes full of love letters, written by hand!

Reading those letters made me feel like I was a part of their courtship and marriage.  And because they eventually moved away from town and went to live in an island way north of us, I did not often see them.  but from afar I have admired their marriage, though imperfect (for whose is?), and secretly desired, in my then young heart, a courtship and marriage just like theirs.

As an aside…I really was, in a way, part of their courtship.  I was two when my Aunt Abigail was back in town during their time apart before their wedding and she wrote several accounts of me learning my alphabet and some nursery rhymes and songs.  She was my teacher, of course.

Auntie Abigail (and Uncle Dan), thank you for imparting with me some life lessons about love and marriage and faith and service.  May God bless your ministry and increase your tribe a hundredfold.  (Hint hint, Gea!!!)

Auntie Carol.  She was there when I was a teeny weeny little thing.  She was there when I was in my elementary days.  She was there when I was a teenager.  And she was there when I was in College.  Literally.

I don’t know why or how but for some reason, I had this idea as a young kid that my Auntie Carol was a bit of a tightwad.  But the truth is that whenever I was around her, she really had a very generous spirit.  She fed me each time I went to her house.  When she learned that I had a project in school, she was quick to offer her help because she knew I didn’t always have money for what was required to complete the project.  She was willing to loan me bus money whenever I needed or wanted to visit my Dad in the city, even for just a quick 24-hour round trip.  (My Dad worked in the city, a 6-hour bus ride away, while I went to high school in our town.)  Later, when I went to college in the city, she was there on some weekends for her masters course and every time I saw her, she’d buy me lunch even at 3:00 in the afternoon and slip me fifty or more pesos in my hand without saying anything or expecting to be paid back.  The extra cash and free meals were very much needed by a cash-strapped college student.

Auntie Carol is an English teacher at the public high school in the town where I grew up.  When I was entering high school, she made a decision to not ever be my English teacher.  She felt awkward about it and so did I.  She managed to not be one of my teachers in all four years of high school but she did have a large influence in me with everything related to English.  I mean, really, when your Aunt is an English teacher, you better make sure you’re pretty good at it!  Yes, I know now that people have different strengths but I really always liked English anyway so all I did was worked hard to make sure my English grades were in good standing.  I think I did okay on that.  As for English speaking…well, she probably didn’t intend to be my coach but she took on that role for me.  Growing up, she corrected my enunciation of words when I read out loud or when I spoke in English through songs and nursery rhymes, etc.  I didn’t think it offensive…I was glad she cared to correct me.  I heard her speak in English and thought her enunciation was just how English speaking people do it.  And I aspired to that level.  I currently live in the land of the English speaking people and I cannot be more grateful for those early years of corrections from her.  Often I hear compliments about my English speaking ability along these lines : “Wow!  Your English is good,”  “You sound like you’ve lived here all your life,” and my favorite one, “You don’t have an accent!”  Truth is, I want to learn how to speak with the Southern accent, an English (British) accent, and an Irish accent.  Apparently and according to my husband, I sound like all three when I am trying to speak British – a very baluktot (mangled) mix of accents!  Oi!

Auntie Carol, thank you for your patience in correcting my English – it has paid off quite well!  Thank you for your generosity that was really beyond just money.  Sharing life with you when I was growing up had its ups and downs but I learned more about persisting in a relationship with you than with other relationships I had growing up.  You didn’t give up on me and I am glad to be friends with you.  Grateful for your stern warnings with boys – I appreciate them now more than before, of course.  I know now you really were just looking after my welfare and I am very thankful for you being there, bold to speak your mind.