"What Superior Culture?" - March 1995 Edition
Contact: Rene P. Ciria-Cruz, Editor, 655 Sutter St., Suite 333, San
Francisco CA 94102
Phone: 1(415)563-5878 Fax: 1(415)292-5993 e-mail:filmagazin@aol.com
A member of the Weymouth, MA School Committee and a member of the so-called "Christian Coalition" has proposed that the Weymouth school system adopt a "Patriotic Curriculum". The "curriculum" would be based on one in use in the Lake County, Florida school system. The Lake County program, initiated by another member of the Christian Coalition, teaches that American values, culture, and political systems are "inherently superior" to others. "It's nice to know about other countries," this individual said in an open meeting, "but I want kids to know that America is the greatest country."
Allow me, if you will, to show what a "Patriotic Curriculum" would mean to my multicultural household.
In the winter of 1985-86 I became enthralled with the Election in the Philippines. When the Election turned into the "People Power Revolution", I became overwhelmed. I was watching a piece of history; I was seeing the best in man, and for a brief moment I felt like the man in the Beatitudes who "hungers and thirsts for justice" and is satisfied. When it was over, I wrote a letter to Mrs. Aquino telling her how moved I was by the revolution she led. Six weeks later, I received a handwritten letter from a young woman at Malacanang who had processed my letter. A year and a half later, I married her.
Yes, I've mentioned nothing of our courtship. That is a story in itself. Once we were married, however, life became very normal. We went through the same things any newly married couple goes through. (The process by which a man and woman grow together is another matter I won't attempt to explain-if you haven't been thought it, it can't be explained; if you have been through it, it doesn't need to be.) And, in keeping with the normalcy of our marriage, Charles Alphonse Vermette the Second arrived on October 12, 1989-almost two years to the day we were married. When I first saw my son, I expected it to be moving. What I didn't expect was a full blown vision-an Epiphany in which I experienced something beyond the range of my senses. I saw-on looking in my son's face-two distinct lines of people veering off in two directions. On one side of the line was Charlie's grandfather and Grand uncles, all of whom had passed on. I saw them as they were; young virile Bostonians of French Canadian ancestry signing an Ink Spots tune in my Uncle Gil's kitchen. Beyond that, I saw my grandfathers-tough, old school French Canadians who had gotten their families through the Depression and to a place better than the one they came from. Looking in the other direction, I saw the plains of Luzon and the family I had met only twice, but known a lifetime. I saw my father in law, made of the same tough fiber as my parents and their parents. I saw the rice fields he had worked his way out of, in the process of sending each of his eight children to college. I saw-on both sides of this timeline-the common values: the sense of honor, principle, and hard work; the strong Catholic faith: the belief that God didn't give one a burden that couldn't be carried. In one instant, I saw the union of two families-and two cultures-in my newborn sons' eyes. And then it was the world of the parenthood (Two hours of sleep a night has a way of putting the miracle of childbirth into perspective.) Our lives were very normal again-for about a year, when once again Teresa was with child. Erica's birth in November of 1990 was almost a replay of Charlie's: same hospital, same operating room, same night of the week, same team of doctors, same caesarean operation. I literally screamed for joy upon hearing that we had a girl. Erica's arrival was much less traumatic, but no less joyful, than my sons'.
After we were settled in again, I felt a duty to bring my children to their grandparents (Teresa and I had been back in '89, when she was five months pregnant.) After doing the "dry run" of a California vacation, we left for Gapan in Nueva Ejica on New Years' Day 1992. In what was without a doubt two of the most wonderful weeks' of my life, my children came to know their grandparents. We even videotaped my grandfathers' 65th birthday party. The children watch it frequently; it's a way of keeping the faces and the memories alive. We make a conscious attempt to keep their mothers' family and mothers' culture real to them. Their mother speaks (and I attempt to speak) Tagalog to them. They know that "Halika Na" means come right to daddy; they know that "hindi ko alam" means "I don't know." They love rice and smoked fish; they know it's a special time when they can stay up late to talk to Lola and Lolo. They get excited knowing that a doll or a slingshot or homemade candies are coming from an a Tito or an Ate who's gone home. They say "the Philippines" with a tone of pride in their voice, knowing its a place where they are loved.
Yes, my children are of two worlds. I defy anyone to spend five minutes with them and claim they're confused about their identity. As adults who have a foot in both lands, you and I can debate the relative merits of Filipino and American culture. We're both mature enough to know that, as with individuals, any culture has its good points and bad points. I will only say this in comparing my wife's culture to my own: its possible in America to be an associate of someone for years and never know them. I've spent a total of six weeks of my 36 years in the Philippines, yet I feel a bond to the people and the land that will be with me for the rest of my life. I'll also add this: I'll be damned if, when they go to school, my children will be taught that their mother's culture is inferior to their father's.