For the fun of them ?
We gathered by the cozy fireplace roasting marshmallows and corn on the cob, waiting for midnight to drink soda pops, without the guilt. Simple, huh? That’s because we were observing the traditional Semana Santa (Holy Week) custom of abstinence so that even in a symbolic way, we could share in the sufferings of Christ on the cross. But, like most teenyboppers, we took short cuts. “If we wait for midnight, it will be Sabado de Gloria and not Good Friday anymore, ergo, we’re not defying any self-restraint rule,†reckoned the boys.
That was in the past. I turned 360 degrees, from a soft drink addict to zilch. What else did we give up or still hang onto, like an old standard?

 Where I grew up, we played in the garden or out in the street. No electronic play stations, Xbox, and video games that were too space-confining.
We lived at the dead end of a non-descript pebbled dirt road that led to a bridge and a cogon field with only a few houses dotting the rural setting. “Where’s your pato (marker, usually a flat stone) so we can play piko (hopscotch)?†hollered my neighbors. There was patintero (object of the game is to block the opponent from crossing marked fencelines), taguan (hide and seek) and pitik-bulag (a game where one player flicks the knuckles of the other, making it sore while the other opponent covers her eyes to guess what hand symbol was used). We climbed trees picking local sugarberries called aratiles and catching salagubang beetles, tutubi dragonflies, and alitaptap fireflies but avoided a soaring pine tree in our main garden because a bee colony nestled there.
“When we fell out of trees, got cut or bukol (head bump), broke bones and teeth, there were no stupid lawsuits from these accidents,†said one blogger. “The only rubbings we got were from friends, ‘Masakit ba (did it hurt?).’ If peeved, you taunted her by sticking out your tongue and exclaiming, ‘Belat, buti nga!’ (Serves you right).†Sometimes, we played parlor games like sungka, Old Maid, jackstones and Chinese jackstones, pick-up sticks, play house or play school. When a typhoon hit, we played in the pouring rain, sliding down slippery mounds and drinking from the garden hose. At that time, bottled water was only served in fine-dining restaurants in two varieties: sin gas or con gas (flat or sparkling). 


We learned to read and tell time by following the short hand and the long hand of the timepiece and could distinguish between moving clockwise and counter-clockwise. We mastered multiplication tables through flash cards and read Illustrated Classics and Pilipino Comics that heightened our appreciation of native folklore, colloquial humor, and cultural heritage.
Boys played with slingshots, wooden carts made from scrap wood and learned to ride the bike with the brakes located in the foot pedal. That was when cotton pants called pedal pushers came into vogue for girls. Once, while biking, I hit the pavement and stopped short of falling into a man-made lake in Burnham Park, Baguio City. My cousin cackled her head off, but I cackled harder when she didn’t see a protruding stone and fell straight into the man-made lake. “Belat!â€
In school, English campaigns drove us to take grammar seriously, enunciating every word and spelling words correctly. Libraries were used for research (and chatting behind bookshelves). If we got a lousy 4 in Chemistry, the entire summer was sacrificed for make-up classes.
Who remembers San Miguel beer or 7-Up? Not to drink but to pour on the hair as a setting lotion? The hops and malt mixed with spray net guaranteed a hairstyle that remained stiff and rigid, surviving any twisting, rocking and rolling or yugyugan on the dance floor. The following day, we struggled to relieve each knotted, teased-up strand of hair, the price we paid to look cute as a button and more importantly, for the boys to take notice.
When the rotary phone was introduced, I fell, like a loon, for this ah-ah-dorable boy on the other side of the crackling line. But woe-is-me, there was an attendant nuisance from the netherworld a.k.a. the party line. “Party line, do you mind?†I’d ask haplessly. If in a good mood, this Beelzebub would feign surprise and leave the line immediately. But if feeling vile, he’d hang up the line until hell froze over. What to do? Dial M for mental murder.
No matter how we dodged disappointments, we seemed to run smack into them, blaming youth’s impulsiveness and bare ignorance. Such falls only made us more resolute to learn and remember the lessons (magtanda ka!), to rise and shake the dust off our feet. That’s because we had a head start. A study revealed that playing makes children feel secure, loved, and happy. They learn to interact, socialize, and develop sportsmanship, therefore able to deal with life’s failures and challenges.
With the onset of touch phones, tablets (not a pill), cell phones, Internet and social blogs, relationships ought to have been better enhanced. I admit that I like the ease of hiding behind a cellphone’s wall. But, do you notice how everyone sits around a table without keeping eye contact? No more you-and-me dialogues. There are too many ear-splitting, downright loud distractions that dampen them.
I miss the sight of children playing outdoors. I remember being awed by jet streams in the sky or watching flocks of birds migrating, of huddling and plotting game formations building up solidarity and teamwork. Sharing adventures, working up a combination of heat and sweat to the level of being nicely exhausted was fun as in f-u-n. We were on a roll until the stomach growled and dusk called.
It should not be lost in the past.
