The story of our Christmas ham

The combined love my brothers and I have for our mother is bigger and wider than the sky. We could only wish she partook of the family’s Christmas ham, from heaven where she is now.

The Thursday before Christmas, my brothers were calling me to follow up if I already had in my hand a bone-in Chinese ham from a store in Quiapo. I was in Makati; they were in Gulod. In between us was a long and winding road of bittersweet excitement. I could almost hear them, “It’s not going to be complete without the ham.” It was not my style to disappoint them. I also would not disappoint our mother.

The Chinese ham, for over 14 years now, was always my toka (contribution) for our Noche Buena spread. I hushed my brothers’ unrest when I assured them that my trusted delivery guy would bring the ham to the house that night — straight from the ham store. I told them I chose the meat as I was on a video call with my trusted delivery man.

The tradition of having a bone-in ham for the holidays started when, out of the blue, after the death of my father in January 2010, my mother requested for Excellente ham for Christmas. Her heart was lonely and the ham was her only request on the first Christmas we were celebrating without our father. Anything that would make Nanay happy, I would go out of my way for. Never mind if the queue at the ham store snaked through the alleys.

The request for Christmas ham came as a surprise because Nanay’s tastebuds were trained in simplicity. She knew her hamonado so well she could cook it in a whim. But that Chinese ham — it had been in her memory ever since she tasted it a long time ago from a neighbor’s kitchen.

In our many days of want, the ham was not a staple on our simple Christmas table. Though there was one Christmas Eve when my eldest brother Ronnie gave us our first ball of ham, courtesy of the Christmas basket given him by his boss at the Asia Brewery where he was a factory worker. That ball of ham came with other surprises in a separate bag that contained Heno de Pravia, Nova soap bars and Maxam toothpaste. It was the first-ever Christmas package our family received.

But the Chinese bone-in ham was different. Just a slice of it was enough to bring happiness to my mother. She would fry it in a pan for less than a minute and right after she would lay it on her pandesal, which was piping hot from the neighborhood bakery. She would lather the ham with the syrupy sweet sauce. Then on her late husband’s hammock, she would take a bite of her ham sandwich. Joy was in her eyes as the honey dripped into her arm. Her day was made.

The bone-in ham became a tradition of sorts at home days before Christmas — because of all the days in a year, it was during the Christmas season that Nanay felt all the more her longing for her husband.

“Syo, masarap ang ham,” she would say as she took a bite. Syo was her term of endearment for her husband. It was short for my father’s name, Cresencio.  She relished her ham with gusto, her eyes closed, as if sharing a tight embrace with her beloved husband.

Theirs is a beautiful love story. Nanay was only 20 when she married Tatay, almost 30. She just lost her own mother that time. Tatay saved P120 to buy his bride a bespoke traje de boda. He rented his suit. They borrowed wedding rings from the priest who solemnized their marriage in 1965 and right after, returned them. The night before their altar date, he stole a kiss from his beautiful bride. Then she gave him two cardinal rules: “You will never lift a hand on me. I am the only woman you will love.” Until his last breath in 2010, Tatay never abandoned his promises to his wife. Such love.

Those rules were recurrent topics while we partook of ham during the season. Nanay taught us about the importance of the exclusivity of love. She never believed in divorce but she also did not subscribe to domestic violence.

In our family, Tatay was the sun. Nanay was the moon. Their five children were the stars. It was a universe all its own that started with years of hardship before things became sufficient. We learned it the hard way. A Chinese ham for Christmas is already a treat, if not a luxury.

Perhaps in my mother’s heart, the Christmas ham was a symbol of victory. In those days when we only had good, quality rice (because both Nanay and Tatay were farmers), she was never remiss in praying for the good fortune of her children. She showed us strength of character when we were young because she knew character would also define us. I never saw her nurse a fever when we were growing up. “Bawal akong magkasakit dahil maraming umaasa sa akin,” she would say.

When she got sick in 2022, it was our turn to be strong for her. Until the day she died, we made sure we were there for her — hurting but strong, sad but hopeful, grieving and celebrating her life well lived.

She said she lived a full life because her children gave her the love she needed. Whatever extra we gave her was more than what she prayed for when we were growing up.

The Chinese ham is one little extra we provided her when she was still alive. It was her guilty pleasure. It was her joy. It was a reminder to her that God is a kind, generous God. It was a reminder to her that God listens to the pleas of the heart. The ham was to my mother a season of plenty. And we always thank the Lord we were given a chance to give her plenty of love.

The Chinese ham arrived safely at home days before Christmas. My brothers and I enjoyed it with the honey sauce that came with it. Nanay must have enjoyed it, too, as she shared it with her husband in heaven. The star of our Noche Buena feast is gone but she remains to be our star.

Merry Christmas. *