Sunday, September 16, 2007 Estremera: The universality of childhood By Stella Estremera Spider's web
THE fascination never stops on the seeming universality of childhood... That is for as along as the elements are similar, read: same fruit trees, similar location as generally similar as the Philippines, etc.
Just an entry in My Multiply that has somehow engendered memories of childhood. The games, which vary only in names depending on where the friend has spent his/her childhood, like tigso here is agawan-base in Luzon or the Tagalogs elsewhere; tumbang preso to the Tagalogs takes on a more literal name of tumba-lata here since what is being tumba (tumbled) anyway is really a lata (can).
And then the cacao...
Among my peers (around my age), the running quiz is, "What time do you steal cacao fruit from the neighbor's tree?"
My peers and I did not grow up together. We didn't know of the others' existence before we became colleagues. We lived in separate provinces and islands of the Philippines, but we all know the answer even when our cacao-stealing days have long been gone: Cacao fruits are stolen at noon.
The reason: The owner is asleep.
Since the posts on the page that featured photos of children has drifted to childhood and the games children played (before computer nailed all our children on chairs, that is), I posted the question, just out of curiosity to see if that childhood is shared by others outside my circle.
And true enough, one seconded the motion. They did steal cacao at noon because that's when their lola -- the cacao tree owner -- was asleep.
There's an addendum to the cacao that I believe only applies to a certain generation of children-once, like me and around my age; but this is site-specific -- in Davao. The addendum: "When did you fall from a caimito tree?"
In those days when caimito (star apple) trees abound in just about every neighbor's yard (of course this happened around my age because houses still had yards that can allow caimito trees to grow; regular houses nowadays can hardly accommodate a malunggay tree), these trees were a seasonal childhood hazard.
The fruit-inclined among us know that caimitos bear fruits during summer -- when school was out and children were all over the place, playing, climbing trees, getting in trouble and driving their moms crazy, and hoarse after regularly shouting to the tune of: "KENDEEEEEE (or whatever your nickname was), UWIIII NAAAAAA/BABAAAA DIYAAAAAN/MALILINTIKAN KA NA SA AKIIIIN/(variations of such...)!!!!"
Thus, as children who still saw the streets and neighborhood as a place to explore and not to walk on the way to an Internet Cafe, there was no other tree more enticing than a caimito full of ripe shiny fruits. Mouth-watering, indeed. Caimito was the summer's staple such that the lamang-kalye like us have made a whole cocktail mix for this fruit aside from eating it plain and straight from the tree and coating our mouth with its sticky sap, highlighting our libag and driving our moms even crazier.
Ever tried mixing caimito with buko? Or if your friend is a bit on the rich side, then caimito in buko salad! Yummy. Then there's the regular caimito with ice and milk... and then... caimito with Royal Tru-Orange. When there's no one to climb for buko, no sponsor for a buko salad, and no money to buy Royal, or the milk at home has been consumed, then it's just iced caimito. Yup, just pop the whole caimito into the freezer and eat it once it's iced.
I don't know if mixing caimito was a childhood staple, but it was my staple as a child. Maybe because there were just too many caimito trees in Dapecol where I spent most of my vacation days in such that we learned to make different concoctions.
With so many possible concoctions for this versatile fruit, the temptation to gather as many can never be turned down and so...
Those who have grown in the days when caimito trees abound in Davao, you know how brittle the branches are. Chances are, the sound of a loud crack of a branch from somewhere above someone's house is followed by a cry of a hurt child and the panicking voices of his/her companions and then the patter of running feet including that of the one who fell. Uh yes, when you fall, you're not supposed to break your legs (how we ever did that, I really don't know) so that you can still run. Why is this a requirement? Because the caimito tree is the neighbor's, not yours.
And so I ask you: What age were you when you fell?
The follow-up question is: Why is it that children usually fall from someone else's caimito tree?
The answer: Because we were not allowed to climb caimito trees. Thus, even when the houses of our peers and my uncle's as well were surrounded by caimito, we went somewhere else to climb where our moms can't catch us and threaten us with a "walis."
