[Here are sample readings for the first paper.

Growing up in Baguio:Circa 1960s

By Philian Weygan

MY WORK demands travel but wherever I go, I come back home to Baguio where memories of my growing up
remain one of my fondest thoughts of home.

My mom told me "nan puseg mo naikali isna sirok nan ba-ey" meaning my birth bag was buried under the old
house in Magsaysay. I was born with my umbilical cord wrapped around my neck but Dr. Calogne and mom
delivered me without accident, which my parents say it is a blessing. My sister has letters of mom and dad that
related that as a baby I was brought to Besao when my dad went to briefly work and study in Manila. He sent me
baby shoes during my birthday; sent us eggs when he was in Baguio.

Growing up with my siblings, I remember my mom would plant watercress in the crystal clear Balili River. She
would put John and me on top of a stone and we would watch while she worked. Later, John was able to learn to
swim just being around my mother working. My older brother and sister would frequently go to Parapad in Ambiong
for swimming. I usually contented myself with a shower from a spring that comes out from the edge of our property.

In our land we had a home vegetable garden, together with bananas, avocado, guavas. But later on sayote took
over a greater part of the property. Quirino Hill was a forest and after the rains we would go and pick mushrooms.
At that time mom, my aunt and some cousins cleared portions as "uma" (or farmland) where they planted camote,
corn and other root crops. During harvest, we the kids were expected to go and help but most of the time they built
us a fire and we would cook camote and corn buried in the coals. These are etched in my memory. Then we would
help carry the produce down the mountains, but it was more like rolling them down as my older brother taught us.
My mom would say we would break the camote by doing that and maybe we did, but as kids we just cared about
having fun.

When we had extra bananas or corn, mom would allow us to peddle them in the neighborhood and so we had
extra money. Our parents would give us piggy banks and also envelops where to put our monies. Sometimes she
saved it for something to buy for us like clothes, toys and books. At that time there were only few houses, cars and
a lot of spaces in our neighborhood which spans from Sayote Island, Ambiong, Happy Homes, Quirino Hill and
Camdas. The Resurrection Church was still part of our neighborhood and we would hear the church peal every
morning, noon and at Angelus.

We went to a neighborhood school Lucban Elementary School and we loved it. In Kindergarten, whenever I get
back from being absent I would only go if my dad would accompany me and speak to my teacher. By fourth grade I
was sometimes allowed to bring my lunch and sometimes we would go to the house of Benilda Zaragoza. Her
mom would serve us soup too. My playground widened as I was allowed to play after school. I remember being in
the house of the Udasco's, the Caoili's, the Alipio's, the Penera's, Jocson's, Idio's, and Villalba's. It was a happy
childhood spent with classmates and siblings. Part of it was spent in doing house chores like scrubbing the floor,
sweeping the yard, watering plants, feeding the chickens, the rabbits, harvesting sayote. It was when we were
older that more responsibilities were given like washing clothes and cooking.

My wonderful stay in Lucban ended when I had a boxing match with the bully of my sister. It was a fad for pupils to
have fistfights at the foot of Quirino Hill (we called it carabao mountain then) and I was not spared. I challenged the
bully of my sister and landed her a black eye and before she could hit me I fell into a ravine. The next morning we
were in the principal's office. That time I told my parents I did not want to go to school anymore. They consoled me
that we would transfer the next year so we just had to finish the school term. So by Grade six we were transferred
to Easter School, I was already the eldest among us in the elementary grades, as both my older sister and brother
were already in High School. I knew then that it was my responsibility to take care of my younger siblings.

Transfering to Easter School widened our playground to Guisad, Bokawkan, Dizon and Pinsao. Dad would bring us
to school in his Ford and in the afternoon we would ride a service jeep with the Mendozas, the Balaos of Pico.
Sometimes we were late for the jeepney service after we have to clean the classrooms and we would tarry by the
brook side of Guisad catching jojo and bayek. We would be home near dusk because we took time playing along
 the least traveled roads, catching butterflies and crickets, picking flowers and weeds and simply taking time to
enjoy nature as daylight caught up with night time. Mom would scold us for being late and she would always ask
us to explain why and to promise to be home before dark.

Sundays were the days we would wake up the earliest, finish our chores, take a bath, breakfast and church
service. Everyone had to go to church even if you were not in the mood for it. Afterwards, we would go to Burnham
Park for a picnic and run till we dropped. It was so clean, so wide and so beautiful with all the flowers and
butterflies of many colors. Sometimes Dad would have church meeting and so we ended up playing in the church
compound climbing up and down the trees. Then we would enjoy eating cookies baked by the family of Fr.
Alejandrino Rulite. I realize that we had close ties with members of the church. When they came to our house, we
would also share our food with them. My mother always asked us to serve food to our friends when they came.

Baguio was a perfect place to spend childhood. Then the 1970s came and it was high school. That would be
another story to tell. But what I remember best is that at a young age, we learned to love work because each one
had duties to do. We also learned discipline and cooperation were values that were made known to us not only
through our participation in performing chores and responsibilities, but by the very way our parents treated us and
our friends.

When I remember Mom whose death Anniversary which is September 19, I remember my wonderful childhood
and how I have become like her in many ways. (August 21, 2008)

Philian was born in Baguio from pious parents who followed the teachings of Rev. John Staunton who established
a church in Sagada. She became involved in the cause for indigenous peoples as a founding member of the
Association of Young Igorot Professionals of the Philippines. At present, she helps in their family enterprise... the
Baguio School of Business Technology BSBT. Philian is the daughter of Baguio Councilor Galo Weygan.

_________________________

Growing Up On A Delaware Farm

Judy Hudson (Adapted)

Growing up on a Delaware farm was a wonderful and rewarding experience for me. It was an area where
a couple of dozen families in an area of about hundred square miles had farmed, married each other and been a
stable community for centuries, along Delaware Rout One just north of Lewes.

In our farm, we had 33 cows (18 of which we milked twice a day), 3 horses, some chickens, 60 acres of
corn, hay and pasture. It was a farm that my maternal grandparents owned. There were barns, tractors, long hours
and Sundays in church. We grew corn, hay and pasture. We had a large garden and some fruit trees. We hunted,
foraged, and grew what we ate and used in most cases. We ate duck, goose, pigeon, muskrat, fish, crabs, shell
fish, groundhog, mustard greens, collards, wild garlic, onion, persimmons, wild cherry, wild strawberries,
blueberries, figs, mint, wild carrots, herbs and wild spices.

We had plenty of beef, chicken, milk, cream and our own homemade butter, as well as at least two kinds
of handmade soap. We cooked on a woodstove which also heated the house. I slept under quilts and on feather
beds that were over a hundred years old. We had a little coal furnace but coal was expensive and that was only for
the coldest times. We had electric and a phone too. We shucked and shelled corn, some of which we traded to
neighbors for pork, veal or turkey.

I lived on my grandparent's farm and my great grandmother lived with us as well. My grandmother and
great grandmother were both school teachers by profession. I was doted upon, taught and encouraged to read
several hours a day. The home was filled with old books and I was the only student they had at home. In the attic
were books handed down through the family from the 1500's and since. We lived on land, some pieces of which
had been in our family ownership for hundreds of years and is now divided down from thousands of acres to small
pieces. We lived much the same as people lived on farms in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Yet, we had phone
and TV, neither of which was used much.
 My grandfather taught me much: to milk cows by hand and by machine and much more. I shoveled tons
of sloppy manure, fed the cows and horses and learned to carpenter, make tools, and to keep things repaired.
Grandfather showed me how to do these things. I learned to make do and keep it going. I learned to mend
harness, to render pine resin from the sap of local trees and mix it with bee's wax to treat the home-made linen
thread that was used to mend harness – all from my grandfather. He showed me also how to do minor animal
surgery such as castration, dehorning and at least once I helped pull an infected tooth in a cow. He helped me
make my own knife at age 4. By 5 I was driving the old Ford with him beside me coaching me. At 6, I sat with him
on the tractors and truck until I was able to drive them. By 7 I could work a full day in the field by myself driving the
largest tractor Dad had.

Dad bought the adjacent farm when I was five and later bought several other adjacent or nearby farms
and timber land as it came available. He eventually owned and rented over 3,000 acres by the time I was old
enough to be on my own. We lived well from Dad's industrious work and his advanced techniques.

My grandparents were not very modernized. Dad was not a usual person for his time either. He was 20 to
50 years ahead of his time in farming. I helped out on Dad's farms once I started school. By eleven I worked at
least 20 hours a week during the school year, often 40. By age 12 my summer weeks were typically 60 hours or
more and sometimes over 100 hours. I tried to go for 120 to 130 hours a week for the added money. Many nights I
slept in the dirt, in the field, to eliminate going home to sleep so I could make more money. I learned to go to sleep
in a matter of seconds and to be up, dressed and working in less than four minutes when I slept at home.

Summertime, when there was no school, and being paid for the long hours I worked -- I made
considerable income even at the low hourly wage. I saved most of it. I didn't have much time or opportunity to
spend it. As a teenager, I made more, many months than some grown men of our area and I had few expenses.
We didn't work all the time but we enjoyed work. I don't recall anyone that didn't like working. I arranged to do the
hardest and least popular jobs, mostly hauling hay and irrigation. Doing the hardest jobs gave me job security. We
got Sunday's off to go to the little country church that our family founded and built on the farm. We worked hard
and loved the work and the life it earned us!

Dad, ahead of his time, had irrigation, high density crops, no-till farming, airplanes to spray the crops, and
used every modern or experimental tool and technique available or being tested. As a youngster, I was
accustomed to Dad being in or on the cover of some magazine nearly every month it seemed. Some of the things
he helped pioneer 30-40 years ago are becoming customary and ordinary now, some will be more common later.

Dad grew his farm from nothing and by the time I was a teen he was farming over 3,000 acres, seeking to
profit from the economies of scale and mechanization. Smaller farmers were often making far less than minimum
wage by the 70s. He rented thousands of acres of farm land but owned many hundreds of acres of tillable land as
well.

Sure I miss the rural farming that I grew up in. The smell of diesel fuel may be the smell of life in some
cases. I don't like the smell of it either and starting at 7 years old I pumped a lot of it into our tractors and burned it
long hours as I drove those tractors. It's probably some sort of illegal activity to let kids work on the farm today.
There was a lot more diesel in the air before the developments were here. The tractors are gone now for the most
part. And they seldom wake up the late rising city folks anymore. But I remember how my grandpa, my dad and
other members of my family altogether taught me not only how to farm, but how to love work in many ways more
than one.

Our democratic interests don't allow any manufacturing down here in Sussex so we have no high income
support base. The highest income employment we have is banking and outlet manager jobs. Other than that we
have self employment, waiting on tables, minimum wage and production based income and it's not usually farming.
We have a few, very few people who have been able to stay here and serve non-farm interests. Few remain who
still farm and those few have either other income, extreme government subsidy with our tax dollars of some sort or
will be gone soon.

Source: http://www.kate-jody.com/essays/growingupfarm.html
 The Seaside Echoes: An Autobiographical Essay

By: Sharon T. Bibliotica (M.Ed. Reading, University of the Philippines Visayas)

All of us grow up in particular realities ­ a home, family, a clan, a small town, a 
neighborhood. Depending upon how we were brought up, we are either deeply aware of the 
particular reading of reality into which we are born, or we are peripherally aware of it.

I am now 26 years old and all my life I have lived in a small town in Oton, in the 
seaside, where people I meet everyday are family. 

I grew up in the biggest barangay in Oton, Iloilo. Our home is not really a big one, but 
looking at the houses in the neighborhood, I could say that ours is one of the oldest. It was built
by my great grandfather in the 1950s. As sturdy as the materials used for building it, this house
has surpassed 3 generations—my great grandfather, my grandfather, and now my father. 

I remember when I was very young, this ancestral structure housed 3 extended families 
– my family, my Tito Digol’s and my Tita Mila’s family – just the way my Lolo want it to be. 
He did not want his children to live away from him as he always used to say “This house is 
bigger enough to accommodate all my children, my grandchildren, and even my great 
grandchildren. It will never be this happier when we are apart.” And so, there it goes. I grew up
with all my family close together. Each family  has its own room, but we eat, listen to the 
radio, and work on the house chores together. And the neighborhood was still family. They 
were either my Lolo’s cousin (take note, until the 10th  cousin maybe), nephew, uncle or aunt. 
And so I remember playing with my siblings, first cousin, second cousin, third cousin, and so 
on when we were kids. 

This is how my Lolo valued the close family ties so much. He used to tell Tatay and my
titos and titas to always look after each other. In times of dire need, may it be in money or in 
services, he would always remind them to always extend their help, even in its simplest form. 
And so as a way of gathering us together, Lolo would always find a way to celebrate the 
simplest to the grandest celebration. Noche Buena and New Year’s eve are two of the most 
significant events of my childhood days. On the Christmas Eve, everyone in the family would 
attend the mass. After the mass, we would join in the table and partake of the food which Lola, 
Nanay and my titas prepared. As  children, I and my siblings and cousins would always look 
forward to the gifts which we were to receive. Upon arriving home from the mass, each of us 
would look for our socks (medyas) which we hanged on the door. Our smiles would be 
indescribable as each of us would find our socks filled with candies, curls and biscuits. Each of
us would always find the same things inside our medyas, as Lola and Lolo did not want to 
show favoritism to any of us. Once in the table, Lolo and Lola would be going around and 
would put their hands on our heads and say prayer to each one of us. Back then, I used to 
giggle every time Lolo and Lola did it, because I thought they were just playing with our 
heads. When I was older, I then understood that it was their way of blessing each one of us. 

Another significant event to our family is New Year’s Eve. Almost similar to Christmas
Eve, the family would also gather around the table before midnight struck for us to partake of 
the foods prepared by Nanay, Lola, and my titas. However, on this evening, we, the children in 
the house, would not be looking for our Christmas socks anymore. Still, there is something we 
would always await. When the clock would strike to 12 midnight, my Lolo,Tatay, my titos, and
even my older siblings and cousins would take out their kawayan. They would be going around
the house and into the streets to join the other people while sounding their kawayan. I 
remember how I and my siblings and cousins would be very glad to hear the sound of the coins
inside their kawayan. After quite a while, they would be back inside the house and each of 
them would take turns in grabbing the bolo to open their kawayang alkansya. I would joyfully 
count the coins in my Manong Marlon’s alkansya because he would usually offer me some 
amount from his savings after. When everything was accounted for, the money would usually 
be given to the women in the family—my lola, Nanay, and my titas. Lolo would usually tell 
each one of us, “To save for tomorrow is really important. We do not know what happens the 
next day, but if we have an amount put aside each day, no matter how small it is, it will surely 
help us in our dire need.” He would also tell each woman in the family that it is her 
responsibility to budget the amount given to them by their husbands. Anything that is not 
necessary, if possible should be let go, especially that we are not a wealthy family. 

My grandfather is really a great one. He headed the family and whenever he said 
something, he was always listened to, not because he was a tyrant or what but because 
everyone in the house could sense wisdom in his words. He was only a fisherman but he was 
well­respected in the community, especially in our family. I remember him talking to my tito 
and tatay saying, “It is a man’s job to provide for his family. Irresponsibility is something to be
ashamed of.” And these words, even without my lolo anymore, always reverberate in the minds
of all the men in the family—my titos, brothers, cousins, and even nephews. 

My lola, on the other hand, is a very religious woman. I remember being tugged along 
by her every Sunday to attend the religious mass. Whoever skips from attending the mass will 
surely hear a bagful of words from her; in the end, everyone would be lining up into the church
and hearing masses together. Until now, we always feel embarrassed with ourselves whenever 
we absent from the mass. 

It is also a practice at home that we pray the rosary together. Back when I was younger, 
I remember crying and throwing tantrums on my mother because I couldn’t watch Power 
Rangers since Lola would turn off the main switch in order for us to gather around the altar and
pray, with only a candle lighting for us. 

Since my family are fisherfolks, swimming is really a requirement to each member. My
father really feels greatly embarrassed to know that one of his children does not even know 
how to swim. And so he always has a way to make us learn how. I remember so well how I 
learned to swim. I was only turning into 8 and my brother was just almost 6. Tatay was going 
fishing that dawn. And in the middle of our sleep, he woke me and my brother up. He 
instructed us to get into the banca because we would join him in fishing that day. My brother 
and I were very happy. We would always plead him to bring us but he would never be moved. 
Our whimpering cries would always be to no avail. But on that day, we could not just contain 
our joy. We thought to ourselves, “Finally, we would know how to fish. We could catch our 
own shrimps and play with the biggest jellyfish as our brothers told us.” And so off we went. 

We were already very far from shore when Tatay stopped paddling his banca. As to the 
depth, we didn’t know, but surely, we were very far because we could not see the houses in the
beach from where we were. We were very proud with ourselves. Surely, we would be the 
spotlight amidst our friends’ talks. We would tell them our great experience, which would 
surely make them feel jealous with us. 

As we were waiting for Tatay to cast the net, he instructed us to dive into the water. My
brother and I just looked at each other, thinking that maybe we just did not hear Tatay clearly. 
But when he ordered us the second time, fear engulfed the both of us already. I was very small,
and I was skin and bones too and so was my brother. We don’t know how to swim well too. 
And besides, whenever we were allowed to swim, Mother would always be near, watching us 
and warning us not to go beyond waist level. We were trembling of fear and we started to cry. 
We asked Tatay “Why would you ask us to dive into the depths? Would you want us to die?” 
Tatay only smiled. But the next move he did really shocked us. He threw both of us in the 
water and paddled his banca away from us. My brother and I were surely in fear, but the 
thought of dying and never seeing our mother and siblings anymore gave us the strength to 
survive. We swam like dogs. We paddled using our hands. Sometimes we would take in water 
but we just continued to swim. Until, finally, we reached our father’s banca. When we finally 
got hold of the katig, Tatay smiled at us saying, “Finally, now you know how to swim.” And 
he pulled us out from the water and into the banca. While we were sailing home, Tatay told us 
stories as to how he, his siblings, our own siblings, and even Nanay learned how to swim. And 
you know what? It was in the same way that he did to us! In our young minds, we were 
introduced to our family’s culture. We may never have played with the biggest jellyfish in the 
sea, but we still became the center of our friends’ talks as we shared our triumph of surviving 
the depths of the sea and learning how to swim. 

And these are the echoes of the seaside reverberating in my mind and reminiscing the 
days of my childhood. Whoever I am today and whatever I am doing, surely there is a touch of 
that seaside memory in it. And I owe it all to the family which I have grown up with. #

(Printed with permission from the author)