My uncle passed away three weeks ago. We were on vacation with my whole family when my parents got the phone call. We were all shocked. We sat around the table for a while, trying to gather our thoughts, though it was difficult to even make a coherent thought. It was good that we were all together under the same roof at the time, it seemed to have softened the blow, especially for my parents.
I experienced many different phases of my Tito Reny growing up. In my earliest memories, he was a jokester, a button pusher. He just loved picking on my brother and me because we were easy targets and quick to cry. He would air box us, and then when we least expected it, he would smack us in the face. He smoked Marlboro Reds, so we would get whiffs of cigarette smell from his fingers when he took a swing. Then we’d either cry or complain to my Tita, she would scold him to stop, and then he’d walk away chuckling and take one last smack at us on the back of the head as he passed us. I swear I have marks on my head from the big ass ring he used to wear. He always got the last laugh.
When we got older and actually found his air boxing funny instead of annoying, he found less joy in it and moved into the next phase: the card shark. He was my dad’s gambling buddy, and when he found out my dad taught us a bunch of card games, he started playing different versions of poker with us. On weekends when we would sleep over at his house, he would bring out poker chips and we’d play for hours. He would not let us win, which is probably why we played for so long. It seemed like we only ended up winning when it was time to go to bed. He would never admit it, but it seemed like he was having fun and maybe a tiny bit proud that we were decent card players. I don’t know if it’s a Filipino thing or not, but it seems like if you’re a pretty good card player, it’s on par with being a good piano player, which is a big deal. I’m decent at both, so I’m definitely going places (still waiting on that).
Teen years came, and so did the next phase of Tito Reny: the healer. He and my Tita claimed he had some uncanny healing power. I would roll my eyes and think to myself, “Ok, just because he walks around with a container of Vicks vapor rub in his pocket, it doesn’t make him a healer.” I remember hurting my wrist once, and he took the Vicks out of his pocket, massaged my wrist, and it was oddly better. Or maybe I was high from the Vicks fumes. Either way, it helped. He had noticed while he was massaging my wrist that my hands were super sweaty (my hyperhidrosis, it always comes up in stories). He told me he had a fool-proof solution that would end my sweaty palms problem. He told me to pee on my hands. Yes, you read that correctly. I looked at my aunt in disbelief, and she nodded in all seriousness like, trust your Tito Reny, he’s legit. I told them there was no way I was going to do that. But keep in mind, I was a teenager, and that meant having to hold boys’ hands. I was desperate. So in secret, I did it. I urinated on my damn hands. And it worked! Just kidding, it definitely didn’t work. And as I sat there with urine on my hands, I thought to myself, is a part of Tito Reny still in the jokester phase? Yep, I think so. Sorry to all those I’ve high-fived in the past. I peed on my hands.
As the years went by and his daughter and all his nieces and nephews got older, he entered his final phase: the proud observer. He grew quieter and more reserved. We’d hear the occasional, “Study hard, finish school” and “Get a good job,” which was enough for us to know we had to keep a straight path. Because he was so quiet, I definitely listened if he said anything. One time, I brought a boyfriend to a family party, and I heard him describe the guy to my parents as “mayabang,” which is “arrogant” in Tagalog. I knew I couldn’t marry that guy. So instead, I married Jamie, and he approved. He hardly said five words to Jamie, so you can imagine our surprise when he came downstairs during a visit to their house one day and had a full-blown unsolicited conversation with me and Jamie. At first we all sat in silence as Tito Reny just watched the kids play with his house plants and glass trinkets. Then he began to chuckle to himself, and started to tell a very random story. He said, “One time, I was on an airplane going to the Philippines. I couldn’t sleep because these Japanese men were snoring so loud and taking up all the space. So you know what I did? I farted. It was a quiet fart, but it woke them up. They were all so upset and looking around, trying to figure out who did it. And then I just laughed and closed my eyes and finally fell asleep. Hahaha, Japanese…” (some residual Filipino/Japanese animosity from the war I suppose). That was seriously all he said, dropped the mic, and then he went back upstairs to his room. And it was by far one of our favorite stories of all time.
I suppose as you get older, you don’t need to be a person of many words. You can just sit back and be proud of what your hard work has brought to you years later. And that’s what Tito Reny did; he observed his daughter raise her own family, and watched his nieces and nephews grow up and add grandnieces and grandnephews to the mix. Everyone turned out okay, and that’s all he wanted. He wasn’t the kind of uncle that gave me sage advice that saved my life or changed the course of my life path forever. He was just there. He was part of my core family, there for all the Thanksgivings, Christmases, birthday parties, graduations, weddings, and baptisms. Even if he didn’t say much, he was present, and that spoke volumes.
When you are growing up and navigating through life, and things get really confusing and difficult, especially during those teen and early twenties years, it’s a comfort to have constants in your life. Tito Reny was one of them. It is difficult to comprehend not having one of those figures around after 42 years of expecting it there. But he left his mark. I hope that I could be a core figure in my nieces’ and nephews’ lives too, provide some stability for them, just as he did for us. And bonus, I would especially love it if I could get one of them to do something as egregious as peeing on their hands. Life goals.
The night we found out he died, my siblings and I decided to play a few hands of pusoy and pusoy dos in Tito Reny’s honor. At first we couldn’t remember all the rules, and we were sure he was going to haunt us because of it. But then my brother straightened it out and we were able to play his favorite card games the right way (and we didn’t get haunted). The next day, all of us, including my parents, played card games and talked about Tito Reny. A part of me kept feeling like he was behind me, looking at my hand, likely figuring out a way to prank me. It was an eerie feeling, and also a comfort. Days later when we came home from vacation, we said our goodbyes to him. I know he would have been happy to see all of his family and close friends together. That night, I once again felt like someone was watching me as I prepared dinner alone in the kitchen. I was pretty sure it was Tito Reny making his rounds. And I was okay with that.
The Mundame 