A special ‘ninong’

The original purpose of a Christian godparent was to have someone to coparent (thus,  compadre  and  comadre  in Spanish) with the biological parents for both the spiritual and material needs of the child.

In Spain and Latin America, what later emerged was a system of compadrazgo, where more emphasis was placed on the relationships between the godparents and the biological parents. George Foster, an American anthropologist, writes about how, during the 14th century in Spain, there would be up to a dozen godparents for a child, to establish economic and political alliances.

This system apparently reached the Philippines, where we have expanded ties to include the kinakapatid  (godchildren becoming related to the godparents’ children), and even an extended system where the many cosponsors at a baptism or wedding will acknowledge each other as  kumpare  and  kumare.

Godchild planning

If there’s a lack of family planning for biological families in the Philippines, it’s even worse when it comes to godchildren.  It is considered an obligation to say yes if someone asks you to be a  ninong  or  ninang, and never mind if you plead that you’re not Catholic or not religious, or even if you’re an atheist.

The result is that early in adult life, you can easily end up with a dozen or so godchildren. If you’re rich and famous, you end up with even more. I remember the rumor that the godchildren of former president Joseph Estrada, now mayor of Manila, ran into the thousands and that some of them even organized themselves for nonprofit status.

So every year as Christmas approaches, we go crazy trying to figure out what to give the troops of godchildren we’ve accumulated. The easiest of course is to go to the bank and withdraw crisp bills to dole to them, or pick up cheap toys.  On Christmas Day itself, some people become refugees, leaving the toys and/or cash with a helper and telling them to just give to whoever drops in. An accountant-friend leaves a ledger book for godchildren to sign, and has sometimes found names she can’t remember as being her godchildren.

There are brave ones who stay home, resigned to the invasions and going through the ritual—“Mano  po,  Meri  Krismas,” a hug and a handout. Each visit is pretty much like a doctor’s consultation with a few minutes of polite conversation.  The visitors are usually the ones who will excuse themselves, as they have to go off to visit other ninong  and  ninang.

Like harassed parents with too many biological children, godparents with many godchildren end up abandoning the social responsibilities that are supposed to come with godparenting.

I was lucky here. My parents limited my baptismal godparents to three, and I remember many interactions with two of them. One was a Chinese newspaper publisher who died all too early, but I do remember visiting him frequently in his office, at a time when newspaper offices were filled with the noise of typewriters and typesetting equipment.  Who knows? Maybe those visits primed me to work, many years later, for the Inquirer.

Books and music

The other ninong I had many more years of interactions. This was Francisco de la Rosa, who was a judge of the Court of First Instance in Pasay City.

“Come, come,” my ninong would tell me the minute I arrived at his place. “Tell me what you’ve been doing since we last met.”  He was especially interested in what I was learning in school. When I was older, he began to talk current events with me, including his take on what was happening, and the message was always simple: the need to follow the law, follow the rules.

As I was preparing today’s column, I googled his name in the hope of getting more information about his personal life.  What I got were several “vs. Francisco de la Rosa” entries, court cases where he was the defendant. Oh, no, I thought, was there a side to my  ninong  that I was not aware of? But it turned out these were cases filed against him because he was doing his job. One involved a lawyer arguing that his client, who had been arrested and tried by my  ninong  for trying to smuggle in more than 20 gold bars, was a resident coming home with “personal effects”!

Then there were five cases filed against him by a court clerk who he had cited for contempt, for quarreling with another court clerk and for shouting in court. The clerk was clearly trying to get back at the judge, but her cases were thrown out.  I could imagine my ninong frowning at the rude clerk during her outbursts, and thought of my own encounters, as an administrator, with rude faculty and staff.

If my ninong were still alive, I have no doubt he would have very strong views about the Binay encounter with security guards last Nov. 30. What I learned from him, early in life, is that there are reasons for rules and laws, and when it’s lawmakers and officials who break those rules, then don’t expect people to follow the laws.

I looked forward to each visit to the De la Rosas’ residence because their home was filled with books, and art work, and musical instruments. Ninong was a voracious reader, and made sure I’d love books, too. His gifts were always books, obviously carefully chosen, I suspect, by Ninang, who was always busy preparing something for guests, but would sit occasionally and join the conversations.

The De la Rosas were a musical family; everyone played a classical instrument. One Christmas he gave me a violin but the road to becoming a virtuoso was cut short when, after several weeks of apparently excruciating lessons at home, my parents (perhaps with the prompting of the teacher) realized something was wrong and brought me to an audiologist who confirmed that I had a hearing problem.

The violin did stay in our house and later went to one of my godchildren.

And so it went—many truly merry Christmases as well as non-Christmas visits with my ninong and ninang.  One of their children, Nieves, supported social realist painters long before they became fashionable, and got me involved in rural volunteer work while in college, changing my summers, and my life.

Granddaughter

After the couple died, I lost touch with the family—until recently, when I had to be a judge for the National Book Awards.  I had just arrived at the venue and was greeted by a young woman who said, “My father is Donald de la Rosa.” When people introduce themselves that way, my brain goes into an auto search for students from almost 30 years of teaching. But in this case, I knew immediately who she was referring to, and replied without hesitation, “Yes, Donald. His father, your lolo, was my ninong!”

Even without her naming him, Camille’s warmth, and her being a staff member of the National Book Development Board, brought back memories of loving godparents and their books and musical instruments, as well as kindness and graciousness. Camille, now working with books, too, is obviously her lolo’s granddaughter.

And, I am proud to say, as someone who not only reads but also writes books, that I am my ninong’s godchild, intent on carrying on, as he did, the original tradition of a godparent.

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