"Nag-caroling pud ba mo katong bata pa mo?"
Yes, we did and our childhood years were probably richer because of it. One Christmas, Mama and Papa had "adopted" Jade, a boy from Lingap Center, to stay with us for the Christmas holiday. As luck would have it, he knew how to sing and he was the one who proposed the idea that we do some caroling on Christmas eve.
Our first client was, of course, my mother. So Jade, my brothers, and I lined ourselves up outside our house and began singing. After our performance, Mama gave us some coins and some "expert advice" as she waved us off to the next house.
Our pièce de résistance was the song "Sa Araw Ng Pasko". Yet, while I struggled to sing it, mentally hacking away at the lyrics I would soon often forget, Jade was singing the song beside me with gusto. It would only dawn on me later ("later" as in "after several years") how bittersweet the song was for Jade.
We proceeded in harassing our neighbors and that night was probably the last time I would feel so exhilarated at receiving a single peso coin.
The other neighborhood kids were more business-minded though. That night, I saw Jimboy, Billy Boy, and the rest of the Alpha Connection basketball squad huddled together in Gladiola Street. I happened to eavesdrop at their conversations and were surprised at how serious they were. Each member was assigned a particular street in the neighborhood and, rather than serenade each household as a group, they were going to roam around individually. Time was of the essence and, as individuals, they would cover more ground. They also talked about quotas, with each member being given a figure based on how many houses were there in his area of responsibility.
Going back to us, we had fun. Of course, there were bad apples, "mga barat" neighbors who would ignore us even though we had sang to them all three songs in our song list (Yes, we only had three songs).
But over all, we did make some money, which made us feel all so smug as we sat there around the dinner table, waiting for the Noche Buena.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
Yes, we did and our childhood years were probably richer because of it. One Christmas, Mama and Papa had "adopted" Jade, a boy from Lingap Center, to stay with us for the Christmas holiday. As luck would have it, he knew how to sing and he was the one who proposed the idea that we do some caroling on Christmas eve.
Our first client was, of course, my mother. So Jade, my brothers, and I lined ourselves up outside our house and began singing. After our performance, Mama gave us some coins and some "expert advice" as she waved us off to the next house.
Our pièce de résistance was the song "Sa Araw Ng Pasko". Yet, while I struggled to sing it, mentally hacking away at the lyrics I would soon often forget, Jade was singing the song beside me with gusto. It would only dawn on me later ("later" as in "after several years") how bittersweet the song was for Jade.
We proceeded in harassing our neighbors and that night was probably the last time I would feel so exhilarated at receiving a single peso coin.
The other neighborhood kids were more business-minded though. That night, I saw Jimboy, Billy Boy, and the rest of the Alpha Connection basketball squad huddled together in Gladiola Street. I happened to eavesdrop at their conversations and were surprised at how serious they were. Each member was assigned a particular street in the neighborhood and, rather than serenade each household as a group, they were going to roam around individually. Time was of the essence and, as individuals, they would cover more ground. They also talked about quotas, with each member being given a figure based on how many houses were there in his area of responsibility.
Going back to us, we had fun. Of course, there were bad apples, "mga barat" neighbors who would ignore us even though we had sang to them all three songs in our song list (Yes, we only had three songs).
But over all, we did make some money, which made us feel all so smug as we sat there around the dinner table, waiting for the Noche Buena.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
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