Fear and Loathing in Charlottesville: A Best Man, His Speech, and a Wahoo Wedding

I had the honor of serving as best man for my best friend's (Alex) wedding this April. Alex and his wife, Valerie, had gotten married in 2013, but were having their grand ceremony ex post facto. Alex had given me advanced notice two years prior to the ceremony, and I was stoked for the day to finally come. One of my chief responsibilities was fashioning a best man speech, and I took great care to share a memorable speech at the wedding.

I spent the few months prior to the wedding planning out a bachelor party for the groom and avoiding the speech altogether. It was too much for me to think about  having to stand in front of Diment and Cardenas relatives, former UVA classmates, and complete strangers spilling my heart to the bride and groom.  As a seasoned wedding pianist, I  had seen many a drunken, unlettered, or unprepared dingus embarrass himself as the bestest mensch. I vowed that I would not be a bumbling best man.

The bachelor party was a smashing success, as the groomsmen braved a late D.C. February snowstorm to revel in Alex's pending matrimony, weekend warrior style. Despite our jobs and extended time away from college, we somehow remembered how to have fun. By the time March rolled around, I hadn't penned a lick of the speech.

The only known surviving photo of the gallant groom's bachelor party

I got a bit of a boost from my girlfriend, Cams, who gave me some handy best man reading - two ebooks  titled Being the Best Man for Dummies, and Be The Best Man & Make a Stunning Speech. These texts proved to be invaluable, laying out the complete history of the best man, what to expect, how to support the groom in the role, and, of course, how to write an original and entertaining best man speech. Still, the writing was slow going. I wanted the words to come out perfectly, but the quality writing process is not so.

Cams suggested that I let the words flow, write down all the thoughts that come to my head, and then subsequently focus on refining the material. I didn't really have anything substantial until two weeks before showtime, and was getting that sinking feeling I used to get the night before a paper was due in college. I had done some of my best undergraduate work under the influence of adrenaline with a deadline looming over my head, so I harkened back to what I learned on Grounds, knuckled down, and got the speech down on paper. In the week leading up to the wedding, I was still editing and revamping some sections, but felt optimistic about what I had so far.

The confidence I had in my speech quickly drained when I realized I had still had to practice reciting it out loud. I've never liked the sound of my own voice, and always felt somewhat awkward making public speeches. I don't have stage fright per se, but have never looked forward to presenting in school or church. Nonetheless, I gave it the old college try. I worked on my facial expressions and gestures, and practiced pauses, inflections, and vocal dynamics to try and breathe more life into my speech. I rehearsed in front of Cams, and she gave me further suggestions on how to improve. The day of the wedding rehearsal, I hurriedly printed my three page speech, and told myself it was as good as it was going to get. Cams and I headed down Rt. 29, and turned up in Charlottesville around 2 in the afternoon.

Reviewing the playbook at the dress rehearsal

As those who know, a decent sized wedding is a combination of spectacle, family reunion, and college homecoming, You get the rare opportunity to see a crazy aunt from South Carolina in the same venue as a college buddy from freshman year. My best friend's wedding was a UVA-centric affair, held in Charlottesville, the home of our alma mater. The ceremony contained a mixture of Filipino-Catholic elements, complete with communion and several smaller ceremonies (coin blessing,cord/veil draping) unique to the Filipino tradition.

All in all, the wedding, from the music to the food to the reception was superb, and my speech turned out to be the right stuff. There were some laughing, crying, and reminiscing moments sprinkled throughout the speech, and I received several compliments at the end of the reception from friends and family, including the father of the bride. As a successful best man, I wanted to share some best man thoughts that have rambled through my head during the past two months:

1) Prepare for the speech - Proper planning prevents poor performance. Nothing looks worse than a flustered guy in a suit blundering through an off-the-cuff speech. At multiple weddings, I've seen best men sidle up to the microphone full of booze and bravado, and then totally blank out. Inevitably, they try to recall memories (mostly off-color) of the bride or groom, exacerbating the situation even more. Most people aren't oratory maestros, so a bit of preparation goes a long way. At the least, use some notecards and jot down your ideas before they get erased by the celebratory shots after the ceremony. Knowing my lack of extemporaneous speech-making capabilities, I typed up my entire speech, and enlarged the font for better view.

2) Support the groom - Be the Scottie Pippen to the groom's Michael Jordan. Like the Bulls' legendary multifaceted forward, the best man should complement the groom in every aspect of the ceremony. The groom's mind will be on the bride and the magnitude of the moment, so expect to assist in some logistics, planning, and lots of moral support. Luckily, Alex and his wedding coordinator had thought of most everything, so my responsibilities were limited to delivering a check to the priest and musicians, holding the rings before the exchange, and participating in the cord/veil draping ceremonies.

3) Don't drink too much - Cherish the moment and remember it. I vowed that I would celebrate with the rest of my friends at the wedding, but not get hammered drunk. I needed to be coherent enough to get through a speech without alcohol affecting my brain. I still wanted to be able to assist the groom in the time of emergency, and enjoy my girlfriend's company as well. It turns out that the bride's father needed help moving a large pile of wedding gifts back to his hotel suite after the reception, and my roommate and I were ready for the task.

4) Don't throw the bride (or groom) under the bus - Regardless of your thoughts about the couple, the tradition of marriage, or the wedding itself, add positive energy in being supportive to both the bride and the groom. It is not becoming for the wedding couple to have a groomsman/bridesmaid who does not encourage them on their special day.

5) You aren't the star of the show, you are the sideman for the bride and groom - Any bluesman that was worth their salt had a steady, reliable sideman that enhanced their music. The sideman provided little embellishments behind the star in helping shape the star's sound. A good best man functions in the same way, working behind the scenes and helping in any way he can.

That's me and my lovely girlfriend, Cams, enjoying the wedding reception.





As far as advice goes, that's all I got. All weddings are different and the best man has unique responsibilities and roles in each one. However, in the modern age of weddings, what does not differ is the best man's most visible and meaningful task - making a stellar speech. Below is a link to Valerie and Alex's wedding montage (set to the audio of some of my speech), and the speech text. Special thanks to Cams for helping me with the speech every step of the way, and being my cheerleader when I needed motivation. The thoughtfulness and depth of your love never fail to amaze me.

https://vimeo.com/125152937

                                                             Alex’s Best Man Speech

For those of you who don’t know who I am, my name is Josh Borden, and I am the best man. First of all, thank you to the Cardenas and Diment families for their love and support of Valerie and Alex. None of this would be possible without you. Thank you to Father Jerome, the bridesmaids, the groomsmen, and everyone who helped in the service. Thank you to the bridesmaids for helping the bride, you all look amazing.
So believe it or not, this is the second time Alex is getting married – The first wedding in 2013, he married a girl by the name of Valerie Cardenas and now, he’s marrying a girl named Valerie Diment.

I remember when Alex told me he was going to propose to Valerie in December of 2012. Alex and I chat on the phone a couple times a week after work, and during this call, he shared with me in hushed tones, in his Alex Diment way, “My dude…I’m about to propose to Val.” I responded with, “Forreal!?” Alex excitedly replied, and said, “Yeah bro.” A few weeks after that he asked me to be his best man. So when you think about it, I’ve had more than two years to prepare for this speech, and I’m still not ready.

I make my speech while the happy couple looks on

 My friendship with Alex started because I was lucky enough to join the same Filipino club at UVA that brought Valerie and Alex together. I had met Alex my first year, but we became friends during my second year, Alex’s third year. We cultivated our friendship when we lived together Alex’s final year at UVA, and he’s been my best friend ever since.

Our friendship has been characterized by crazy camping trips, cheesy references to Angels in the Outfield and the Mighty Ducks trilogy, the ups and downs of being a UVA sports fan, countless phone conversations, and a lifetime of stories that begin with, “So do you remember that time at St. Maartens?”

So I had a bunch of embarrassing stuff to share with you all about Alex, but the list was just too long (this is where I whip out a mock scroll of Alex's embarrassing moments) so I’ll have to spare you the details.

Just kidding. There are many character traits that define Alex and make him the man we all know and love. For one thing, Alex is stubborn. A testament to that is his refusal to not go camping, even when Mother Nature herself tells him he shouldn’t. Alex, do you recall the time you, me, and Tri went camping in sub-20 degree weather? Or how about the time our tent almost blew away in Hurricane Sandy? Yes, once Alex sets his mind on something, there’s no dissuading him.
As his brother can attest, Alex is tenacious at proving a point. As a boy one night, Alex kept meat in his mouth from dinner time to morning. His mom was, and I quote, shocked and appalled that he kept the food in his mouth the whole night.

Alex is also a very imaginative person who has created a colorful cast of characters that come to life through his impressions. Some of you – Valerie especially – may have made acquaintances with Sharkie Steve, Sean O’Malley, and Tater. To anyone else, keeping up with Alex’s many alter egos would be an arduous task. But kudos to Valerie for not only keeping up with him, but always being one step ahead.

Is someone cutting onions in here?

I’ve only known Alex since he’s been with Valerie, but I know that Valerie has changed Alex’s life for the better. Alex is happier, a more responsible, more caring, and motivated man because Valerie sees the best in him. Alex and Valerie make each other better, as I have already seen them use the challenges, joys, struggles, and celebrations of marriage to draw closer to each other.

 I am overjoyed that we are celebrating the commitment of Alex and Valerie to each other in the presence of those who care most about them. We live in temporary times. Technologies that are cutting edge are soon obsolete. Companies that are household names disappear overnight. Relationships come and go, and commitment is increasingly rare. Even marriage is no longer a prerequisite for starting a family. So let us celebrate the decision of Alex and Valerie to commit to each other in the traditional way of marriage.
This celebration is a testament to the bond you two have developed over time, a bond that has transcended time zones, area codes, and countries. From the Philippines, to Charlottesville, to Fairfax, to Virginia Beach, and now to Boston, you two have always kept each other at the center of your lives. What makes your relationship great is the strength and joy you find in each other. Continue to grow in your love for each other every day. Alex, I may have the title of best man for the day at your wedding, but in life, you have shown everyone that you truly are the best man.
 I propose a toast to the happy couple. To quote a very special UVA song, “For as long as love and liquor last, let’s drink to Alex and Valerie.”

photo credit: https://www.facebook.com/wearethemitchells

Cheers to the bride and groom!

Manila Proper

During November of 2014, I had the opportunity to spend eight days with my girlfriend, Cams, in the Philippines. After seven months of being apart from her, I had accumulated enough vacation leave and extra money to make the trek east.

I spent weeks leading up to the flight nervously anticipating our reunion. Questions such as how will we be around each other after being apart for so long, whether or not I would adjust to the climate and time difference, and if her family and friends would like me routinely tormented my mind. Prior to my flight, winter had arrived in Northern Virginia with its bitter cold, and I was eager to escape to a warmer place. As I collected my boarding documents and travel belongings, I meditated on what I wanted to do on the trip. My goals were simple: take lots of pictures, be in the moment with Cams, and have an open mind throughout the experience.

Depending on which airline you take, the trip to the Philippines is normally a two or three step process. Most flight itineraries include a twelve hour marathon flight to Japan, followed by a shorter four hour jaunt to Manila. I took All Nippon Airways roundtrip, as it had the most direct route and cheapest airfare. 

After my roommate, Tri, dropped me off at Dulles International Airport at dawn, the subsequent rigmarole of baggage check, TSA security inspection, and boarding was relatively painless. One hour before takeoff, I was vigilantly checking the weather report, as snow was beginning to accumulate on the runway. Once we boarded, we sat in the plane while they de-iced the wings.  Finally after waiting an hour, we were at cruising altitude on our way to Narita International Airport in Tokyo. Twelve hours’ worth of movies, in-flight meals, and refiltered air in a confined space made me somewhat restless, dehydrated, and irritable, but my conversations with my seat neighbor helped pass the time. I never did catch his name, but he was an Indian man on his way to Singapore, his current home. He explained that he worked in IT for Hewlett-Packard and bounced between Seattle, Singapore, and India every couple months.  We shared an insightful discussion on cultural differences between the East and West, and how religions in India are able to coexist without much animosity or dysfunction (He is a practicing Hindu but many of his friends are Buddhist or Islam). The rest of the passengers appeared to be Asian executive types, Filipino titos and titas, and student aged kids like me on holiday.

I noticed an immediate difference flying ANA in comparison with American airlines. On American airlines, you often feel that your mere presence on the plane is a hassle, and that any request would be an inconvenience to the crew. I judge this by the brusque manner and impatient tone of the flight crew. Maybe it would be different flying first class. However, on ANA, the crew was polite, patient, and good-natured the entire time.

After I got through customs in Tokyo, I was ready for my next leg of the trip. I only had 40 minutes to get to hurry to catch my flight to Manila, but I was able to do a bit of window shopping on the way. Like most large airports, the inside of Narita features the soul-deadening consumerism of a fashion mall, with major retailers and large food chains along each terminal. Business as usual in the US, but it was just as disheartening to see more of the same.

On the Tokyo to Manila flight, the passenger sitting next to me provided me one last reminder of home. A US ex-Marine currently living in Seattle,  he intimated to me that he was visiting the PI to see a few of his “girlfriends,” a not-so-subtle moniker that white expatriates have for Filipinas in which they have relations, sexual or otherwise. I put in my headphones, and watched airplane TV for the rest of the trip.

After I exited the aircraft, I was worried about getting through the renowned labyrinth known as Ninoy Aquino International Airport, but I had no problems getting through customs and finding my baggage. Cams was waiting for me with outstretched arms near the gate, and we shared a long-awaited, warmhearted embrace before heading out of the airport.

 

The first major contrast between Manila and the US was the traffic. As the highways are brooding and unpredictable at any time of day, defensive driving is the norm, and staying in some sense of traffic flow is rare. Motorbikes weave in and out of traffic and drivers regularly cut each other off to gain an extra inch of space. Buses swerve in front of moving vehicles to get in a specific lane, while drivers jockey for positioning in crowded intersections. Jeepneys (Filipino mass public transport vehicles) routinely stop in the road to drop off or pick up passengers. Basic US conceptions of traffic decorum (maintain safe distance between cars, avoid blocking intersections, use horn only if necessary) are nonexistent.

As Cams deftly snaked her way through the traffic on EDSA, one of the major highway systems in Manila, another immediate difference I observed was the sheer volume of people in the street. Whether it was a peddler or a hitchhiker, the line between the sidewalk and the road is blurred. If I recall correctly, when driving in Manila, one runs the risk of sideswiping a pedestrian or errant vehicle on a regular basis. This put me in a somewhat uneasy mood any time I was in the car.

By the time we arrived at where I was to stay, I was feeling jet-lagged, famished, but excited to finally be in Manila with Cams. Thankfully, she had taken care of housing accommodations, and I stayed in her aunt’s vacant apartment in Fort Bonifacio (or Bonifacio Global City). Highly commercialized and urban, the area evoked images of the LA Skyline in miniature. Her aunt’s apartment overlooked a posh golf course, and the amenities included a rooftop infinity pool.  

 Manila sunset, view from Fairways tower

 

That night, I was able to unwind with Cams and grab a slice of pizza at a nearby restaurant before resting up for the next day. Cams had scheduled an action-packed week for us, so it was crucial that I try to sleep before venturing out.

After a somewhat restless sleep, Cams and I grabbed a hearty brunch close to my apartment. I was still groggy from the flight; as I was to meet her extended family for the first time that evening, we agreed that we would spend the day resting. However, Cams surprised me and took me to a lights show. As an overwhelmingly Christian nation, the Christmas spirit runs high, and holiday lights shows are popular in malls, parks, and open spaces throughout the PI. That evening, I received a warm Filipino welcome from her father’s side of the family. I feasted on homemade Filipino cuisine, and afterwards, played a few tunes on her auntie’s piano. After saying our goodbyes to the family, Cams and I headed back to Fort Bonifacio to rest for the night.

 

The next day, we headed to the beaches of Batangas. Ed and Celize, Cams’ friends, accompanied us southward to our resort at dawn, and Ed drove his pickup truck. Cams and I decided we needed a nap on the way, but the bumpy roads, combined with the visual overload of tropical landscapes and approaching barangays (Filipino for villages) prevented me from getting a wink of sleep.  I wanted to take in as many sights and sounds as I possibly could.  Our first stop was Jollibbee, the Philippines’ fast food answer to McDonalds, complete with rice meals and their own pop theme songs. We also stopped on the side of the road to hail a man selling taho, a sweet tofu comfort food. He carried the two buckets of taho with a stick across his back, and scooped the taho into clear, plastic cups with a ladle. I slurped the taho out of the cup as it cooled.

The mestizo gets some fresh taho.

As we traveled deeper into the rural, more jungly parts of Luzon, I saw the vast levels of poverty that affect millions of Filipinos. I can’t say that I understand all of the ways that poverty impacts one’s quality of life, but I did notice that many families live in dwellings that barely function as houses, children often beg for change from cars passing through their towns, and that the lack of development and infrastructure in many rural areas compound the problems.

 

By the time we pulled up the steep driveway of our beach, I was ready to unwind. But first, I surveyed our lodging for the next two days. Palm Beach Resort sat on the sandy, palm tree-dotted coastline of the South China Sea. It advertised itself as a family resort, and I noticed only a few international travelers during our stay there. Our upper level room came with a balcony that overlooked the beach. I enjoyed the mom & pop feel of the place, as opposed to a more touristy, party-oriented atmosphere.

After a Filipino lunch buffet and a brief nap, we decided to take advantage of the mild weather, and took a dip in the pool. Whiskey and beers on the balcony with Ed and Celize followed soon after, and by the time the dinner call came, the sun had already sunk below the horizon. Unbeknownst to me, my thoughtful girlfriend had prepared a private surprise dinner by the beach. We arrived at the table by candlelight. Waves crashed in the foreground, while a gentle breeze caressed our faces. The stars hung low in the sky, and I really enjoyed sharing that moment with Cams. It was one of the most perfect and peaceful nights I have ever experienced.

 

I lamented that we only had one night in Batangas, but by mid-morning the next day, we were all packed to head back towards Manila. Our next stop would be Alabang, a commercial center 13 miles south of Manila. We stayed at the Azumi Boutique Hotel, an upscale high rise hotel not far from Alabang Town Center. Besides being plagued with some brief bouts of severe hunger, our stay was pleasant. We watched a few of my favorite movies, including Pee Wee’s Big Adventure and Some Like It Hot. Overall, it was an opportunity to spend some alone time with Cams.

Our next destination was Bacolod in Negros, my Lolo’s (Filipino for grandfather) home province. We traveled Cebu Air, and the in-flight gameshows (the Philippines is noted for its affection for gameshows) were very entertaining, even though my Tagalog is poor. Once we exited the Bacolod-Silay airport, the heat was very oppressive. The airport staff directed us towards a cab and we found one that would take us to our hotel.

One of the compelling things on the trip was that our airport taxi driver’s mannerisms reminded me of my Lolo. His hands looked very similar, and he did this clicking thing with his mouth when he appeared to be thinking. As the Silay-Bacolod area is the sugar cane capital of the Philippines, my first sights of my Lolo’s homeland were agrarian, rural, untampered by industry. The two lane roads were juxtaposed by endless sugar cane fields that stretched all the way to the mountains.

 

Before we headed to our hotel, we both agreed that we should eat some local fare before we got too hungry. Cams chose Aida’s Chicken, a hole-in-the-wall type place that serves authentic chicken inasal. I ate the crispy, marinated grilled chicken with my bare hands, and washed the meal down with a San Miguel Lite.  Extremely satisfied with our meal, we taxied to our destination, L’Fisher Hotel Bacolod, a 70’s style hotel in the middle of town.  

When we first got to the room, we were worried that the air conditioning was broken at first, but realized that our key card activated the thermostat. By the afternoon, the warmer temperatures, the flight to Bacolod and my daily bout with jet lag had sapped my energy, so we spent most of the day in our room out of the heat.

Our full day in Bacolod was a big adventure. We first toured The Ruins in Talisay City, a sugar baron mansion built by Don Lacson, and subsequently gutted by the US in World War II. I found the house to be quite the relic from Spanish colonial occupation, but I feared the sun was getting the best of me, so we headed back to the cab after an hour or so.

The Ruins, Bacolod

 

A 30 minute drive brought us to the Negros Museum in Negros Occidental, my Lolo’s birthplace. The museum spans the various colonial occupations of Negros (Spanish, British, US, Japanese) and celebrates Negrense culture. Although the museum appeared to be a bit outdated, I found it to be a more accurate account of the people’s history and culture. Also, they had a unique display of toys around the world as well. We grabbed sandwiches at the museum café, and headed out of town.

We both wanted to see the some of the heritage houses, so we directed our cab driver in the direction of Silay. The first house was antiquated and unmemorable, but when we walked in the second house, we we were greeted by the owner, Ramon Hofilena. Ramon’s tour was just as much a guide to Filipino culture as it was the story of his life. The house serves as the backdrop where Mr. Hofilena dazzles guests with long tales from his days as a swimsuit model, New York actor, and suave Casanova. Seeking air conditioning and hoping that our taxi driver hadn’t left us, we left halfway through the tour.

One of the interesting parts of the day was the interactions with our taxi driver. Cams was suspicious that we were being overcharged for our cab fares because we were tourists. She tried to bargain with the driver, as he never turned his meter on, and had decided one fixed price before he agreed to take us. In spite of his high rates, he turned out to be very helpful, insightful, and even knew of a Delumpa (my grandparent’s last name) that worked at a university in Negros.

That night, we went to the poolside bar at the hotel.  There were mangos and pineapples behind the bar. Cams and I ordered mango margaritas, which come to find out, came with complimentary refills. When the evening chill came, we swam about in the pool to warm up. We went back up to the room and I drank a bit more, while Cams sobered up.

The next morning we made our return trip to Manila, and I lamented the fact that my trip and my time with Cams were slowly coming to an end.  We had lunch with her parents, and met up with her friends that evening at a bar in Metro Manila.

On my last full day in Manila I picked up some gifts for my family. We stopped by a tourist store at SM Aura, one of the big shopping malls in Manila. I got a black pearl bracelet for my mom, a jeepney shirt for my brother and his girlfriend, and some dried mangos for my dad. There was a somber tone to the day, as Cams and I realized that we would be separated by oceans once again. We shared supper at a nearby American restaurant in Fort Bonifacio before spending some final hours together before packing for my Friday early morning flight.

I feel that traveling to the Philippines opened up a new world to me. Cams has a supportive family and a tight-knit group of friends who welcomed me with kind words and smiles.  In between all of our travels, I was hoping to get some kind of handle on how to make a living and find meaningful employment in the Manila area. Given the right circumstances, I would like to move to Manila within this year.

It was only during brief periods of time in the provinces that the language barrier was problematic for me.  As English was the original medium of instruction for Americans in the PI and is the global business language today, most Filipinos speak and understand English partially, if not completely.

Since I wasn’t able to stay for an extended period of time, I never did get quite used to the time change or the humidity. I would experience bouts of fatigue and slight dizziness each afternoon. Cams informed me that it takes about two weeks to acclimate your body to the heat and the12 hour time change.

Because of Cams’ planning, resourcefulness, generosity, and knowledge of the country, I was able to see more of the Philippines in a week than most tourists see in a month. She possesses a cultural insight and awareness of both US and Filipino culture, and can explain a variety of each culture’s subtle and distinct differences. Her English and Tagalog are impeccable, as she was able to navigate social situations that were totally confusing to me.

Isn't she lovely?

 

As we hadn’t seen each other in over seven months, this trip was more than just my first time out of the US, and a sightseeing tour of the motherland. It strengthened our love for each other and confirmed that we are meant to be together. After being apart for so long, it was exciting to see that we had not missed a beat. I really had the blues after we had to say our goodbyes, but we’re working on a stateside reunion in April.

60 years after my Lolo permanently left the Philippines for the US, I’m yearning to be back. Cams is very supportive of the proposed move, and thinks that I could actually save a bit of money if I land the right job. Relocating there would be an opportunity to live abroad, learn more about the culture of the Philippines, and be with Cams. And that’s exactly where I want to be.

   

 Lolo on the left as a police officer             

         Metro Manila, Roxas Boulevard, circa late 1930's/early 1940's.

 

 

 Josh and Cams, Metro Manila,

                                                                     December 3, 2014

 

Catharsis

Without much ado, I have decided to start this blog as a gateway to my lens of consciousness and mind’s realm. The human mind is such a beautiful, complex instrument – so beautiful that it wholeheartedly impedes any attempts at my own self-improvement. In my experiences, any time the brain is provided evidence that it needs to change, defense mechanisms bombard your psyche against any deviance from the status quo.
Thus, my oft-occurring thoughts that it would be cool to write and thinking that I would be a good writer were only missing one essential element – the part where I actually write things.
So here I am, etching my words into the interwebs via transistors, nodes, and IP addresses.
In today’s consumer-driven, rat race, “techno-soul-snatching” society mostly bereft of creativity and authenticity, I often consider how modern 1st world humans spend the majority of their time consuming things other people made (TV, Taco Bell, websites) versus creating something of their own. This blog is an attempt to fight that trend, find a grip on what is true and real, and document life’s innumerable serendipitous synchronicities.

Eulogy for Lolo

Yesterday would have been my Lolo's 89th birthday. He passed away last August, and below is the eulogy I gave at his funeral mass.

Good morning. Many of you are here to honor the life of a man that you knew as a friend, a father, or a father-in-law. But to us, his 7 grandchildren, Fernando Deblois Delumpa was simply known as Lolo.

Almost 5 years ago, I spoke at my grandmother Rosalie’s funeral. Lolo was here in the second pew of the church, and afterwards, with tears welling up in his eyes, he embraced me and said, “Joshua, thank you for your words – they were beautiful.” What he said has lingered with me, and in the spirit of that remark, I hope that I can commemorate his life in the wake of his own passing.

It is an honor to be here before you. An honor to have the opportunity to give my family words of peace and encouragement, as well as a joy to share with you my stories of this extraordinary man. But it is daunting to frame a life that spanned 88 years in the few minutes I have to speak to you. Do I know enough about the whole of Lolo’s life? Probably not. I can’t tell you what he was like during his youth in the Philippines. I don’t know what he faced during his time in the Navy. I only know a little about his courtship of Lola and their wedding. And I can’t tell you what he was like as a father.

But I, along with my cousins and my brother, have had the greatest luck to be his grandchildren. And we can tell you what it was like to know Fernando Delumpa as a Lolo. And really, is there any better title that can be bestowed upon a man than Lolo?

As one of his grandchildren, I grew up spoiled under a devoted grandfather’s attention. My earliest memories of Lolo are in a one-story brick house at 6900 Adele Drive. When I was a young boy, I would spend weeks at a time with Lolo and Lola. There at the house, Lolo would teach me to play blackjack, let me bang on the piano, and watch me run around the backyard. He showed me the value of “lo-lo prices” during shopping sprees at Big Lots & Dollar Tree, and he had quite the appetite for fried chicken and Chinese buffets. He would teach me Tagalog and tell me numerous times, with glee, how the nurse handed me to him immediately after I was born.

I watched him grow beautiful gardens and dance with Lola at Novenas. I watched him faithfully serve the congregation and the Fil-Am community in this very church. My fondest memory of Lolo occurred when I was 5 or 6 years old. I was sleeping in Lolo’s guest room, and I became frightened from a nightmare. I went into Lolo’s room, and expected him to say that I should return to my room. Yet, instead of sending me back to sleep, Lolo made a little bed for me right next to his bed. As I lay down to sleep, Lolo started to talk with me. He told me stories until I fell asleep. I continued to sleep by his side for years, and was one of many grandchildren to experience Lolo’s love.

No matter which grandchild you were, whether you saw him every day or only saw him once a year, Lolo had the natural ability to make you feel important and loved. You always knew he was silently cheering for each of us to find happiness and success. It was the smallest of moments that Lolo truly made you feel special. I hope I never forget the way he said each of our names when he saw the grandchildren outside on his driveway on Adele Drive, or when he would arrive at the beach house at the Outer Banks. There was a ring to his voice and a smile on his face that left no doubt in your mind that at least for that moment, you were the center of his world.

Lolo’s time in the Navy spanned 30 years. Undoubtedly, it was one of the defining chapters of his life. I don’t know a lot of detail about what he experienced during those years, but surely there were days when he thought his life could end on an ocean battlefield rather than quietly in his bed 50 years later. I’ve often wondered if Lolo had any idea how his future would play out after he returned home from sea. Under the starry night in the Pacific Ocean, did he imagine the birth of 4 beautiful daughters? Daughters who would go on to success in their own lives and raise their own families?

Did he have any idea that he would become a respected leader in the St. Pious community? Could he have imagined that his family would grow to include 7 grandchildren, causing his home to burst at the seams with our laughter and love for each other? I don’t know the answer to any of these questions, but I would venture a guess that the reality of what Lolo called that “great life” is much sweeter than he could have imagined as a handsome, young man in the Philippines so long ago.

At his heart, Lolo was a family man. From day one, he has taught his grandchildren what it means to be family. It was his family that kept him going – this wonderfully crazy, close-knit, loving family. A family that supports each other, that reaches out to help its own and many others. A family that loves being together because it never fails to have a great time and make memories. A family that is not perfect, but is so often recognized by others as something very special. This kind of family doesn’t happen by accident. It starts at the top. It started with Lolo. This family is the best possible testament to the character of Lolo.

As I grow older, I realize that family is more than a common ancestry. It shapes you and colors you and binds you. You can feel the tangible connections between us, linked through time from the past and fading into the future. Lolo was at the center of so many quiet traditions and unspoken ceremonies that have made up the fabric of our family. The memories remain as a constant reminder of who he was, and his impact on all of our lives.

I know that the past few months, and especially this week, have been hard. There has been sadness and tears and we are all feeling the emptiness of a house that will no longer see Lolo watching Dancing with the Stars after dinner.

Henry James said that “Sorrow comes in great waves...but rolls over us, and though it may almost smother us, it leaves us. And we know that if it is strong, we are stronger, inasmuch as it passes and we remain.” Although I am deeply saddened by the loss of Lolo, I find strength and hope in knowing that Lolo’s blood flows in my veins – who he was still lives in me, and will one day, live in my children and grandchildren. To my brother and my cousins, to my parents, my aunts, and my uncles – you only have to look around you right now. Look at what Lolo gave you. It isn’t land. It isn’t money. It is this family. This beautiful family is his legacy and every one of you – are part of it. How did we all get so lucky?

To our Lolo, we have just one last thing to say – Lolo it will be a little while, but we will come back and see you, okay? I know that at this very moment, you are walking in a garden somewhere, stopping to enjoy the flowers and take in the sunshine and fresh air. Send Lola our love, and don’t forget just how much you mean to us. Lolo, we love you and we miss you. Rest peacefully, you deserve it.

Reflections on My 4-H Days

On occasional nights, I lie in bed remembering my days as a staff member at Airfield 4-H Educational Center. These times are recounted herein, and they happened three consecutive summers from 2009 to 2011, having originated on the outskirts of my hometown, Wakefield, Virginia. When I wax nostalgic for these times, I implore myself to write it down for posterity. After recently meeting up with some of my former staff members for a reunion, I have finally submitted myself to the greater will of Airfield 4-H and hereby commit the tales to writing.

My staff experience started in May of 2009. Fresh off my first year at the University of Virginia, I was in search of a summer job to avoid ennui and keep my parents off my case. Like most hick towns in southeastern Virginia, employment opportunities are scarce, especially for college students looking for summer income. My mother advised me to start job searching at local eateries such as the Tasty Treat and the Virginia Diner, but I was not thrilled at the prospect of becoming a lackey for beach going tourists, motorcycle clubs, and old Wakefield fogies. Knowing that my job prospects were limited, one of my mother's friends, a local 4-H Extension Agent, told me that the 4-H center just gotten a new Program Director and was hiring lifeguards for the summer. I called the Program Director, Christie Goodman, and scheduled an interview for the same week.

I really had no expectations for working at 4-H camp. My only memory of camp was as a heat exhausted, shy, puberty stricken 13-year-old who didn't really know how to fit in. I thought I would be paid to get a tan, and maybe meet a few cool people my age. When I first walked in the interview, I immediately noticed Christie's charisma and enthusiasm for camp. During the interview, Christie asked me a few background and typical interview questions, as well as about my first year at UVA since she was a Virginia graduate.

I thought Christie would proceed to tell me my starting date as a lifeguard, but instead, she asked me if I would consider being on camp staff. She told me that I would work closely with the campers and staff, sing songs, and stay overnight with the other staff members. Excited from her depiction of camp, but somewhat nervous, as I had virtually no 4-H camp experience working with youth, I accepted the position as Residential Lifeguard. I had been hired on a summer contract to lifeguard at the pool, assist teaching swimming and canoeing to campers, and help lead the day-to-day activities (singing songs, leading line-ups, making sure the kids were safe, preparing the campfires, DJing the dance) throughout each week of camp.

The 4-H camping program went like this: Each week, a different county or county cluster in the 4-H Southeast District would camp at Airfield. The extension agents of each county were in charge of recruiting and registering campers for each week of camp. Airfield staff was responsible for facilitating the activities and managing camp as a whole. The campers were ages 9-13, and counselors/counselors in training were ages 14-18. Campers, CITs, and counselors were divided up into six teams, all representing different animals. These teams would compete for a Spirit Stick to be awarded at the end of the week. Staff was comprised of college aged kids that usually had some experience in the 4-H camping program.

On Sundays of each new camping week, Christie would have an orientation meeting where we would sign up for staff duties, discuss the county and extension agent's expectations for camp, provide feedback on our development as a team, and make adjustments as necessary.  Each staff member had a room that he or she would share with another staff member as living quarters for the week.

The day to day activities typically did not vary from week to week. On Mondays, the campers would arrive, get introduced to the staff, sign up for classes, and generally get acquainted to each other and life at camp. Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays included the bulk of camp activities. Campers would wake up and get dressed, head towards the Gray Building for line-up, flag ceremonies, song singing, and breakfast. Breakfast would be followed by three classes, and another line-up before lunch time. After lunch, the campers would have a rest period before recreation time. During recreation time, campers were free to swim at the pool, socialize, play sports or board games; and purchase crafts, consumables, and 4-H memorabilia from the canteen. Campers would head to line-up, dinner, and then team meetings. Staff would usually host an evening program (such as field or water olympics, dance, talent show, etc.), and close the day out with a campfire in front of the entire camp.

Although the routine of camp did not change, the character and demographic contrasted greatly each week. Some weeks we would get predominately low-income campers who  got three meals a day only at camp, and were not used to being outdoors. Other weeks, we would have campers who were very privileged, and viewed camp more as a form of entertainment.  Some weeks were a combination of all types. Each camping cluster demonstrated its 4-H spirit in various ways. The larger counties that camped alone, like Chesapeake, Virginia Beach, and Prince George, competed extremely hard for the Spirit Stick, and demonstrated their excitement through wearing team colors, face paint, and ridiculous outfits. Also, they had very high expectations for staff to lead an outstanding week of camp. The more predominately urban weeks expressed their excitement for camp through stepping, dancing, and performing in the talent show.

One may ask what makes 4-H camp different than other week long, stay over camps. Besides providing children with opportunities for play and interaction with their peers in a safe environment, 4-H promotes life skills such as critical thinking, respect for others, citizenship, care for one's fellow campers, and trust in others, and responsibility for oneself for the betterment of the group. The most rewarding part of each week was seeing campers more positive, thoughtful, engaged, and willing to step outside their comfort zone. Many campers would arrive and dread the fact that they are in the woods. By the end of the week, they didn't want to leave.

I spent three summers working and living at Airfield. My first summer, 2009, I learned the ropes and fell in love with camp. In 2010, I taught canoeing and spent the summer strengthening my friendships from the previous summer, while also burning some bridges as well. 2011 was my favorite summer, and the stars aligned for the most amazing staff ever. I worked as the administrative assistant in the office. Christie had assembled a "dream team" of positive, helpful,  and intelligent people that fully bought into her vision of a team-oriented, camper focused staff willing to sacrifice popularity for the greater good of camp.

When I look back, I realize that Christie was an outstanding boss, a superb team builder, and a first-rate administrator. She was the engine that drove camp to greatness. She sacrificed much of her personal life to make camp a better place. She always demanded the best out of staff, and understood that while staff is responsible for making the campers better, she was the driving force that could make each of us on staff reach our full potential.

For me, 4-H staff was the catalyst for vast personal and professional growth . It exposed me to a diverse group of people I would have never met in my relatively sheltered life. It helped me develop a strong work ethic, and was a canvas for my creativity. It enabled me to reinforce my strengths, while also improving my weaknesses. It also allowed me to meet some of the most talented, hilarious, caring, fun-loving people that will be my lifelong friends.

It is difficult to describe the sum of one's time while on Airfield camp staff. Camping at Airfield is the traditions as much as it is the relationships forged and experiences shared with other staff members. It's waking up at 6:30 a.m. to lead a flag ceremony. It's moving chairs and tables together after the dance. It's laying peanuts, chopping down Spirit Sticks, and doing team building activities for an entire week. It's singing your favorite song and not caring how goofy you look doing it. It's sitting on a stump in the dark on a Thursday night, seeing the campfire circle full of campers waiting to sing "I Got That 4-H Spirit" at the top of their lungs. It's eating Freezee pops and hanging out with your fellow staff members until 2 a.m. It's driving to 7-Eleven at 10:30 p.m. on dark back roads. It's operating on four hours of sleep, but still having enough energy to jump on the Moonbounce at the carnival.

There's something about spending long, sweaty 14 hour days together that bring out a person's true character. It wasn't always easy, and not everyone got along, but our experiences together made each of us better. You will never forget the ones that were by your side, through the good days and the bad; during the nights off and the Code Grays, during the trips to SWVA, and the last moments of the summer before school started again.


That’s it. This ends my reflections of the Airfield days. The summer after 2011, I graduated and most of the people who were on staff with me moved on as well. Even though I return from time to time, it's not quite the same. I will always share a bond with the people I spent 10 weeks out of the summer with on staff. And this is the real truth of our lives, what shimmers for us at the deepest level of our being. That happiness is only real when shared. The real revenge of the nerds is the life that goes its own way, has its twists and turns that often take you to exactly where you should be. A peripheral vision, if you will. Yes, my friends, this is goodnight and not goodbye.

Wanderlust

One month ago, I received an offer to be a court reporter, so I left the cozy cubicle confines of D.C. Government for life on the road (or the Metro, come to find out). Eventually, my boss told me I would be doing a little bit of traveling within the US and abroad, but as of now, I've been training at the company's office in Logan Circle, and court hopping in the metro area. Through my experience, I have found that a job description does not necessarily capture the day-to-day monotony of the job itself. So it goes.

 

Seeing that I was in between jobs for a week, high on cash, and hungry for adventure, I set out on my long-awaited road trip to see Americana. I would have one week to see the country and tear up the road before returning to working life.

I started my long-awaited adventure from Vienna to Cleveland. I lodged in the Cleveland Hostel, a downtown traveler's haven in the Ohio City Neighborhood that was formerly a Victorian style-hotel. After my trip, I schlepped around the downtown area, and ended up at Market Garden Brewery, a local brewery that specializes in organic brews. Three succulent pork tacos and three hearty beers later (I especially enjoyed the Wahoo Wit), I was back in my hostel bed, worn out, but anxious to travel the following day.

The next day started early, and was a whirlwind. First, I visited the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame on Cleveland's Lake Erie shore. The exhibits on the Allman Brothers Band, Beach Boys, Buffalo Springfield, and the British Invasion were fascinating, but I found that there was a disappointing lack of emphasis on roots music, R&B, country, and blues that propelled Rock and Roll to the forefront of American culture. 

After eating at the Winking Lizard, a sports bar in close proximity to the Browns, Cavaliers, and Indians' stadiums, I hustled an hour southward to Canton in a driving rain to see the Pro Football Hall of Fame. A friendly staff, coupled with my nostalgia for the past glory days of the Redskins,  made for an enjoyable visit. 

Four dreary hours later, I found myself in Newport, Kentucky, riding a Queen City Riverboat to the Great American Ballpark of the Cincinnati Reds.  Unfortunately, the game was rained out that night, but I was able to stop by the Reds Hall of Fame for a bit.  That night, I had no solid plans for lodging, but found a cheap hotel in Blue Ash, a Cincinnati suburb. Hotels Tonight, an iPhone app that finds hotels that peddle their unsold rooms for cheap, saved my hide.  I would recommend using it if you're ever in a bind for lodging, and it's a non-peak traveling period. 

The next day was my long driving day. Hungover, and somewhat exhausted from my previous excursions, I set out for New Orleans. I drove straight through Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, Alabama, and Mississippi (plus a few tornado warnings), until I barreled into my friend Anna's driveway off of South Claiborne Street. She lives a few blocks from Tulane, and teaches at a new charter school closer to the Quarter. We hit the French Quarter, and had a somewhat touristy night, seeing the River and all, but I told her that I wanted more of a local's perspective the next day. 

I relished my full day in New Orleans, the fact that I wasn't on the interstate for a change, and that I wasn't having to interact with strangers on a daily basis. She took me to Elizabeth's for brunch right off the Quarter. I got to see the Quarter in the daytime, and we went to a few local dive bars at night.

The next morning, I traveled seven hours to Hot Springs, North Carolina and stayed at Iron Horse Station.  I only saw a few hikers (the Appalachian Trail was built through Hot Springs) , but was able to make friends with some through-hikers from West Virginia and Germany. I'd never really seen the Smoky Mountains before, so that was a treat. From there, I headed to my hometown, Wakefield, Virginia, before returning northward to Vienna. 

All in all, it was an exciting trip. I enjoyed following my instincts for a change, and not having a fixed schedule. I hadn't really planned what I was going to do until the night before I arrived at each place, and I was able to visit everything I wanted to see. I wish I could've stayed in certain places longer (Hot Springs, New Orleans) so I could get more of a feel for the soul and the local culture of each place, but chalk it up to traveler's inexperience and not really knowing anyone where I visited. One often feels a debilitating sense of isolation in a new place with no contacts.  I didn't really stray off the interstate unless I was at my destination, and I understand that there is a plethora of sights and memorable misadventures off the beaten path.  Also, I wish I heard more local blues music. Especially in New Orleans.