September is packed full of family memories.

 

This preference for September began with the wedding of my paternal grandparents, in the early evening of Sept. 16, 1910, at my grandfather’s family home, the Roces home, in Malacañang Street (as recorded by his son, my uncle, Alfredo Roces in his book “Looking for Liling”).

 

From this union came nine boys and one girl, born, again, on Sept. 10, six years to the day, in 1916.

 

Little Inocencia, named after her mother, my grandmother, Lola Enchay, was said to be beautiful and much welcomed after two boys before her, the eldest, Rafael Jr. (Liling), born in 1912, and, coming two years after him in, again, September, on the 28th, Jesus (Tuting).

 

Stricken with amoebic dysentery, their only sister didn’t live beyond two years. She died barely three months before my dad, Joaquin (Titong), was born, in 1918, on the same day as Tuting, Sept. 28.

 

Productive rhythm

 

Despite the painful experience, lola never broke her productive rhythm, giving birth every two years, just about the time she was weaning her last child. Jose (Peping), son number four, arrived on Sept. 29, 1920.

 

The most cumplido, the most thoughtful, the sweetest of the brothers, Tito Peping has been present in all significant family commemorations and events. He never missed a day at dad’s bedside, at the hospital or at home, and was with him when he passed on. He beat cousins Ninit, Sylvia and I to the hospital recently to visit Marcos Vidal, a first cousin of his, though closer to my dad’s age.

 

He’s back home now, looking well enough to celebrate his 96th before the end of the year. He outranks Peping as the patriarch of the Roces family by two years.

 

Ten births, four coming in September, three bunched together so closely in the final days of the month—it had me counting nine months back to possibly the same cold romantic December night of each year before.

 

This 28th of September, Tito Tuting would have turned 100 and my own dad 96. The 28th was shared with other famous birthday celebrators of their era, two of them President Diosdado Macapagal and Sen. Wenceslao Lagumbay, named after the day’s saint.

 

Fighting form

 

No one wants to miss Tito Peping’s birthday bash tomorrow, the 29th. It’s always a joy to see the surviving uncles, as few as they are now yet still in typical high spirits and fighting form, expressed in their trademark sense of humor. In them I can easily make out dad’s look and happy sound.

 

For the occasion, two brothers are arriving from abroad: From Los Angeles, Francisco (Pipo), 92, born on the feast day of St. Joseph, but, since Peping had already claimed the great saint’s name, he was named after lola’s father, tall, dark and handsome Lolo Kikoy; from Sydney, Alfredo (Ding), 82, the youngest. Between Tito Pipo and Ding had been two brothers who jumped the line, departing out of turn—Alejandro (Anding) and Luis (Chito).

 

Family bonds are regularly reinforced by a fondness for certain food and desserts, and September has certainly provided opportunities. The great cooks of the family have left a rich legacy of recipes.

 

Cousin Ninit, herself September-born, celebrated her 75th on the 7th. She was the truly worthy heir to her dad Tuting’s Bacalao and Fabada, and her mom Alice’s Paella. And cousin Lizzie surely has the recipe of Scottish shortbread cookies from her half-Scottish mom, Irene, wife to Anding.

 

Indeed, we carry family memories in our taste buds as well as in our hearts, having found the surest way there through our stomachs.

 

Tito Peping’s party promises to be a typical Roces feast of specialty food, and this time we look forward to his daughter Peewee’s Paella de Rabo and Paella Negra, all from her mom, Carmen.

 

War hero

 

September also marks the death anniversary of my mom, Lita, and my Aunt Noring, cousin Sylvia’s mom and wife to Liling, our very own war hero. Mom and Tita Noring died on exactly the same day, Sept. 19, 2007. Time was when Sept. 30 was reserved for Tita Noring’s birthday celebration and such Prawns Thermidor and strawberry pie as only she could make. We’d have missed her cooking if her daughter, Sylvia, hadn’t learned her trade secrets.

 

Unfortunately, I never expected to lose mom so soon. Her mechado, tapa, arroz con almejas, adobong pusit, dinuguan, paksiw na lechon and hamburger were whipped up by sight, smell, taste and feel, thus impossible to set down for posterity. Not to worry, my brother Danny’s wife, Susan, seems to have inherited mom’s natural touch.

 

I’m only as good a cook as the recipe I follow. I must confess, I am, more than my own mom’s, a student of Tita Nicing, Uncle Pipo’s wife, who came closest to being the culinary professional. It was she who taught me just about everything good that I can proudly put on the table.

 

As we lose some first-generation September celebrators, progeny steps up. I have my own youngest son, Tex, born Sept. 1, and granddaughter Margarita, born Sept. 17, the youngest daughter of my firstborn, Gia.

 

To all our September honorees: Cheers!