A Débutante at 80

One of my older cousins, a grandmother many times over, was turning 80; her eldest daughter sent us an invitation, RSVP, to her birthday party. I immediately confirmed our whole household's attendance (husband, sons #1 and #2, and me).

With all the new diseases spawned by pollution, chemicals in food, and modern-day stress, it’s becoming rarer for people to reach their 80’s, strong enough to weather a party. We had to be there.

When D-day came, however, Tony was still recovering from a three-day hospital confinement. So we left him at home in the care of a househelp. Two sons and I rushed to reach the venue on time.

But with the famous mad Manila traffic, the celebrator was already marching toward her throne when we huffed and puffed our way in. Yes, there was a throne on stage, complete with all the trimmings of a posh debut party! Yes, there were also eight roses (one representing each decade), eight candles, and eight dances with eight different partners (sons and grandsons). Yes, there was a tall cake with eight wishes, etc. etc. etc.

And yes, the débutante changed gowns twice!   

She was radiant and beaming, indulging her children and grandchildren who orchestrated it all. And she was stunning in both outfits—complete with false eyelashes, perfectly arched eyebrows, red lipstick, and bling-bling.   

“Mom when you turn 80 . . .” son #3 started to tell me.

“You do something anywhere near this, and I will walk out!” I threatened him.

He shut up, grinning. An off-stage character I am. My idea of a party is dinner around the table with close kin, feasting on filling food and boisterous banters.

But I rejoiced with my cousin on her special day of grace. She was blessed with verve to weather the feast and ceremonies, making the guests marvel and cheer with excitement.

I have attended many 18th debut parties through the years; this 80th for a grandma was, by far, the grandest yet.