Meeting My Wife's Grandmother in Manila

The first time I visited my wife's family in the Philippines, I was terrified of her grandmother, Lola Fely. She is four foot ten and has opinions about everything.

She didn't speak much English and my Tagalog was limited to "thank you" and "delicious." So she communicated the only way that mattered: she fed me. Every hour. Pancit, lumpia, a fish she grilled herself in the yard, a purple yam dessert she watched me eat with intense focus.

On the third day she took my face in her hands, said something to my wife, and laughed. My wife translated: "She says you eat like a real grandson."

On our last night, she gave me a tiny wooden carabao, a water buffalo, that her husband had carved decades ago. My wife's aunts gasped. I didn't understand until later that it was the highest honor. It sits on my desk now. I look at it every day and feel adopted.