HE AIN'T HEAVY, HE'S MY FATHER

Dad in Uniform

Ed noticed that I had never written about my dad. I wrote about the woman folks in my home, but seldom the men, except for my dead uncle whom I mentioned repeatedly, out of my tremendous affection for him.

As dad was always on duty as a sergeant with the Malaysian Army, he was hardly home when we were growing up. Our childhood were spent without a father figure and most of the time, his fatherly duties were mostly resumed by our dead uncle.

I still remember that we didn’t particularly delighted to see him whenever he was home. Our small home in Taiping, usually filled with noise, would be silent whenever he was home. His presence commanded silence and discipline. He was very strict and would not tolerate defiance.

I never enjoyed him giving me a ride to school, even on rare occasions. I still remember one incident vividly. I had forgotten to bring along my painting kit to school for art class one day, despite reminding myself not to forget. We were just 8 minutes away from home when I discovered that I had forgotten the kit. I froze at the thought of the mean and psychotic art teacher, who would make those who had forgotten their art kit to sit under their desk for the entire art class period as punishment. I pleaded with my dad to turn back home to fetch my painting kit.

My pleas were dismissed by harsh words coming out from his mouth, and he had to rub the salt into the wound by saying that it served me right for being forgetful. It was dramatic. I wept my lungs out. He finally relented and took me to the nearest bazaar to get me a brand new set of painting kit.

There was another incident which shook me till today. When I was 10 years old, a mini school van hit his old green Vespa from behind while I was alighting it. It was just a light thump but it sent me falling onto the road. Luckily in Taiping, there were few vehicles then.

My dad was furious. He made sure I was okay and then calmly walked towards the minivan. The guy was not even apologetic. A few unpleasantries were exchanged and my dad punched the driver on his nose till it bled and threatened to smash the minivan windscreen if he sees the driver again. Now you know where did I get my bad temper from.

For two weeks, I saw the minivan driver coming to school with a mean-looking friend.They were scrutinizing the school compound. Worrying that they might remember how I looked like and kidnap me, I hid behind some bushes whenever the minivan arrived to pick up some students. Luckily I was not that fat then, else I would stick out like a sore thumb.

I was traumatized for the entire two weeks. I kept on praying to God that my dad would not appear at the point of time so that they won’t be able to lay their hands on my dad. I prayed and prayed. I was glad my prayers were answered.

Our childhood memories of him were not much, other than the regular trips to Maxwell Hill, where we were trained like little soldiers to hike up about 1 - 4 miles three times a week. Come to think of it, if we had remained in Taiping, we would have been as fit as a fiddle.

Three years ago, he suffered from stroke. There was no one home. My brother who came back that particular weekend, found him sitting on the floor and unable to get up. He rushed him to the hospital. That very day, all of us were at the hospital and sat throughout the 6 hours before he was admitted. Thank goodness, his stroke was mild and can be treated orally.

As much as I wanted to believe that I hardly had any affection for him, I was wrong. I cried myself to sleep the night he was admitted. I broke into tears when I told my boss I had to take half day leave the next day to see my dad in the hospital. We took turns to take him for acupuncture treatment.

Albeit his bad temper and being a man of a few words, I am sure he loved us to bits and tried his best to provide for us.

He is 61 years old this year and although he still has his temper, he has mellowed over the years. I believe that if bad things do not befall us, we would never have realized that we had taken everything for granted. And I thank God for a second chance to show him that I truly care.