My dad hates father's day,I've been told time and again that I have always been a chip of the old block. The way I speak, the way I make people laugh, the way i behave with people. Everyone, family or friend has always remarked that we're identical. Even his brother remarks how much I seem like a better brother to my father than him (sad, i know). All said and done, I don't believe for a moment that my dad and I are the same. We're two very different people. We're lucky, that's what we are. Not Identical, lucky.
Let me explain, for a healthy relationship to flourish two people don't have to be carbon copies of each other, they just have to be identical enough in certain areas. That's where my father and I lucked out.
We're two different people who, over time have come to love each other for very specific traits that we can find in no one else.
My dad lost his father when he was 17. My grandfather was a revolutionist (or "communist" depending on what kind of government was around). He was a loud-spoken, intellectual socialist that spoke out for the predominant Indian community in KL in the 1960s, a legend I am still measured up to by wrinkly old neighbors in KL up till this day. He had an affinity for cars and novellas and a very specific blue and gold beer. He loved his kids, all 6 of them, with a fierce passion, that only matched his love for his strong, beautiful wife.
My dad, though every bit an intellectual (smartest man in the world as far as I am concerned) as his father, was a much, much simpler man. No speakers corner, national exile, pen-is-mightier-than-sword mentality, nothing. No vices and no extremism for him. My dad was the go to work and keep the family running man. I love my grandfather, no doubt. I've never met the man but my Dad says that I need only look at a an old picture and a mirror to meet him. I love my grandfather like I love a comic book hero, feverishly and fiercely, but the true hero I stand behind was not the larger than life Vairavanathan. My hero was the simple, routine, mild manned Kalai Maran.
My dad, like I am sure many dads are to their sons, is my hero. Cliche, I know. I don't care though, because that's alot coming from me. As far as I am concerned Ghandi was an elitist and Princess Diana was indulgent. These people were amazing people who had changed the lives of many people in the world but I see a tiny flaw in them that humanizes them to me. Not my father though. He's a flawed man, financially horrible and has a really hard time communicating with people, but he's perfect to me because he told me he was all the above. My dad's single most amazing act of heroism till this very day is his humility. This is why in my eyes, he's solid gold.
My sister is the apple of his eye. His little princess. Since the day she was born till an hour ago and for the rest of her life, she will be his princess. I know this, because I hated my sister when I was young. Which 10 year old would like his sister who he had to share his parents, room, toys and attention with? I surely didn't, but my father taught me about how important sisters are. How he has 5 sisters and how each and every one was so dear to him in their own way. He told me that if he could love 5 sisters so much why should I fight with mine? After all we're the only boys in the family right? We should take extra care of them!
Granted it took me nearly a decade from that day to fully come to terms with that speech but when it hit me, it stuck. Till this day, come hell or high water my love for my one and only sister remains strong even when she doesn't deserve it! That's the effect my dad has on me. I still remember that day and I will for the rest of my life because that memory had my father in it.
We spent many years making many memories, my old man and I. When I was 7 my dad taught me how to take a picture with a camera. I was sitting in his lap as he guided me through the motions of taking a picture and handling a film role. That struck a match in me that has blown into a full scale passion today. Today, I teach him how to turn the flash off on our digital camera. Whenever my dad looks at my pictures, I always play back that memory and never has it once not brought a smile to my face and a great swelling to my pride.
My dad, always loved to tell me about his life. It is absolute his favorite thing to do. We used to travel from Singapore to KL by train back when I was much younger. It was a 7 hour journey back then (still is, unfortunately) and he would constantly feed me with all the old stories he could remember. Every single one and he'd do it all over again when we travel together till this day and I've sat through every single on of them because he still gets so much fun from telling them. My old man would talk to me about politics at an age where I was barely reading beyond Enid Blyton! On and on he would go on about how the country was going to the dogs. I think he's much more entertained now that I actually join in and argue with him.
That's the thing I'm the most proud of. As I grew, I has stopped being his son, but instead his best friend. His right hand. His pride.
But he will never know that it is I that have the honor. I've always considered it an honor. My father, the superman, falls back on me. My rock has found a pillar in me. What more can I ask of him? This man, this simple, tiny man has held the world on his shoulder for his family all his life. Nobody, not my mother or my sister or anybody will know my father like I do and that is the biggest gift we give each other.
My dad will expect a call from me tomorrow. Not to wish him, but to ask him about lunch and what time he'd come back from work. I'd tell him that the list of old songs he wanted is done and that I've secretly put a bar of Hershey's in his bag (strictly a NO for that Diabetic!). We'd have a short 5 minute discussion about what my sister was doing for Father's day and laugh about it. Then we'd hang up and smile to ourselves that it had been a great day.
My father hate's father's day because "fathers should be loved everyday what!"
but he'll still be expecting a call from his best friend.
Thank you, my dear father,
For everything you've done, for everything you do. For the only shoulder I cry on and the only man who has seen me do so. Thanks for the support and the lessons. Lessons on life and love and the many many many jokes you and I share. Thanks for your trust and your non-receding hair-line and million dollars in coins I dig out from your pockets. Thanks for not telling mom about my plans to get a tattoo and for telling me that I was a stupid idea. Thanks for helping me with the laundry and the dishes and for keeping the kopi flowing. Thanks for the first bike and the second one after I'd lost that and the one after when I had decided that bitten once was not enough. One day i'd be sitting on the couch with you with my kids playing around and you'd tell me what a lazy father I was and we'd laugh about it. One day I'll be exactly like you and there is nothing else I could want.
But he will never know that it is I that have the honor. I've always considered it an honor. My father, the superman, falls back on me. My rock has found a pillar in me. What more can I ask of him? This man, this simple, tiny man has held the world on his shoulder for his family all his life. Nobody, not my mother or my sister or anybody will know my father like I do and that is the biggest gift we give each other.
My dad will expect a call from me tomorrow. Not to wish him, but to ask him about lunch and what time he'd come back from work. I'd tell him that the list of old songs he wanted is done and that I've secretly put a bar of Hershey's in his bag (strictly a NO for that Diabetic!). We'd have a short 5 minute discussion about what my sister was doing for Father's day and laugh about it. Then we'd hang up and smile to ourselves that it had been a great day.
My father hate's father's day because "fathers should be loved everyday what!"
but he'll still be expecting a call from his best friend.
Thank you, my dear father,
For everything you've done, for everything you do. For the only shoulder I cry on and the only man who has seen me do so. Thanks for the support and the lessons. Lessons on life and love and the many many many jokes you and I share. Thanks for your trust and your non-receding hair-line and million dollars in coins I dig out from your pockets. Thanks for not telling mom about my plans to get a tattoo and for telling me that I was a stupid idea. Thanks for helping me with the laundry and the dishes and for keeping the kopi flowing. Thanks for the first bike and the second one after I'd lost that and the one after when I had decided that bitten once was not enough. One day i'd be sitting on the couch with you with my kids playing around and you'd tell me what a lazy father I was and we'd laugh about it. One day I'll be exactly like you and there is nothing else I could want.
My dad hates father's day but happy Father's day old man,
I love you like only I can and always will.
