My Dad...

I don't know what got into me. Suddenly just remembered something about my dad. When I was just a little girl (say around lower primary or pre-primary), I used to bug him to tell me bedtime stories (since my mom doesn't know a word of English). Not that I really want to listen to those stories (I could read the book myself), but somehow I just figured that that was something in which most parents do - tell their kids bedtime stories. Well, at least that was what I'd gathered from TV shows.

I threw tantrums. I cried. I did everything I could as a little kid, trying to get things my way. But he didn't tell me a single bedtime story until one night (just after my operations), I refused to sleep and tail him to every corner of the house, wherever he goes, did he finally relent.

I remembered clearly that he was stammering and at times, murmuring as he read along those lines. After reading a short paragraph of the fairy tale, he stopped and refused to continue any further. I tried pestering him for more but to no avail. Somewhat contented, I fell asleep.

More than a decade down the road (just recently in fact) did I only realise this - it wasn't that he didn't want to read to me, but it was because he couldn't. He held a secondary cert and have limited knowledge about English. He wanted very much to do it, but he held back... To be honest, I was suddenly very touched when it finally dawned on me.

Recently, my neighbor's baby girl (anout 8-month old) has been coming over to my place to play everyday. I saw how my parents (especially my dad) played with her and enjoying themselves when the baby smiles/laughs. It made me wonder what it was like when I was a baby that age. Were they doing the same thing them? Did they enjoy my company too? I guess they were. And I guess like almost any otehr parents, I'm somewhat still a baby girl in their hearts.

Oh man... this is tear-jerking (at least for me).