Happy Father's Day

My Papa is special.

Every day around 5.30a.m, the familiar low, droning cadence of his age-worn Toyota Starlet comes approaching my house. Its headlight beams penetrate the curtained windows and throw moving, elongated shadows on the walls in my sitting room. When the jalopy sputters to a stop in front of my gate, I lock the front door and get into the car.

The following is our habitual conversation along the way to school:

"Did you have a good night's sleep, Tai-Tai?" asks Papa.
"Yes, Papa," answer I, yawning.
"Where would you like to have breakfast?"
"As usual, the 2020 Cafe," was my perfunctory reply.
"Will you be having an extra class this afternoon?"
"Yes, two to three pm."
"I will come and pick you up at three."
"You don't have to, Pa, I can go back by bus."
"It's difficult catching a bus, Tai. There is only one bus plying the Tanjong Road every hour. Just wait for me to take you home," insists Papa.
"Thank you, Papa," I cannot help grinning. Papa will spare me the inconvenience of having to go back by bus again.

Papa is the epitome of Doraemon. And I am like Nobita. Papa's invincible gadgets are his unequaled love and care for me. I always cling to him desperately for help and support.Every day, he drives me to school without fail. He is constantly worried about my unstable health and constant mood swings. Once a fortnight, he takes me to the hospital for my Risperdal Consta injection. He will wait for hours until I have been injected. When I gripe and grumble, he becomes my faithful listener.When I am downcast, he cheers me up by buying me ice-cream or taking me for a car ride around town. He cooks anything to satisfy my hard-to-please palate.

Many people say that I look like Papa. I am broad-shouldered, large-bellied and soft-spoken as he is. Both of us share a common interest in Art and Classic Chinese music.We are loud-snorers too.My sister likes telling me jokingly that our combined sound could tear down a roof. Sons normally take after their fathers in many ways.Howsoever hard you want to be different, you will end up discovering that you behave and think the same way as your father does. The outcome is paradoxical, isn't it?

Papa used to be moody all the time. He could not get over the pain of his bankruptcy in late 1970s. Many of our friends and relatives treated him with scorn and contempt.Even my teachers laughed at him, calling him a 'Hantu Miskin'. To support our family, he learned how to make steamed Chinese buns and sold them at the night market. Whenever he returned home with a beaming face, I knew that his buns had sold well. If he returned home sombre-faced, my mother would warn my siblings and I not to make him angry. We would watch in silence as he threw all leftover buns into the rubbish bin. Throughout my childhood and early-adulthood, there was a strong antagonism between Papa and me. I had always carelessly or deliberately provoked him with my stubbornness,girlishness and food pickiness.

The day Papa received Christ as his savior,he became a changed person. He no longer scolded me with harsh words and smacked me with pain-inflicting palm. He started advising me with the words of God and the tension between us gradually loosened up. One night, my mother dreamed of a choir of angels chanting the verse 'Renounce your old-self, renounce your old-self' repeatedly above a kneeling Papa.The moment she woke up, she could still hear the song until it tailed off into silence.

Anywhere Papa goes, he radiates calmness and humbleness. Despite his advancing age, he is healthy and his muscular arms are striated with veins. Besides driving me around, he also does gardening for me.

One day, a colleague commented on my attitude towards my father.

"Mr. Lo, you are not kind enough to your father," said she.
" Why makes you say that? I don't understand," said I, hurt and confused.
"Your father is getting old, and you still ask him to drive you around."
"But I don't know how to drive....." I stammered.
"You should take up driving. He can't be your driver for the rest of his life," said she firmly.
"Rose is right. If you never take up driving, you will be helpless when he needs to be rushed to the hospital," another colleague chimed in.

What the two colleagues said sounded like thunderstruck to me.They were right.Taking up driving is the first step to break my dependence on my father. How beautiful it will be to drive my father around on a sight-seeing tour in my car.

Once in a blue moon, I will cook for my father. Whether or not my cooking is good, he eats it appreciatively, conveying his spoon back and forth to his mouth.

Papa's hair is all white now. His eyes are surrounded by more and more creases.I recently noticed that he walks with a slight hunch. He always rubs heat lotion on his legs to reduce joint pain.And yet, I rely on him. He always comes to my rescue, rain or shine.

Papa, forgive me for giving you so much trouble. I will try my best to stand on my own feet and give you a comfortable life. You are my everything.

Happy Father's Day, Papa.