I wanted to post this much earlier, during the Father’s Day in June to be precise but I was too busy back then. Nevertheless since Australia’s version of Father’s Day fell only early this month, I reckon this does not come too late in Australia’s context. As suggested by the title, this post is dedicated to my father whom I passionately call Abah.
Abah and I are not that close. We are not the type of father and son who take pleasure in having morning coffee together, or go out fishing over the weekend. We barely talk to each other. Some say it is human nature that a son is closer to his mother compared to the other parent of his same gender. But I think it is more because of the manly egoist in both of us, neither tries to bend the nature. I guess that is how the world around us makes sense, both of us behaving like men.
Abah is not the type of father who yells at his children over the mistakes we did. Most of the time, he seems to be more comfortable to remain in his shell of silence. But when he gets upset, you can definitely tell by looking at his face, and of course we learn not to repeat the same mistake.
Abah is a kind of father which everyone dreams of to have as their own because in terms of materials, whatever his children want he would not wait a second to go get it. But of course that did not turn us, his children, into a materialistic bunch of kids. I guess because we seldom speak to each other, that has become the only way for him to express his love for me. I remember back then whenever my basketball sneakers could not be used any longer, I would just relate the news to him and soon I would get a new pair. And that was not only once or twice- from the age of 13 I guess I have damaged more than ten pairs, and apparently basketball sneakers do not come in cheap. Once, he even posted the new pair all the way from Shah Alam to Kuala Kangsar because I had a tournament coming up and could not get home in time.
I used to dislike the notion that behavioural attributes of a father eventually go down to son- I shrugged off Umi’s complaint that I was getting grumpier these days, just like my father- but as I grow up I guess not all the traits are bad after all, and I start to feel glad whenever Umi or anyone else repeated such statement.
Umi broke down incessantly amidst the debacle of me undergoing operation on my left hand when I was six, but not Abah. I remember emotionally he was strong enough he even got into the emergency room, trying untiringly to calm me down while the medical staffs struggled to get the many tiny pieces of glass out of the opening in my left palm. Now, if there is one thing that does not go down to me from Abah, I believe it is his sheer ability, his toughness to resist from crying. Man, I even cried for losing a basketball match.
I remember Abah always wanted me to become an accountant, or at least venturing into commerce field. Because he is now a retired bank officer, Umi said he wants ‘his legacy’ to continue in the family, and being the only son it looked like I fit the job most. I could not be bothered at giving it a serious thought though, until much later when Petronas stepped in to offer me scholarship, then only did I realized how bad a son I have become. If I can turn back the time, there is no doubt I will try all the way to fulfill his wish.