We don't go all out with the most extravagant of plans with big cakes or dinners with party hats and streamers. Come to think about it, my recollection of most celebrations are always held in Pizza Hut (of which the last outing we had as a family to a Pizza Hut was years ago).
As for surprise birthday/celebration parties, we don't really buy cakes as my mum is an excellent baker :D. This means all elements of a surprise birthday bash is always determined by how subtle and secret she can do her baking. And I can attest that it's pretty darn impossible to mask the smell of a freshly baked cake wafting from her kitchen, much less keeping the entire baking operation a secret.
Like I said, we might not have the grandest of celebrations, but that doesn't mean that we don't appreciate each other. Our merriment making is just more... modest, I would say. Subtle and a little more quiet in scale.
But I digress.
I grew up with my dad telling me The-Life-Way-Way-Way-Back-Then stories further pieced together with other colorful tales that my other uncles and aunties would regale me with during CNY reunion gatherings.
My dad grew up amongst a family of ten plus siblings (the exact number of which I've forgotten. Chinese families back then were vastly numerous with relationships so mind boggling complicated that it's no mean feat figuring out whether the old lady talking to you across the dinner table during Chinese New Year gatherings is your great-grand aunt or your niece). His family was poor back then and life was hard (this being a point which has been much stressed upon by countless other Chinese parents I believe). But his dad (my grandfather), being very industrious and man of great ideas (another story for another time), turned the house into a bicycle parking lot to service movie goers to a nearby theater.
And so it was during his early years that my dad walked to school in the day, came back home to shift bicycles in the evening til late night, and studied under candlelight til the wee hours of the morning. It was in this manner of perseverance and discipline that he got himself into polytechnic, graduated and got a job as a technician with the local power generation company, TNB. Sometime later, while he was sent to work in Kota Bharu, my dad met my mum. The rest, as they say, is history.
And where My story begins. :)
I can trace my earliest vivid memory of my dad back to a small photograph of both of us when I was about 4 or 5. We were at the Pantai Cahaya Bulan beach in Kota Bharu. At that time, I had this fear of crabs (their pincers go snap snap!) and while playing at the shore, my pants pocket was slowly being filled up with sand from the waves. When I realized there was a bulge in my pocket I freaked out and thought a crab had got into my pants and I started yelling: "Crab! Crab! Crab!" while in the water. It was then that my dad came over and scooped me up in his arms with me still yelling "Crab! Crab! Crab!" at the top of my lungs and my mum took the picture.
Back in our first home in Ipoh, there was a Buddhist temple built into a cave near where we stayed. As a kid, I loved to go there to see the vast caverns and the stalactites (stick TITE to the sky!) and stalagmites (MITE one day reach the sky!). So my dad and I used to venture there on bicycles (sometimes we'd just ride one with me sitting at the back, sometimes we'd just walk) along a small dirt path almost everyday. I can't remember much of what I used to do exactly when I got to the cave, but what I loved was the treasure hunt that my dad would make up on the fly as we rode there. He gave me riddles and I was supposed to find the "treasure" along the way. Sometimes it was a a particular flower or leaf, or it could be a stone, or it could even be a bird on the tree. The sheer eternal wonderment of childhood ensured I never tired of it and I loved those treasure hunt walks.
As I grew older, my dad became increasingly strict with me. As the eldest in the family, it was my "sacred duty" to be a good example to my younger brother and sister. It wasn't that I was a bad student (although I was very average in my studies) or I was a bad son (in fact, I think I was at home more often than my peers who were amongst the more err... mischievous type). During my teenage years, my dad and me began to talk less and less and the pinpointing of my shortcomings began to increase in frequency as well as intensity. It slowly reached a point where whenever one of us spoke it would quickly degenerate into a fiery argument and a war of wills.
I especially remember the time when I had just passed my driving exam and my dad let me drive the car (reluctantly, but out of necessity that I'd need to be driving on my own one day). Nothing I did seemed to be good enough when he was next to me in the passenger seat. The way I held the wheel, the distance I kept from the car in front, changing the gear, parallel parking (heck, parking in general), stopping the car, starting the car, even the way I sat in my seat, if you can name it, he can find fault with it and will criticize sharply. His right hand was constantly hovering around the hand brake like a cowboy gunslinger fingering his six-shooter in a showdown. This went on for two good years until I literally threw up my hands in frustration and almost swore to my mum that I wouldn't drive anymore with him breathing down my back. Then he relented and although the criticisms did not stop, they weren't as frequent and they most certainly weren't as harsh as before.
Although my dad nit-picked at the slightest of my mistakes with the harshest of words, there have been many times where I knew that I severely screwed up something and expected (and most likely rightfully deserved) a tongue lashing from him. But it never happened. Like the 1st time I suddenly got "smart" and thought that jumping a red traffic light was a great idea. I went back home thinking I would get verbally slaughtered when my dad saw the traffic summons I had been slapped with. When I told him, he just asked calmly if I had learnt my lesson to which I said "Yes. I have." and then he said he'd settle the fine for me. When my sister started to ridicule me (it doesn't always happen. She's nice. :P), my dad spoke up in my defence and stopped her and said that he knew I was truly sorry and that was the end of the matter.
It wasn't until I left home for university that I thought I had broken free of my dad and his grim disapproval of me. Finally, I have arrived in a place and time where I am free to do whatever I want to in whichever manner I choose to: A defining point in life for any young person. To my dawning surprise, whenever I made any decision, from the smallest of choices to the greatest of crossroads, the 1st thing I would remember was what my dad had taught me to do. And God knows how many bad decisions I could've and probably would've made during the time I was in university. Not that I haven't stumbled a few times, but it could've been much worse. Slowly but surely, I began to understand, that underneath all the harsh scoldings and the strict constant pressure and the repeated beratings, was the one thing that my dad had been imparting to me all this time: Wisdom.
I learnt the value of patience, and being an impulsive and emotional person I usually rush into things without thinking things through.
One of the most important lessons I learnt from my dad was how to drive. I learnt that it's easy to drive a car, but it's hard to drive a car well. I learnt how to drive safely, how to look out for others on the road, how to drive efficiently, how to park properly and adjust for clearance, how to ease a clutch into place just right so that the transmission from gear to gear is so smooth that the passengers are so comfortable they think that you're driving an auto instead of a manual car. I learnt that driving is more than just skill. Driving is an art.
My musical inclination grew from my musically talented dad, who although isn't formally trained, handles the guitar with rare passion. He sent me for piano lessons, and I joined the school choir which I went further to conduct and enjoyed singing with.
I picked up a love of words and my dad's infectious sense of humor, unknowingly preparing me for a world of public speaking and debates of which, with his quiet but constant support and encouragement, I achieved triumph numerous times.
My dad taught me to fight and to stand up for the things that I believe in. He taught me that, sometimes, winning isn't everything. But what truly matters is that at the end of the day, a man can look himself and know that he fought for what was right with everything that he had.
My dad taught me to love God, because my Heavenly Father loves me. :)
Most of all, my dad taught me how to be a man. I don't think I've reached the peak of the mountain that he is at right now, and I know I still have my shortcomings, but that doesn't mean that I've stopped trying. He hasn't given up on me. Not now. Not ever. He is at the top, one step ahead with his hand reaching down for mine. And I will still continue to learn from him even long after I become a dad myself.
These past few years, me and my dad have been talking and levelling with each other from time to time (in fact, I'll be calling him on the new phone, me, my sis and bro got him this Father's day :) ) We haven't had an argument for ages. Not even a minor one. I find myself returning again and again to him for advice on work, on relationships, on life. At times we still find ourselves running out of things to say to each other, and there're still periods of silence when we're with each other, but it's Okay. These days I feel like I'm rediscovering my dad once again.
As a man who raised a family of three.
A man who loves my mum more than life itself.
A man of a few words, but of great depth.
A man whose love is Show, not Tell.
The man I want to be.
The man I am proud to call my dad.
I love you Papa.
Your son,
Weng Yuen.
