Memoirs of My Dad
You’d be amazed at how much you can accomplish by simply listening to your heart
It’s one of the most frequently-spoken lessons that my dad would say and, depending on his mood at the time, its meaning would sway between soft reassurances to a brutally-hard admonishment. At the time I didn't quite understand the meaning of those words, assuming only of the (potential) intellect I had would guide me through life and its many challenges. It was only until I had realised how my choices affected the lives of many, including the one I loved, that I had started to take my Dad seriously.
I didn't realise I had a father that cared about the emotional minutiae of my life until I was 27. Curiosity and excitement would normally get the better of me and the questions would come in a flurry. Instead, we said hi after such a huge absence since I last remembered him (or even talked to him) and, like any well-mannered individual would do, I offered him into my apartment, asked if he would like some coffee or tea and we sat at the dinner table talking as if we never missed each other.
We talked about our work (his was always more interesting), about chess (he was always the better player) and then finally about my partner, who was still asleep in the bedroom, unaware that my (estranged) dad was in the other room.
Feeling perplexed and confused at which of the two important questions to ask him (how does he know and why does he care?) he interjected and asked, “Do you love her?”
Cautiously, I replied, “Well, why do you care?”
He gave me that “you’re kidding me, right?” look and said, “Because I do and I don’t want to see you hurting her. And before you ask me if I’m staying here for a while or if I still want to catch up with you, the answer is yes. To both.”
“I’m surprised you even cared.”
“I always did,” he replied. “It’s you who didn't really pay that much attention for the past 27 years.”
We spent months talking and enjoying each other’s company like old friends. Each and every moment we shared felt like an expectation I (previously) had of him were slowly shedding away. He wasn't the immensely strong, reserved and intimidating dad I had once remembered or the dad that would be so willing to hand out disapproving looks whenever I failed under his all-too-perfect regimen of expectations. In fact, I wasn't so sure of why I had such expectations of him in the first place.
I never realised he was such a sensitive person when it came to his age, which, I must admit, wasn't that bad considering he aged rather well in his mid-fifties. Aside from his vanity issues, he seemed like what many dads aspire for their kids. I knew he was smart, intuitive and intellectually-holistic in his thought processes, but it was his wicked sense of humour that caught me off guard.
I asked him, “Why didn't you show off this side of you back when I was a child?”
Normally he would have something quick and prepared to say to me, as if he had read my thoughts and already knew how to tailor the answer for me. Instead, he thought about my question for a while in contemplation, something I had never seen before, and said, “Honestly, I’m not sure why…”
I didn't quite understand the depth and weight of his words of love and of the heart until my partner had asked me if we should buy lunch for this particular runaway. At the time I didn't give much thought (my partner obviously did) and if it weren't for her I wouldn't have realised how young, how alone and how sad he was, sitting with his knapsack, in the rain, asking for money so he can feed himself for the night. He wasn't on drugs nor was he driven by alcoholism. He simply needed someone to give him a chance - to see that other (strangers or human beings) do care irrespective of who they are.
In that split-second moment when she asked him if he wanted some KFC for lunch I knew then why my dad had wanted to stay for a while just so he can show me why my partner matters both to him and, of course, to me.
The only other time in which I had forgotten about my dad’s frequently-spoken advice was when I had (unknowingly) scarred my partner with the very words I had uttered in anger and frustration. It was then that I knew the (abusive) power of words and the way it can be taken when it was said unto others.
To say that my dad was both furious and wounded whenever I spoke out of turn to the woman I loved was a severe understatement.
It’s easy for my dad to make me cry and, unsurprisingly, all it took was a few words for me to really feel like I was ashamed to be his son. But he would always remind me that love exists for a reason and why it mattered for him to come back and stay for a while.
I was 28 when he broke through to my soul.
I haven’t talked to my dad since New Year’s Eve back in 2012. It wasn't such a bad thing when he left because one of the last things he said to me was how immensely proud he was and how much he still loved his son. It still breaks my heart every now and then whenever I remember the many conversations and emotional experiences we had because I never quite had a dad like him back when I was a child. There was always so much to learn, to experience and, yes, to feel. For the first time I was quite afraid of losing my dad, but I believe anyone who has ever missed their dads would know the feeling of loss and of hope.
“Just don’t forget what I’ve told you,” he said to me before he left. “You’d be amazed at how much you can accomplish by simply listening to your heart. Just don’t forget that.”
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