Of Showering Loves and What Nots.

Here lies the story of me and my father, which I find it rather difficult to grasp since I left it at the back most shelf within the library of memories in my brain. The neuron located at my temporal lobe sparks, in the hopes that these memories could be obtained without any disdain. I wonder how many of us could recall the sweetness of our memories with our fathers? Is it true, if I were to say that throughout the globe, a father is stereotypically the same? I wonder that sometimes.

I know fathers are the less talking bunch compared to mothers. I know that they looked less emotional, or rather not show anything at all to their children, giving out the notion that, they are somewhat superior like a dictator, governing their very own comfy miniature castles. They do care, but reluctant to show, for what others said it to be, "let actions do the talking". I know they worked their body in the day, enduring strains of hardship and headache to ensure that there's food on the table for dinner each night. How about your branded nike sports shoes, your branded back pack, and all the showering of gifts and stuffs so that you will be accepted among the materialistic peers of yours? Wouldn't that cost you MONEY? Who gave it to you? Your father? Then who gave it to him then? Obviously he worked hard for you and your family.

But then again, I am no father. I know what I know by observing the other fathers. How is it that they are typical, I can't describe it clearly either. But one thing I can tell you is that I know my father is different, despite having most of the criteria of being the stereotype fathers.

For my father have the talent to arrange flowers and other decorations, which is rare skill for a man. Most of the flowers in my house, now slowly deteriorating due to the small but mischievous hands of my nephew and niece, are personally arranged by my father. I even remembered that, he used to arrange that special bunch of flowers for my sisters weddings. You know, the flowers that you put on the table, where the married couple is eating. Well, that's my father for you.

I often thought my father seldom shows that he cares, and looking back as I grew older, I am assured that I am wrong all these years.

When I was 15 years old, I remembered it was the time for the PMR paper. The night before the science subject, my 'old friend' got to me in my bedroom. I was wheezing and having all sorts of difficulties in breathing. It was asthma. Usually, a puff or two from the inhaler would suffice and the soothing effect of the medicine lingering in my esophagus will put me back to being calm and sleep it off once again. But this time, those puffs would just not do the trick. I also remembered that it was the fasting month, and I could not fast for that day, for the fact that my father told me to eat the medicine, or I will never get to seat for the exam.

So that morning, my father and my mother took the day off from work and sent me to school. So here I went into the exam hall, answering bits of everything that I could. One thing you must know about asthmatic pills is that they are one of the powerful medicines created ever. What I meant by powerful is not the effect of relieving the asthmatic symptoms, but the side effects that it carries with it. My hands were trembling for no reason, like someone who's suffering from Parkinson. I can barely write with my hands. I tried to stop my right hand from shaking using my left hand, but what's the use, both hands were shaking. Its not that it shook so hard like someone drilling the cement floor, but the effect's still there and quite noticeable too.

And when the exam's finished, I went straight to our car.

"How was it?" my father asked, his eyes looked concern. I knew he knew about the medicine side effects.

"It was okay, but it was somewhat difficult for me to write just now." I replied, taking my seat at the back.

"I am sorry, I should have told you about the effects." my father briefly replied.

"It's okay, there nothing I can't handle."  reassuring my father firmly so that he did not have to feel guilty.

(but I did ace my science subject.. :-) )

Why do I remember this most?

I just came to realise, my parents ditch their work for me. They stayed throughout the whole exam period for that particular day. Was it 1 hour, or 2? I don't know and it doesn't matter to me anymore. What matters now is that how my parents waited for me back then when I was sick. I never thought that they would do that you know, not saying that my parents are workaholic or anything but it was really reassuring to have them by your side when you are at your weakest moment.

For those who treat their parents like ATM machines, know that those 'ATM machines' of yours worked hard all day long, just to make sure there's gonna be food for the whole family. I learned this when I started working. I know its not much if compared to my parents, but it's still tiring so just to earn money. Thus reality, how cruel it maybe, slaps me hard on the face that its hard to earn money, but regardless it's easy to spent them. So, for those who still gonna treat their parents like ATM machines, know that your parents think highly of you and wants the best for you. Its just plain wrong in my view if you can't reciprocate in any form at all, let it be educational, sports or even anything that gives your parents something to be proud of.

And, remember. This is not a post about fathers on fathers day. Its a post about fathers day being an everyday thing.

For what it's worth, lets make our parents smile again, and let it stay that way. :)

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