Today is Father's Day. Well, technically, this is a day late, since I'm writing it at 1am in the morning, but oh wells. It's just something I felt was worthwhile to write about, and should have written about a long time ago.
I was flipping through the newspaper today, and as usual, every year, on this day, it's filled with all those fatherly stories and how great it is to be a dad and how great my dad is and what an inspiration he is and all those tear-jerking stories that were oh so sweet and dedications from children to fathers of all ages and races. But never once, in all those years, have I ever come across a story which I read, and felt like I could relate to. I mean, all those stories highlighted the wonderful relationships between child and father; none of that meant a thing to me. Even those stories of people who lost their own dads... it's not to say that I don't feel their pain, but I just cannot relate to any of it. Not till today.
I came across this article from a Chinese woman, who sent in her story of her own father. As I read, the more I felt as if, finally, there was someone out there, someone who actually understood roughly what it is like to have a dad like mine. Her father was emotion-less, never hugged them, never really bothered to get involved in his children's lives. He never really showed much of himself, was aloof, kept to himself, provided for the family financially and as best as he could, but that was all the love he showed. He was the typical olden-days Chinese man; except maybe worse in terms of showing no affection, and never opened up to his kids. But something at the end of the writer's article touched me, it was her hope that one day, her father would cease to be so stubborn, that she could tell him how much she loved him and how much she appreciated all the hard work he did to bring up his family. I don't remember much from the article, but it just kinda mirrored a lot of my own feelings toward my own dad.
This is my Fajar, as we nicknamed him. :D
Fajar's kinda odd, I would say. He's not the typical affectionate father, and he's quite hard on us kids in many ways. There are so many times when I look at my dad and think about how sad it is that I can't relate to him any kind of personal stories, how my day was, how school is, what my friends and I did. I'm sad that my dad cuts himself off from the emotional aspect of us children, during the time when we need it most at this adolescent stage. I'm sad that we have to hide so many things from him, because he barely knows us, who we are, what we do, and therefore doesn't trust us as much as a parent should. I'm sad that he was barely there during our upbringing, he cuddled and protected us when we were little, but as we grew, he seemed to have lost any sort of knack of being a real parent and left it to my mother. I'm sad that he thinks financial stability is the most important thing in raising a family, I'm sad that he doesn't care for us other than making sure we have the best education and making sure we have the financial means to achieve it. I'm sad that doesn't see much of that beyond being a real father. I'm sad that neither me nor my siblings have much of a relationship with him. I'm sad when I see him condemn my older brother, put him down, and the way he still treats us all like little children instead of the adults we are. I'm sad that he doesn't know us very well, and yet we know him inside out. I'm sad that he doesn't see how much he's missing out, that he doesn't realize that time is flying by so quickly and soon all of us will have flown from the nest. I'm sad that he only sees it as the day he has accomplished his mission, that he has fulfilled his responsibility as a father.
I'm just sad that my dad doesn't understand what a real father is.
And I'm sad to see that he's missing out on so much... of our lives.... and he doesn't see the value in it. He doesn't see the meaning of sentiment. There's so much in him that saddens me, and they're not faults, mind you, they're not wrongs either, they're just personality aspects of him, his beliefs, that somehow separates him and his children.
And somehow, above all those, I still love him to death. He shows me how much he loves me through ways that may not seem like much, but it is his way of showing it. He buys me chappati, or breakfast, every other day in the mornings before I go to college. He asks what I'd like the night before. He may yell and nag when I get a scratch on my car, even though the car is ten years old and already full of dents and scratches, but he still fills the coin compartment with coins to make sure I have enough to pay the parking ticket. He asks frequently whether I have enough money to pay for things I need, such as food, parking, etc. He does his best to make sure I'm in tiptop condition for classes, and, in turn, to do my best in my education. He worries for my safety, a little too much, and can get overbearing at times, but take that away, a part of him genuinely just wants me to come home safe and sound. He blames me for certain things that aren't my fault, and he may practice favoritism among us siblings, but whenever I got mad, lost my temper, or threw a tantrum during my younger years... he would always be the first to make peace. He would hold no grudge against me; he would rather surrender his pride take the blame than let my anger simmer and allow conflict to build up. He works hard, drives himself to earn a living, for the sake of our futures. He would never stinge financially for the sake of our education, all he wants is a guaranteed future for us.
And, if I was lost, away from home in the middle of the night, with no communication whatsoever, and I'm hungry, thirsty and tired... he would find me. He would search everywhere, even though he has no idea where I am. He would keep searching, till daylight came, until he found me. He would follow his instinct. Because no matter his personality, no matter his cold, unsentimental character, he's still a father. He's still my dad. And he won't ever be the best dad in the world, as some people can proclaim for theirs, but he is the best dad he can be to me and my three siblings. And that is enough for me, because I know he loves me, and I know he will never forsake me, as deep inside he truly does care.
Asian dads. He might not cry at my wedding, or attend my graduation, or give me hugs, or thank me for Father's Day and birthday gifts. He might not say 'I love you' or call you to tell you that he misses you, or ask you how your day was, or be the shoulder to cry on. I can't see my dad doing any of that, but who knows, perhaps one day, my father will come to know Jesus, the real Father to us all. And if he opens his heart, He'll transform him, teach him a few ways of what it's really like to love as a father.
No matter how old I grow, or how far I'll be from home... part of me will always be daddy's little girl. I love you Fajar. :')
Maybe, just maybe, one day you'll get to hear all this.
God bless my awesome dad.
Happy Father's Day, Fajar.
Love;
Your little girl, now and forever,
Esther.
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