Archive for April 2001
Fathers
What legacy would I leave my son? — a short story by Angeline Koh
© Angel’s original . Written April 2001
I walked into the room and there he sat. I did not think Ah Pa had noticed that I had come in. Ah Ma had told me for as long as I could remember, “Seng, don’t go in the room. Don’t disturb your father.” I stood there stunned. It was five in the morning. I did not expect to see anyone in there. The surprise of his presence woke me out of my half-sleep.
I was nine. The room had always held an intrigue for me. What secrets mysteries or treasures lay behind the closed wooden door with its chipped off paint and tarnished copper doorknob?
That day, the door stood half ajar. The echo of Ah Ma’s numerous reminders made the urge to enter overpowering. I was surprised, maybe a little disappointed – No treasure chest, no mystical trap doors, no secret maps, no fire-breathing dragons. There was nothing in the room save an old gigantic antic desk and an oddly matched but large comfortable armchair. The soft incandescent light of the table lamp lighted the room. There was a small pile of dog-eared magazines and books on the table. Father’s eyes were fixed on the opened Book that he was reading. The light from the table lamp reflected into my eyes. From where I stood, it was hard to make out the expression on his face. His was quiet and deep in thought. Not wanting to be caught, I turned hurriedly to leave.
“Come in son,” Ah Pa called.
“Oh darn! He’s seen me.” I thought. I shivered in my oversized hand-me-down pyjamas.
“I’m sorry Ah Pa.” I whimpered nervously as I recalled the caning I got the week before for stealing from Ta-Ker’s piggy bank. I moved apprehensively toward him.
“Why are you doing up so early son?”
“I. I got up to. to go. I. I’m sorry Ah Pa, I’ll go back to sleep.”
“It’s ok Seng,” he said as he lifted me up onto his lap. He stroked my hair and pressed my head against his breast. The soft dim light; the thump, thump, thump of his strong heat beat; the hypnotics rhythmic up and down movement of his chest; I felt him breath and I drifted back into my half sleep. The warmth of his strong embrace quietened my anxious fears. Every now and again, I would half open my ears to see what Ah Pa was doing – he remained deep in thought, his eyes fixed on his Book. I don’t know how long we remained there.
“Mr Tan,” the nurse called to me. I was awakened out of my nostalgia. I stood staring through the glass pane as I watched as the nurse clean him up. Mei was resting tired from the 4-hour labour. I still could not get over what I just witnessed – my son’s entry into the world. “Congratulations again Mr. Tan, you can come in to see them now.”
“Your son.”
My first-born son.
I am overwhelmed by the weight of joy. Twenty years of education – I am now a thirty-five year old businessman with 50 staff under me – there are courses on just about anything – financial planning, negotiation skills, computer, vehicle repair, golf. Not one single course on “Fatherhood”.
I took my son, the tiny little life in my arms, counted his ten tiny little fingers and toes. He felt so, so small, so fragile. I stood by Mei. Overwhelmed with emotions, we gave thanks to the God who had seen us through the long months of morning sickness, the hours in the doctor’s waiting room. No “how to be a father” book could have ever prepared me for this moment. I don’t think I have appreciated Ah Pa more than at this moment.
Life had begun on a silver platter for him. Ah Kong who owned the Tan Teng Huat chain of businesses had left him an inheritance. I never understood the strength of character it took for Ah Pa to resist the temptation of allowing his affluence to get the better of him. He was an honest, hard worker, a family man, a generous man. Never conforming to the growing affluence of the country after the war years, the simplicity of the room was stood as a vivid statement of his simplicity.
I remembered that morning in Ah Pa’s arms – the four of us children had learned to respect Ah Pa’s “quiet times” as he called it – the early mornings he spent with his Book, seeking to understand the heart and mind of the Author – the Book he said that had kept him a loving man and on the path of honour.
“Waa.” the baby gave a forceful cry. My mind came back to the present once again. What legacy would I leave for my son?
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