My dad’s “new” son!
It has been a long time since I have been enveloped in a sea of remorseful mourning for my dear dad who we lost about 4 months ago.
As days progressed into months we miss him even more. No Birthday or anniversary’s complete without him. His booming voice used to wake us from our lazy reverie, transporting us into the realness of a loving family.
Papa was in my dreams last night! I was transported back to a few years.
I was a teenager back then and Papa a brand new father. He dotted over his “new son” with much pride and took his role as a parent quite seriously. And why not! He had all the emotional bearings of enjoying parenting this time around. The joyful experience he had missed out on when he was younger and too busy working to make the ends meet.
This “new son” had come at a time when Papa was in his early forties, doing reasonably well in life and able to enjoy the quite with his family every once in a while.
He would sing loudly to this new entrant into our family who would cock his ears and wonder what the loud man meant. Much to my amusement, the little brat was a face reader of sorts and knew exactly how to collate body language with stentorian utterances and would react appropriately.
The father-son duo bond grew stronger with each passing season. I jealously observed how understanding our dad was when it came to his “new son”. The rascal could get away with murder.
Dad would attend to him early mornings and wake the whole household in his bid to keep the young fellow humored. Despite the fact that jealousy kicked in every once in a while, the “new son” also had this knack of wiggling his way into each of our hearts, drilling huge gapping apertures that erupted warm blobs of contended delight.
Papa was consumed in his new found role to the point of absurdity. He would tag his little coddle at social functions where people silently disapproved. Papa’s selective observations would systematically snip off anyone who didn’t fall in his scheme of things.
Papa would however, willingly hand over the reigns of guardianship to us when the “new son” had to be immunized. The little fellow was a toughie but his dad still had delusions of inhuman atrocities as the needle would get prepared. He would suddenly switch from father to chicken and leave on some pretext of busy schedule.
My resentment towards my kid brother however melted as the following summer approached. It was the anvil of the promising mangoes season and the ones hanging to the tertiary branches looked healthier with each passing day. Our mouths had gotten used to the excessively mercurial salivating as we shamelessly ogled at the pregnantly laden tree right out of our window.
My kid brother was always on his toes and barked an alert the moment anyone as much as passed the modest mango tree. This greatly warmed him to me and initiated him into my world of tramping adventures.
From then on we went into the mango mangroves together looking for an unfortunate fruit that might have broken off due to the fast approaching monsoon winds. Our search greatly saved many a mango from getting lost into oblivion within the collected foliage of dried up leaves and twigs at the base of the tree.
And then it was my friend Dolly’s marriage ceremony. Dolly was a few summers senior with a kind heart. She allowed us teeny bloopers the pleasure of her restrained friendship. How proud we were of our associations with savvy Dolly and never lost the opportunity to flaunt it to the other lesser souls.
(Back to the scene in our household!)
My dad, the ever doting recent father was all prepared to take his little addition and initiate him to our rich traditions starting with Dolly’s reception party. I for one was not too sure that this idea had great potential. Marriages were places where toddlers would be a nuisance. No matter how hard we tried to reason out, dad managed to enervate all of us.
After all he was the prodigal father of an even more prodigal son!
We girls had insolently been gliding around in our gaudy outfits giggling in false excitement when a member of our group blurted “you know, there is an errantly eccentric guest amongst us”.
I instantly knew she was referring to Papa. You see…I’m gifted with a strange psychic ability in such situations.
She continued “He’s proudly carrying his dog around. Wierdo!”.
The wires in my heart malfunctioned as they threatened to cross-fire. I was consumed with illogical rage as my loyalty towards dad overtook the fun element that I was so enjoying that evening.
The wires that programmed the mind though were more balanced and reasoned that my dad had earned this “public ridicule”.
I quickly downgraded this friend to a few steps lower in my acquaintance and shared with her that the “weirdo” indeed was my very Dad leaving her mouth agape in embarrassment as I walked away.
Jackie was truly a successful son and tugged at dad’s heart strings with much determination. I actually learnt a thing or two from his enterprising nature that later helped me in my negotiating skills with dad in my growing up years.
Copyright © BuntysBanter २००८
As days progressed into months we miss him even more. No Birthday or anniversary’s complete without him. His booming voice used to wake us from our lazy reverie, transporting us into the realness of a loving family.
Papa was in my dreams last night! I was transported back to a few years.
I was a teenager back then and Papa a brand new father. He dotted over his “new son” with much pride and took his role as a parent quite seriously. And why not! He had all the emotional bearings of enjoying parenting this time around. The joyful experience he had missed out on when he was younger and too busy working to make the ends meet.
This “new son” had come at a time when Papa was in his early forties, doing reasonably well in life and able to enjoy the quite with his family every once in a while.
He would sing loudly to this new entrant into our family who would cock his ears and wonder what the loud man meant. Much to my amusement, the little brat was a face reader of sorts and knew exactly how to collate body language with stentorian utterances and would react appropriately.
The father-son duo bond grew stronger with each passing season. I jealously observed how understanding our dad was when it came to his “new son”. The rascal could get away with murder.
Dad would attend to him early mornings and wake the whole household in his bid to keep the young fellow humored. Despite the fact that jealousy kicked in every once in a while, the “new son” also had this knack of wiggling his way into each of our hearts, drilling huge gapping apertures that erupted warm blobs of contended delight.
Papa was consumed in his new found role to the point of absurdity. He would tag his little coddle at social functions where people silently disapproved. Papa’s selective observations would systematically snip off anyone who didn’t fall in his scheme of things.
Papa would however, willingly hand over the reigns of guardianship to us when the “new son” had to be immunized. The little fellow was a toughie but his dad still had delusions of inhuman atrocities as the needle would get prepared. He would suddenly switch from father to chicken and leave on some pretext of busy schedule.
My resentment towards my kid brother however melted as the following summer approached. It was the anvil of the promising mangoes season and the ones hanging to the tertiary branches looked healthier with each passing day. Our mouths had gotten used to the excessively mercurial salivating as we shamelessly ogled at the pregnantly laden tree right out of our window.
My kid brother was always on his toes and barked an alert the moment anyone as much as passed the modest mango tree. This greatly warmed him to me and initiated him into my world of tramping adventures.
From then on we went into the mango mangroves together looking for an unfortunate fruit that might have broken off due to the fast approaching monsoon winds. Our search greatly saved many a mango from getting lost into oblivion within the collected foliage of dried up leaves and twigs at the base of the tree.
And then it was my friend Dolly’s marriage ceremony. Dolly was a few summers senior with a kind heart. She allowed us teeny bloopers the pleasure of her restrained friendship. How proud we were of our associations with savvy Dolly and never lost the opportunity to flaunt it to the other lesser souls.
(Back to the scene in our household!)
My dad, the ever doting recent father was all prepared to take his little addition and initiate him to our rich traditions starting with Dolly’s reception party. I for one was not too sure that this idea had great potential. Marriages were places where toddlers would be a nuisance. No matter how hard we tried to reason out, dad managed to enervate all of us.
After all he was the prodigal father of an even more prodigal son!
We girls had insolently been gliding around in our gaudy outfits giggling in false excitement when a member of our group blurted “you know, there is an errantly eccentric guest amongst us”.
I instantly knew she was referring to Papa. You see…I’m gifted with a strange psychic ability in such situations.
She continued “He’s proudly carrying his dog around. Wierdo!”.
The wires in my heart malfunctioned as they threatened to cross-fire. I was consumed with illogical rage as my loyalty towards dad overtook the fun element that I was so enjoying that evening.
The wires that programmed the mind though were more balanced and reasoned that my dad had earned this “public ridicule”.
I quickly downgraded this friend to a few steps lower in my acquaintance and shared with her that the “weirdo” indeed was my very Dad leaving her mouth agape in embarrassment as I walked away.
Jackie was truly a successful son and tugged at dad’s heart strings with much determination. I actually learnt a thing or two from his enterprising nature that later helped me in my negotiating skills with dad in my growing up years.
Copyright © BuntysBanter २००८
posted by Bunty's Banter at 5:17 AM
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