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DADDY'S GIRL
The Star, Section 2, June 25, 2002
IT HAS been one and a half years since my dad passed away. You would
think the pain eases as time passes and you wouldn’t miss him as much.
By and large, most days are fine. I miss him, but life goes on because
it has to.
Then there are days when it really hits me and the pain is deep in my
heart, a place that nobody can reach.
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| Daddy and me at my 6th birthday party.
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I know for a long time I was worried that I would forget how his voice
sounded and how his face wrinkled up when he smiled; his goofy smile that
made his eyes disappear. It was as if it wasn’t just his lips smiling but
his whole face!
But remembering is painful. There were days when I would sneak into my
mum’s room and go to my dad’s drawer, open it, take out his wallet and
sniff it. Just to get a whiff of that scent that was so distinctive of my
dad. It worked for a while. But after a year the scent disappeared. He
couldn’t remain with us forever, I guess.
But you know, he hasn’t really gone far. He’s in me. I know it. I feel
it in my bones and deep in my heart.
I never really understood my dad. He was the strong silent type,
brooding even on days. But he knew how to crack you up and he surely knew
how to cheer us girls up.
It might have been just his silly smile, or the bad jokes, or maybe it
was the way his big hands could always wipe away your tears and make your
world all better again.
Being the youngest, he spoilt me silly and I loved the way my mum
always teased me for being “Daddy’s girl”. It was a title I was proud of.
He would go out every morning just so I would get something different
for breakfast every day. I would wake up to the sound of his shuffling
feet and wonder what daddy bought me for breakfast today.
Or if my parents went to the supermarket, daddy would buy whatever new
chocolates were available. Sometimes it was ice-cream. If I was a greedy
girl and ate all the chocs up, my dad always said “nevermind” and that he
would buy some more.
Even after I’d started working and was earning my own pay, my dad still
indulged me.
My parents have three girls and I was always sad for my dad that he
didn’t have a boy to spend time with. I guess in a subconscious way that
was partly the reason why I would wait with him while the girls went
shopping, or the reason I enjoyed helping him whenever he put up the
Christmas decorations every year.
We would watch TV or play Christmas carols while the girls were in the
kitchen each Christmas. After all, I was handier with a hammer and nail
than I was with a wok and spatula. Embarrassingly, that’s still true.
When I got my first pair of pants, I thought I was so cool. I could now
stand next to my dad and tap my foot to the music like he did.
We shared many interests: books, music, hi-fi and yes, football.
When I was younger I took pride in telling my dad I had read this story
or that story and he would tell me that he read it when he was small and
we would talk a bit about the plot.
Later when I had grown up I developed a love for 60s music (thanks to
my dad’s old records which I still value and keep and play to this day). I
would proudly come home holding a CD I had found of some old singer. I’d
show it to my dad and wait for his nod of approval.
He didn’t have to say anything; just a nod and a smile. That was all
the approval I needed.
Football? My dad and I had a passion for it. He didn’t explain much of
the rules of the game to me. I think I picked up a lot of that from just
watching the game with him. He loved to watch football, even if it was in
the wee hours of the morning. Many a night I would be there watching the
game with him.
I developed an interest in the game from just sitting with my dad to
watch matches.
This year, for the first time my dad is not with me to watch the World
Cup games. I remember his enthusiasm. I’d mark the scores on my football
magazine and he would mark them out on his newspaper pullout. He would ask
me who’s playing each day although I knew he already knew who was playing.
It was just his way of showing interest in something I felt so
passionately about.
We sat through so many matches together. Most times he didn’t say
anything. Neither did I. For us watching football was a quiet affair.
Yet I miss him during the World Cup season. I miss looking over to
where he would sit and see him watching the match with me. I miss looking
for his reaction when a bad foul is committed. I miss talking to him about
it afterwards. I miss the way he would tease me for supporting Brazil.
Our football conversations were only between us. It was something
precious that nobody else in the family shared with us. It was our time
alone together.
Some dads go fishing with their sons, others tinker with their cars
together.
My dad and I watched football together.
He always had a son in me and I’d like to think he was proud of me.
Daddy, I miss you so much at World Cup time. You wore size 10 shoes
that nobody in the world can ever fill.
Copyright Star Publications (M) Bhd
ALSO:
What mum taught me, May 14, 2006
Problems on the Website Front, Jan 28, 2003
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