December 18, 2008

• My Dad, My Baba

  Note:  this post is gonna have a slightly different tone than most of my previous ones.  After having the most heart-wrenching dream I’ve ever had not too long ago, I feel like writing about my dad.

  

  For the longest time, I thought my baba (father in Cantonese) was such a huge enigma.  He seem to have a lot of friends in the Cantonese speaking community here in Maryland and in fact his nickname amongst them is “Big Mouth Chan”, given because he usually talks and laugh the loudest at social gatherings.  If you were to see him at a party, you’ll see he’s always going around chatting with people, making tons of jokes, and laughing up a storm.  You’ll probably also notice where I got my laugh and walking style from.

  Anyways, what confused me so much as I was growing up was why my baba never acted in that friendly, sociable way when he’s with me or my brother.  At home, he tended to be very quiet, intimidating, and looked a little annoyed to be honest.  I don’t think my dad and I ever had a real serious conversation.  At most, we may talk about elementary things like where I wanted to eat, what job I got, how to fix something on my car, etc.  We never talked about any personal things that I see dads on television talk about to their children all the time. 

  

  It really made me wonder whether or not he was truely happy with me.  All his actions made it seem like he didn’t really care about me and that I was more of an annoyance than anything else.  Growing up, I didn’t really see him that often because, at the time, my parents were running a restaurant and were always there working.  Sadly, I think the most interaction I would get from my dad is when I was being punished by him.  He didn’t try to talk to me or explain anything; he would just spank me silly and yell at me until he felt I had enough. 

  As this trend continued, I really started to loathe my dad.  “He never acts like a real dad to me!” I thought.  I barely respected him for the longest time.  I still listened to him but only because I felt obligated to.  So many times, I told myself that when I get older and have a child, I would treat him with the utmost care and respect a dad can give to one’s child.  I wanted my child to love me and that meant to be nothing like my dad.

  However, I started to see him a bit differently after a rather long conversation with my mom some time ago.  She was giving me a haircut one day and while we were chatting the subject of our conversation turned to my dad.   In the conversation, I learned so many new things that I never knew about my dad.

  She told me how my paternal grandfather left my grandma, my aunt, and my dad to go to the Philippines to make money, but in doing so he ended up staying there for the next 17 years without returning back to visit.  My dad didn’t have any contact with my grandfather until he was 18 years old, and by then my dad had already learned to take care of himself.  In fact, he had to drop out of school at age 15 so he could work and provide for the family. 

  My mom told me my dad loves me more than I will ever know,  he just has a different way of showing it.  While he doesn’t show it verbally, he shows it by working extremely hard so that he can provide my brother and I a better life and more opportunities than he ever had as a child.

  I began to hypothesize that one of the reasons my dad doesn’t really talk to me about things and why it’s always a little awkward when we are together is due largely to his childhood.  He didn’t really have a father to teach him things or to talk to him when he was down or whatever, so it makes sense that he doesn’t know how to do those things with me. 

  After seeing my dad in a new light, I went back to a lot of my old memories of him and realized how much he has actually done and sacrifice for me.  I really felt bad that I used to think such bad thoughts about him.  Although not the most emotional, empathetic father, he really has provided for me in so many ways that I probably owe him a lifetime of favors.  Still, with all that being said, I still wonder if I really loved him. That answer came to me in a dream I had about a few weeks ago. 

  In my dream, I’m walking down a long hallway.  Soon enough, I see my parents standing in front of me, looking very worried.

  I don’t know how I came to this conclusion based on that, but I suddenly realized that I had died and my spirit was in the process of leaving Earth.  Somehow, my parents were able to see me one last time before I departed from them forever.

  Can’t remember too much about what we said then, but what I really remember is the sight of my mom crying hysterically and my dad looking grim as I told them how much I will miss them, my brother, and everyone else I’ve ever cared about.  I didn’t want to leave, but I knew I could only stay for so long.  Suddenly, I began fading away and started yelling out loud “No!” frantically. 

  In the last image of my dream, I’m looking directly at my dad.  He had not said a single word the entire time, yet his wretched, teary face said so much more to me than words would ever convey.  I just kept staring at him, meeting his eyes, and started weeping.  With the last ounce of my strength, I manage to yell out for him one last time before I woke up.

  That was the first and only night I have ever woken up literally sobbing and gasping for air, with my heart pounding so hard that I thought it would break through my chest.

   

  Yeah, I think I love my dad, my baba.  Hopefully one day, I will have the courage to say that to him.

  • 7:44 pm
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