Dad (Apr 7, 2010 / 21:09)
You were there when I ran around in that olive dress with the white bow in the front. I sat in the bright bold red mini car, maneuvering it with the little steering wheel and my little calves. You stood aside half-naked, cigarette in hand, watching over me. My calves grew tired, you flicked the burnt ashes and shoved the half-smoked tobacco to the side of your mouth, walked behind the car and gave a hard push. My spirits were lifted, along with my legs, as I embraced that momentary gust of wind in my face.
You were there every Sunday, to bring bro and I to the swimming complex. Before we started lessons, you ferried us to the deep side of the pool on your sturdy and stout back (sometimes shoulder, if we requested and the guard is inattentive). Once lessons commenced, you'd either wait by the pool or go for a dip. What excites me the most was the noon, when class was over. Both of us ran over to you with our shivering bodies and chattering teeth, you stood tall holding our bath robes, wrapped us up tight and send us off to buy hot milo and french fries (with loads of ketchup).
You were there to fetch me to and fro from kindergarten school, you were there for my kindergarten graduation, you were there for my 5th birthday, you were there when for all my swimming tests, you were there when I did my abacus exams, you were there to teach me how to ride the mountain bike, you made me skipping ropes when I requested for one, you were there for many other things when I was younger and than you stopped being there.
Work consumed you. Alcohol consumed you. You consumed you.
Young I may be, but I knew about your drinking habits. I'd never seen you drunk till one fateful night. Mom drove us to the coffeeshop where you were at and your friends helped to carry you into the car. You stunk - a potent stench of cigarettes and beer. Back home, Mom supported you while I lead the way, my footsteps brimming with ambivalence, clutching the keys like an amulet. The house's door spelled familiarity and relief, I was about to sprint to the gates but you called out to me. My feet stopped, turned around to face you. You motioned for me to go over to your side but my toes wouldn't heed. Tears welled up in my socket as you staggered in my direction. I was so afraid, so terribly afraid that my fingers were numbed to the bones. You embraced me, unleashed a series of gibberish while I choked on tears and your pungent breath.
I miss you, the old you. But your incessant reliance on ethanol to detach yourself from problems made me lose my respect for you. When will you sober up from this decade long hangover?
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