In memoriam of someone you loved who’s no longer alive, translated…
My father died too young, too young that he’d not gotten the chance, to take me to school, and I’d not gotten the opportunities, to share with him my life passage as a school instructor, that, will forever be the regret I will always be carrying.
In my memories, during the mornings when my older sisters would be taking their exams, they’d taken their pencil cases from the tables, and, couldn’t wait, to open them up, to check out the pencils that were sharpened inside.
That, was the proof of love that my father had shown toward us.
My father would always, use that small knife, before the night of my older sisters’ examinations, to sharpen all the pencils to very smoothly, to help reduce how they may be holding the pencils too tightly because they’d be taken their exams, and hurting their hands; he’d not sharpened the pencils to too pointy, because the pencil might penetrate through the exams, so my older sisters can use their perfected handwriting skills to answer the test questions.
Back then, I’d not know what exams were, I’d watched my sisters, very satisfied, I’d longed, to enter into school soon too, so I can be like them, with that full case of pencil sharpened by my father’s caring hands.
My father is the most amazing man I’d ever known my life. Every time he’d gone into town for business, as he’d returned home, he’d always, bring back a present for his beloved wife—my mother, who’d stayed at home, to look after us, until I’d grown up, and become someone’s wife too, thinking back over all of this, I’d realized, just how amazing my father truly was, as a husband.
It was hard, for me to imagine how my father managed to get the size of those pairs of high-heels suited very well for walking around, or how he was able to, get my mother’s size right, and bring home those fitting dresses for her. I’d learned from my mother, who’d told me, “Your father had tiny feet, he’d tried on the shoes for me.” Oh mine, the image of my father, trying on women’s shoes at the stores came to me………I’d pressed my mother to tell me about the dresses, my mother became shy, and said, “Your father said he’d loved how I carried myself, and whenever he’d discovered a dress that matched well with my flair, he’d put down the money.” Seeing how my mother’s face glowed with those blissful smiles, I’d finally realized, what pulled my mother through these over decades time alone, was the love my father had for her.
My memories of my father, was like a jigsaw puzzle, put together. He wasn’t a man of many words, with that authoritarian way about him, no matter who’d done wrong, we always feared, looking into those, fierce eyes, because those eyes are more constricting than any sorts of physical punishments. I’d imagined, that my older sisters are fearful of my father, but, it is, not at all, so. Every day he got home from work, he’d definitely, lifted me high up in the air, kissed my cheeks, and gave me praises for being so well-behaved. Or maybe, just like my father said, I was, a good kid, or maybe, because I was the youngest, I was able to, get ALL of his love and undivided attention too.
In this lifetime now, I will NEVER, have the pencils, sharpened by my father anymore.
Don’t know why, although my father and I shared only a few short years of life together, his love had, burned on, continuously, inside of my heart. There’s the saying of the young IS the ignorant, but I don’t agree with it, because being young as I, I’d behaved myself, my whole life, just to get praised by my dad’s “Good girl”.
So, you can see, the DEPTH of this man’s love for his wife and children, he’d given his life, to keep his family safe and sound, and, he’d not neglected his children because of how hard he’d needed to work, to support the family. He’s a model of what a good dad should be.