MONDAY, JUNE 19, 2006
He was the one that sat me down, opened up a bottle of Glenlivet and told me to have a drink because I was going to college, I deserved it and most importantly, he didn’t want some guy in college getting me drunk! He let me have a shot at his cigarettes but I spluttered and wet up the tip and refused to be a better pupil. He also taught me to whistle at boys with two fingers in my mouth…
When I brought home my first boyfriend he teased me for hours and sat on the couch and slouched and fidgeted just like him – things a 15 year old me had not noticed! And then supported me when I broke up with him because he joined the navy.
With the second boyfriend he decided he liked this quiet guy who played the guitar with so much soul and appreciated music from the good old days too… And stood by me when I broke up with him because we were at different places in our lives.
We were perhaps the only family in our small town that was open about my love life and in hindsight I realise what it took for them to be open about it and stand by me. To the extent of joking and telling people that I changed my boyfriends more often than I changed my clothes. Yes – I had two boyfriends by the time I hit 22! Big deal! Woo hoo! I now realise that was his way of dealing with it – joking about something that made him a little uncomfortable. But he taught me to hold my head high no matter what I chose to do with my personal life. And while I didn’t need to flaunt what I was doing, I didn’t need to be embarassed and hide it either.
And when I finally met the man of my dreams, he was a little taken aback. He was the first to realise that I was rather subdued and not my usual noisy self ( what can I say, I was smitten!) Taking my mum aside he told her he didn’t want me marrying a man who had broken my spirit! Oh! of course I got over the honeymoon period and I was back to my noisy self within a couple of weeks so that put him at ease…
I yelled at him and threw a tantrum ten minutes before my wedding because I wanted him to wear Indian clothes and not a suit, I take his trip mercilessly for being a momma’s boy, I fought with him because I wanted to retain my maiden name and he wanted me to take my husband’s (yeah, how weird can you get?!), I played up hell because he refused to listen to what any doctor said during my pregnancy and made my life miserable… I could go on….
But you see a pattern emerging, don’t you? I am the only one in the family who yells right back at him, thinks like him, is passionate about causes like him, flares up violently but forgets immediately, like him…. and I guess that is because I am the spitting image of him.
So on Father’s Day.. Thanks dad… for everything…
TUESDAY, JUNE 20, 2006
So my dad read my post and since he isn’t very tech savvy, he wrote something for me. He has no clue what a blog is and so you must bear with me. This post will tell you why I am the mush pot I am and why I adore him. Please note, we are from small town India and blogging isn’t really common there – specially not with his generation. They are lucky if they can figure out the music system remote control!
A Blog to the Blog or whatever you call it.
When my daughter rang up to wish me it was bad enough and I got through with a ” Oh is it ? and a brief “Thanks sweetheart”not knowing what else to say on such occasions as “Fathers’ Day”. Getting wished on birthdays, anniversaries and such things is okay and one gets used to it over the years. But Fathers Day?
A little later my son rang up to wish me and that really got me thinking. Were the kids ganging up to tell me politely after all these years that I had been a terrible father or had they suddenly realised my contribution to their growth? I choose to believe the former.
I mean getting wished by your daughter is one thing, because you expect daughters to be a little mushy on these silly days, but when your son also gets into the act you know they probably think that their old man is growing old and getting soft in the heart and even softer in the head.
Mothers Day is one thing but a Father’s Day sounds superfluous. Mothers are the ones who have spent precious hours patiently bringing up the painful brats and so the poor things probably deserve a special day in the year – but fathers?? Mind you I am not talking about the new breed of fathers – these guys are different and I’ve seen them rock the young ones to sleep faster than the mummies can.
Now fathers like me thought they were there to ensure that the food was on the table, the fees are paid and then spend any available time just having fun with them. Now this doesn’t amount to much – not enough to have a day named after them anyway.
The only other time the father thinks he has a part to play is probably when the daughter comes home with some guy she wants to marry. Grrrrr…. every guy looks like a potential psychopath with greedy paws. So you try to appraise the poor guy every which way you can and then decide he is better than you were at his age and let him off the hook.
I guess its not that bad with sons – with them you only hope they will do better than you did. So life goes on till you become a grandfather and then life takes on a different hue. You are suddenly everything you should have been as a father and that makes your kids look at you with a “where the hell was he all this time”?
So maybe they should scrap fathers day and make it Grandpa’s day instead. Any G’Pas around? Well a Happy Grandfathers day then.