My Dad

“I watched him as he was picking up that wooden plate I dumped it among the lectures files. He opened his mouth and said, “Who picked up the plat from nowhere?” Mum replied that it was the plate I received three days ago. I know he knew that. I said, “Yeah, it has no name on it.” I went on spontaneously, “Previously elder sister received it with her name carved on it. The patterns on it was nice, too bad it has no name. Maybe the school wanted to cut cost or something.” I watched as he rubbed the shiny plate with his hand stained with diesels and rusts. His eyes were gleaming from the refection of the shiny plat. He rubbed it again and again. I was wondering if he knew what words were craved on the plat. Then I saw something that was carved on his face. A small smile was imprinted on that old-looking and dark tanned skin that symbolizes his big satisfaction with himself. His pride; he was proud of one of his daughter that never truly learn how he got himself the diesel oil stain and some rusts, maybe sometimes with the burnt on his fingers, but earned and achieved something that he never had a chance to do so. Education. He didn’t say anything further; while I was engrossed with the conflicts in the television drama aired on that time. He went to take a bath. I watched mum as she was mopping the floor. By the time I looked up at the television again, I saw the plat was placed at the side of the television. I cried in silence.”

843pm

24June2008