November 26, 2007

• Dinner with dad

  I left work early to pick up my dad for dinner.  The traffic was surprisingly smooth and I got
  to the house with plenty of time to spare.  It was still early and we weren’t hungry
  yet.   So I sat down and chatted with him.  He was sitting in his favorite spot - the
  sofa by the window.  From that vantage
  point, he can see who is coming up to the house.   The conversation flowed easily and meandered
  around many topics.  He talked about the
  people he saw at the public library, the various newspapers and magazines that
  he liked, the demise of serious analysis at the New York Times, updates about
  his neighbours, an upcoming driver test, his health and so forth.     

  After about an hour, our stomachs reminded us that it was close to dinner.  We drove to a nearby
  Chinese restaurant.  It’s not a fancy
  place but they serve decent food and they’ll toss in a free soup and the usual
  red bean dessert.  I ordered beef with
  bitter melon in black bean sauce.  My mom
  used to make that for him.  Back then I
  didn’t like bitter melon until one day I nibbled at some and was surprised that
  it wasn’t that bitter.  We also ordered
  some pork chops.   

  As we were eating,  I
  noticed a table near us with a family of 5; the parents, 2 boys and girl. The
  older boy was around 14 and he was sitting sideways to me.  He always seemed to be getting food for his
  brother and monitoring his younger brother. 
  The younger boy was probably about 10 and his back was to me.  The girl was perhaps 12 and she was more
  intent in her book than dinner.  I didn’t
  really pay much attention to them until the younger brother started to act up
  by making noises that sounded like grunts. 
   When he turned around, I realized
  he was mentally handicapped.  His brother
  and the mom would occasionally say something to him to try and comfort him
  while the father looked on.  He seemed to
  be indifferent to the whole situation – as if it was just another routine day
  and perhaps it was.  I wondered if he
  might have felt disappointed or questioned “why me?”  Did he go through a stage of self pity and
  was he over it?

  After awhile, they faded into the general din of the
  restaurant and I continued to chat with my dad and to make sure he was eating
  enough.  I then noticed a man walking by
  our table and he was carrying his son sideways across his shoulder.  The boy was giggling and the dad was laughing
  while looking for a table.  The waitress
  steered them past our table again to the other side of the restaurant.  I smiled as they walked past my table.  I looked back at the other father and noticed
  the father at the other table was also looking at them too.  He then noticed me looking at him and our
  eyes locked for a moment.  I quickly looked
  away and felt a bit sheepish. 

  I turn my attention back to my dad who was slowly finished
  with his dinner.  He looks frail
  now.  A couple of his fingers are gnarled
  with arthritis.  His eyes have dimmed and
  don’t sparkle anymore.   I have long
  stopped asking him about what he did a few days ago as his short term memory
  has diminished considerably.  I thought
  about the father and sons in the restaurant tonight.  Each of us at different stages in our lives, each with
  very different circumstances, needs and dreams.   I wonder if years from now, the sons will
  feel the same way I feel about my dad now. 
  

  • 11:37 PM
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