My Father

As I write, my dad is warded with a bad case of pneumonia and the infection had spread to his heart, causing a heart failure. Considering how badly he was doing, he's now waiting to be moved back to the general ward, and the doctors are working to get him home by Christmas. I'd described his comeback from the brink as a fight on his part, one of the many that he had through his life.

Dad was born in a poor family of a widow and her 4 boys in Malaysia, working to make ends meet through harvesting pineapples on a plantation. My grandfather passed away while my granny was still pregnant with dad, so he was born into this world on the back foot. It was typical type of life for a poor boy in the pre-war years: you barely get a few years of school before your parents expect you to quit school and to start working. Somehow, dad knew that a good education was his way out of poverty, so he persisted. However, the start of his education couldn't have been worse, as the Imperial Japanese soldiers overran Peninsula Malaysia, throwing daily life into chaos. He often told me stories of how cruel the Japanese soldiers were, from kicking and slapping passerbys who did not bow to them, to accounts of how the soldiers were throwing babies up into the air and bayoneting them for sport. 

When the war ended, dad started school but because he'd lost a few schoolyears due to the disruption of the war, he was older than most of his classmates. My granny didn't have money to buy shoes for all her four children, so they took turns to wear them, until one day, the principal told dad that he couldn't attend school if he didn't wear shoes. Dad went home and told granny about it, and promptly received a belting for wasting money for the sake of education. I can't remember how the matter was resolved, but dad did complete his education, and won himself a scholarship to study at Chung Cheng High School in Singapore.

Dad stayed in a hostel in school, and got by with very basic meals such a porridge with salted vegetables or pickled olives, a poor man's diet. He recounted how the other students gave poor students like himself a hard time, and I guess that how he built up a siege mentality, believing that no one but himself would help me succeed. It's a sad thing to believe so, but I guess, he was so determined to succeed, he built up these walls to keep himself going.

He did well enough to win himself a scholarship that earned him a place in the Nanyang University (now known as Nanyang Technological University), where he graduated with a history degree. He then received training to become a teacher in Singapore's infant years, playing a role in educating our young nation's future. However, as schools using Chinese as a medium of teaching started getting phased out, dad was redesignated as a Chinese language teacher. It was to be his first, and only job that he held his whole life. 

His hunger for a better life for his family was what kept him going, and his belief that no one would do him any favours (apart from the scholarships, for which he's always grateful for) pushed him even harder. Whether real or perceived, it drove my dad to work hard and to put up with the injustices he felt that he had been dealt with. Sadly though, I think because of the wall that he had built up to protect himself, he might've limited his social circle as a result. He hardly had any hobbies, for whatever time he had, he spent reading the papers, marking test papers at home, and spending time tutoring us in Chinese (a major labour of love on his part, I can assure you). However, I do remember the very human and loving side to my dad: coming home beaming to a couple of excited young boys with a cake because it's our birthday (an indulgence in our household, I can assure you), playing table tennis with us and the best memory I have: dad watching me practice for my primary school sports day on the field, excitedly trying the hurdles, while he stood by the side watching me, and chatting happily as he took me home on the public bus.

He pushed us extremely hard, wanting us to strive for the best in life, memories of his own struggles very much on his mind. Academic excellence was of paramount importance, and he pushed us so hard that it frayed relations, especially during our rebellious teenage years. I must admit that I was the bum of the family, and was the only child who spent the undergraduate years overseas. But as the years went by, I grew to appreciate my parents' sacrifices for us. Without my dad's funding, I wouldn't have had an university education, meaning my career options would be somewhat limited. I remember a story one of my brothers told me of a visit to the supermarket with my father, how one cashier screamed excitedly when she saw dad. It was a former student of his, and subsequently, she ran to the backroom and reappeared with more excited colleagues, of all whom were his former students, and they gathered around him like a bunch of schoolchildren once more, catching up with their teacher. It's a story that I'd never forget, for it was one that showed me how his students viewed him.

When he retired years ago, he had served in that school for almost 30 years, and the students actually made him a sedan chair, and carried him around. Such was the respect that the students had for him. Anecdotes recounted by his former students revealed a caring teacher, respected and feared by students in equal measures, a strict teacher who cared about their progress. Now, as an educator, I want to be like my father.


The years since retirement has taken a toll on him. The arrival of my nephew gave him much joy, and he was nothing like the feared father that he was to us, in the way he treated my nephew. Once my nephew threw a tantrum and I disciplined him, his crying led to my dad popping him head around the corner and gently asking me to not tick my nephew off anymore. Even as I recall that episode, I can't help but be tickled by it. My dad, the strict disciplinarian, asking me to go easy on my nephew. Oh how the times have changed! One of my fondest memory of them playing together, was the two of them rolling on the floor, laughing joyously. Then, the years of failing health came.


He was struck down by stroke in the early 2000s, coupled with the onset of Parkinson's Disease and dementia. The giant of a man that I had known, feared and respected, slowly shrank literally. His once loud clear speech now slurred, his brisk gait now slowed to a shuffle. Mind you though, his mind is still as lucid as ever, and is ever game for a debate about politics and current affairs. 


I am glad to write that when Kat and I visited last night, we were overwhelmed by the sight of him sitting in the armchair, all intravenous tubes out of him, and he's already on semi-solid food. In fact, the hospital is already ready to release him to the general ward. By the Grace of God and the prayers of our friends, dad is hopefully well on his way to a recovery. I'm pretty damned sure he had fought the illness with the same determination that he overcame his life of struggles. No matter what, my father, will always be the giant of a man that I've always known him to be.