Monday, 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
  • 51 views
  • 22 eprops
  • 11 comments