Lonely Island: Happy birthday, dad...

01 July 2007

Happy birthday, dad...

I spoke briefly to my dad today. Totally unexpected. He picked up the phone when I called, which he never does. So I was a little surprised.

"Haven't spoken to you in a while..." I said.

"Yes..."

"So how have you been? Well?"

"Everything is well. Don't worry. Everything is well," dad said, as he always says. Everything is always well. Even if it isn't. "What are you doing now?"

"Just busy writing my thesis..." I said, holding back telling him how frustrated I feel at the moment at the little progress I'm making. "And I work too. I work part time, and I'm busy writing my thesis. It's quite busy, but things are well."

There was a few moments of silence, and dad turned to call my mum.

"What about you? How are you doing?" I asked. I wrestled with my own thoughts, wanting to say something, but not sure if he'll respond to it well.

"Everything is well, don't worry. You take care of your health," dad said, and then called my mum again.

"I'm just working on my thesis, and working, so there's really not much going on," I said, "What about with you?" Again, I wanted to say it, but didn't dare to, because it's too personal... and he doesn't like me to remind him.

"Nothing much..." Dad turned to call my mum again. And then he disappeared as my mum picked up the phone.

An awkward conversation.

He didn't know what to say, and I didn't know what to say. It's been four months since we last talked, and I guess both of us were caught off guard to speak to each other after such a long time. So the easiest conversation is to say nothing, and I guess he could avoid talking by giving the phone over to mum.

It's my dad's birthday today. I always remember, because it's easy to remember. And this year is the big 60, which makes it even more special. For the past few weeks I've been wondering to myself whether I should write him a card, or send him a gift, or speak to him and wish him happy birthday... but I did none of that. Partly because he doesn't like me to wish him happy birthday, he doesn't like me to write to him...

And now I regret it. One day in a lifetime this day comes, but I can't work up the courage to wish him happy birthday... However he reacts to my goodwill is his business, so why should I be so afraid to say it? It's such a simple sentence, such a joyous event, but instead it's complicated and has been troubling me for weeks...

So I guess this is the reason I'm writing this, and the reason why "Papa, can you hear me?" is the 'Song of the moment'...