Selfridges, The House of Fraser, Debenhams and all other stores on Oxford Street were dressed for Father's Day. Even Waterstone's was no exception. It had shelves labelled Books for Fathers to help children decide a gift for their book-loving fathers. There were other gifts too - like mugs with Super Dad printed on it. I particularly liked some of the gift items, but thought it would not be appropriate to buy it for myself.
Neither did I present my (late) father gifts every Father's Day, except on occasions when I travelled and saw something which I believed he would appreciate. But somehow being in London, compounded by the posters and window dressing of these big stores, I suddenly missed my father immensely.
When I was in Amsterdam, I mentioned to a colleague the gift I presented to my father, when he asked me what would make a good gift. I told him I gave my father a box of cigars! The wooden box was beautiful and the cigars in it, were like art pieces and together it was impeccable. My father was delighted but my wife was not very pleased since it meant I encouraged him to smoke.
One of the things I carried with me to London was a shopping list - my family has a craving for many cakes and chocolates from Tesco. And it usually includes two items for my father - cheese and scones, a liking he developed during his visits to the UK. This time round, when I ran through the list, my father's delightful expression the last time I delivered him the cheese and scones appeared in my mind. It would be a perfect Father's Day gift for him, I thought. I felt sad and tearful - I missed him very much.
It is said that we will only cherish and value our parents (and everybody and anything else) when they are no longer around. I now understood the truth of this statement. And indeed, there were instances when we disagreed as well as the reprimand on Hari Raya Eid Fitr when I expressed my views from Liverpool over the Ramadan Bazaar at Geylang Serai.
But as days passed into the third month of his passing, I missed him even more.
There were not many occasions when my father and I had a walk together. Perhaps being the eldest child, I was meant to do my "own things", and indeed I did. I worked, served National Service, traveled to Paris and London after NS, worked again and eventually moved to the UK. It was during his second visit that we brought him to London to spend time with my family and I, together.
I retraced the walk we did along The Serpentine in Hyde Park, Constitution Hill, Buckingham Palace for the Changing of the Guards, and the Birdcage Walk along St James Park. The squirrels, the swans and the birds in St James Park were there, just like when my father, Muslim and Muslihah tried to feed and photographed them - and each of these actions were visually replayed in my mind.
It was moments like these that I wished I had spent more time with him.
My wife told me not to repeat it and asked me to spend more time with my mother. I also intend to spend what ever little time I have, with my children. And now that they have grown up, we hardly walked together.
When I reached home, Murshidah gave me a present. I unwrapped it with excitement - it was an exercise book, autographed with good wishes. Mus'ab gave me a crumpled piece of paper with his drawing of SpongeBob SquarePants cartoon on it, for Father's Day.
Allah, please forgive me for the things I did, and for the things I did not do, for my father when he was alive.
Please grant him Your mercy, Allah.
And Your garden for his abode.
Neither did I present my (late) father gifts every Father's Day, except on occasions when I travelled and saw something which I believed he would appreciate. But somehow being in London, compounded by the posters and window dressing of these big stores, I suddenly missed my father immensely.
When I was in Amsterdam, I mentioned to a colleague the gift I presented to my father, when he asked me what would make a good gift. I told him I gave my father a box of cigars! The wooden box was beautiful and the cigars in it, were like art pieces and together it was impeccable. My father was delighted but my wife was not very pleased since it meant I encouraged him to smoke.
One of the things I carried with me to London was a shopping list - my family has a craving for many cakes and chocolates from Tesco. And it usually includes two items for my father - cheese and scones, a liking he developed during his visits to the UK. This time round, when I ran through the list, my father's delightful expression the last time I delivered him the cheese and scones appeared in my mind. It would be a perfect Father's Day gift for him, I thought. I felt sad and tearful - I missed him very much.
It is said that we will only cherish and value our parents (and everybody and anything else) when they are no longer around. I now understood the truth of this statement. And indeed, there were instances when we disagreed as well as the reprimand on Hari Raya Eid Fitr when I expressed my views from Liverpool over the Ramadan Bazaar at Geylang Serai.
But as days passed into the third month of his passing, I missed him even more.
There were not many occasions when my father and I had a walk together. Perhaps being the eldest child, I was meant to do my "own things", and indeed I did. I worked, served National Service, traveled to Paris and London after NS, worked again and eventually moved to the UK. It was during his second visit that we brought him to London to spend time with my family and I, together.
I retraced the walk we did along The Serpentine in Hyde Park, Constitution Hill, Buckingham Palace for the Changing of the Guards, and the Birdcage Walk along St James Park. The squirrels, the swans and the birds in St James Park were there, just like when my father, Muslim and Muslihah tried to feed and photographed them - and each of these actions were visually replayed in my mind.
It was moments like these that I wished I had spent more time with him.
My wife told me not to repeat it and asked me to spend more time with my mother. I also intend to spend what ever little time I have, with my children. And now that they have grown up, we hardly walked together.
When I reached home, Murshidah gave me a present. I unwrapped it with excitement - it was an exercise book, autographed with good wishes. Mus'ab gave me a crumpled piece of paper with his drawing of SpongeBob SquarePants cartoon on it, for Father's Day.
Allah, please forgive me for the things I did, and for the things I did not do, for my father when he was alive.
Please grant him Your mercy, Allah.
And Your garden for his abode.
2 comments:
Reading your entry, Dr B, I begin to miss my own parents too...
I take consolation in the fact that at least we have this time with us still to make amends.
:-C
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