My Daddy strongest...

I miss my daddy. We live in the same house in the same city. I see him every day, we share a meal together but I miss him terribly. Like I mentioned before I hate growing up.

Daddy is what we call him. My father never let us calls him anything but that. For the longest time, my daddy was my hero, my Superman. Still is. He’ll probably scoff if he read this but its true. My daddy still holds strong to that one childhood fantasy. He has never let me down in any way. At the grand old age of 24, I’m still sent back to my room to “wear something that covers you up” and still told to eat my vegetables. Last month I bumped my head on the corner of the table while bending down to fetch something When I came back home that evening, he has taped the corner.. He is a fine man and a brave one.

He works with a pharma company and to my child eyes that was the only way to be. He has polio in one leg but HIS CONFIDENCE; ATTITUDE can put any normal man to shame. I remember him taking me to the pool at the age of 4 so I wouldn’t be afraid of the water. During my kiddy phase, he would tiredly wake up every night when nature called me so I wouldn’t be afraid of the dark. He taught me the joys of reading and music. He would bring me cough syrup every hour of the night when I had a horrible cough . There was one time when I was 6, when after a particularly sound hammering from my mom, I was crying in a corner, my daddy tucked me into bed and rubbed my back till my fell asleep forsaking his dinner for my sorrow. He taught me my first physics lesson and bought my my first cycle and also taught me how to ride it. Of course his word was law. If my dad said, that the White House was red with yellow dots, then it was. No questions. Such was my belief system.

Of course all the memories aren’t rosy, especially through the eyes of a child. We aren’t the most demonstrative family and he wasn’t the most affectionate or physical father. He rarely smiled or talked. He was always working. There were more no’s than yes’s. I was woken up at 6 am even on weekends. Television was limited. Curfews were stricter than everyone else’s. Expectations were high. . He was just always around. I could never get over that. I was a rebellious child and I wanted my way or I’d move heaven and earth until I got it. My mom often bore the brunt of my temper.


Of course I disappointed him. Still do. In a million ways. The choice I made always bothered him. For him, I was always the little girl who was to be protected. Maybe he was right. But the complete excitement of youth usually disregards parents. Thousands of times I was told to hold my tongue. Several times I was pleaded with to be a little more obedient. But he never stopped me from doing anything. Apart from the usual curfews and TV watching limitations, absolutely nothing was off limits

I wonder if he ever knows how much he taught me without realizing it. Of the virtue of being non-judgmental, of forgiveness, of silence, of unconditional love, of the sheer power of hard work. He started out in the world with not a penny and worked his way to the top. But he’s had ups and downs as well. He joined as a trainee and worked his way into being the top management . My dad has a severe phobia of public speech. Four times he walked out of the interview although having topped the written bit. The fifth time is when he mustered enough courage to even answer the questions put to him. I wonder if he’s ever realized that whenever his heart broke a little, mine broke a lot more. Although we’d argue incessantly, I made sure he never knew how much it hurt me. He never knew that an off hand word of praise would put me over the moon for a week. I made sure he didn’t.

Now that we’re all grown up, he lets us live our lives. We’re supposed to make our own decisions. But I’m not sure I can handle it. I’m not sure if I want t either. I want to be told what to do again; I want the assurance of knowing that I cannot be wrong. I’d do anything in the whole world, literally anything to be a kid again and go back in time to do this all over. Hurt him a little less, spend more time with him, and perhaps acquire a few more kiddy days that he can scare off for me.

Most of all, I want the courage that comes with being a child. To tell my daddy I love him to bits, that he is my wisdom anchor and that I’m sorry for all the million times I broke his ailing heart, To hope that I’m not much of a disappointment. Not too much of one.

Of course I can never say that out loud. We are an emotionally suppressed community and ours isn’t a demonstrative family. I don’t think he even knows I write a blog. But I’m gonna hope and pray that he stumbles upon this someday and reads it. Of course knowing him, he’ll never mention it to me. But I really hope he reads this someday. I’m Superman’s daughter and its only fair that he knows it.

HAPPY FATHER’s DAY DADDY :)