Being the youngest in the family has its ups and downs. Depending on the budget, sometimes there wasn't enough money to purchase a book or a magazine. Newspapers had the harsh reality parents didn't want to transfer to their kids. Nope. At an early age, it was unfair for them to face how life was. Really.
I grew up in a family of 3 boys. I was the only girl. The last Hope as my mom always said. At some point I thought- maybe; had some privileges. On the contrary, being the last one, not much was left for me to be told.
My oldest brother, found a job, my brother number two at university as well as my brother number three were all occupied in their studies. Dad worked at a home hardware store. His full time schedule didn't allow him to spend the daughter-father time I dreamt of. He came home back late, left for work early. My mom left home early to do grocery shopping. The rest of the day was spent on cooking for 5 mouths. It didn't matter which way I looked at it, they came all to eat, reflect on how was their day, finish homework or housework, or finish laundry.
Looking back at those days, I get terrified. I was by myself all the time. Perhaps this was the way a person toughened up in life. When I arrived to another country, watching some tv ads I saw a scene that took sometime to register in my head. The warm and cozy bed. A girl being tucked up in a cozy bed with her teddy bear. Besides her, her mom or dad reading a book to her. All happy, after a bit, the girl would slowly fall asleep. Then mom or dad to tuck her up, kiss her in the forehead. Get up from bed. Go out of the room, but before that, turn off the lights.
My parents were working, my brothers busy with their school work.
No time for that. Tired of waiting, I fell asleep most of the times.
My bedtime story was no story.
Only the lonely. No Mom. No Dad.
If I was lucky enough and my family had some free time at the end. I had to wait for my turn.
Being the youngest one- I meant 'number four' in the list, obviously had to wait long times for my turn.
Many times, fell asleep on the dining table. My brothers woke me up just to tell me to go to bed. Meh.
Go up stairs to your room'
They shouted at me.
I just lowered my head and walked away. Tomorrow will be a new day.
Maybe I will get lucky.
Months and years passed by. The only conversation I had with my Dad was when I asked him how he was doing at his work. I was curious. One day, he had handwritten a little story for me. It was carefully hand painted and rolled around a long piece of wood. I still have that carved in the back of my head. Nothing will make me forget that intimate moment my Dad and I had.
I have only little flash backs of him from back in the day. There wasn't many great memories because Dad worked hard for us to bring home the bacon. Supply for 5 mouths was hard, since he was the only to provide for the whole family. Mom decided to be a housewife. No way Mom was to leave us with someone else's family we didn't know. Mom's sisters had lots of kids to look after. Had 2 aunts were each had 12 kids from two marriages…..
Anyways, that's a different story for another day.
I was so stupid, after I finished high school, I went looking for this written document. I knew I could not find it. I really regretted that, being so young and foolish m, I lost the only piece of art my Dad made for me. I remember he always showed me that piece of art, handwritten that translated by him said it was my name. I was a little beautiful flower of the mountain, always happy looking for the warm and happy sun. Her smile was always shinny, a strong willed flower, never gave up. It had a very sweet light smell that announced its presence with its sweet light perfume. Maybe a flowering shrub. White flowers but look like a clover. Maybe a Chinese Snowball shrub?
Perhaps you can tell me type of plant it is. It would be nice to purchase one and plant it in my backyard in memory of my Dad.
In retrospective, I must say - you don't realize how important your parents are until you loose them. Now I realize I had an artist besides me, an artist I grew up with. Not many people nowadays does what my Dad used to do. My mom was way too busy taking care of us, barely any free time to dedicate to us. Tough times to raise a family of 5. My hats off to both of them.
I don't regret growing up in that type of environment. It made appreciate the simple easy things in life, respect nature and others. Eventually and slowly, we would build up our own lives, find a partner who to spend their lives with. Have kids and tell them the bedtime stories our Mom and Dad couldn't.
Regarding the wonderful smell that my dad mentioned on his story, I could not catch its name. My Dad spoke Cantonese, wasn't much fluent in English but made his English well understood.
I was a typical teenager, when that happened. I only worried about music, tv shows and play with my teenager friends.
Now I hate myself.
I realized now, I've lost a lot.
My bedtime story to tell my kids got short.
Short of words.
I miss my dad. I miss his talent.