I don’t ALWAYS work when I have visitors in my house and my parents know that; but they also know that I still prefer to keep my laptop flap open and pretend to be working. Nothing beats that trick to escape from all the cheesy and boring conversations that they have.
I peculiarly hate it when I hear knocks on my door when I am discussing something with my parents, and so today my neighbor was not particularly welcomed by me when she chose to knock on our doors, just when I was discussing on “How one can become a Pope?” with my parents.
My dad sat on the chair opposite to me while I kept working on my laptop as my neighbor and my mom started talking about their children and how they have grown to be complete ungrateful nut-bags. It was as if I was completely invisible there.
My mom later even took the liberty to tell how I never used to have much fun with dad and it still is that way, and how we only talk when it is something really serious like … religion, generation gap and that irritating squeaky noise of my bedroom door. It was as if even my dad was invisible.
My mom later went on to explain how once, in my childhood, my dad carried me in his arms and was descending down the stairs and how some random stupid had just cleaned the stair case but casually chose to let the soapy water remain on the stairs. My dad slipped on the top most stair and came crashing and slipping down along the staircase, which at least had 8-10 stairs. Her voice grew more excited as she went to to explain how dad kept his hold on me tight and did not let me go till he ensured his unfortunate style of descend has stopped. Only when he was completely down did he hand me over to a lady at the side and stood up to feel how damaged his body ended up to be. Everyone praised dad for protecting me like that and those praises still echo in our house whenever a new guest comes and the topics of agenda includes the favorite – “My ungrateful children and their all-beautiful childhood”.
As she was done with this story, my dad was still seated on the chair opposite to me, with no motion, his body completely indifferent to what he heard. But his head then gave away as it turned around and looked at me. I was watching all that from the corner of my eye but I did not know if I should look up to him and smile or give him a high five and share a joint. We don’t do all those sort of father-son things. I stayed put, as after a few seconds he resumed looking to his right, him too pretending to be deep in thought and not listening to my mom’s and the neighbors’ discussions which by now had shifted to other children and their childhood.
I smiled as I continued to type and look at my laptop screen. I smiled as to how he was also ignoring them and how it might be a genetic thing, but more than that I smiled because I was grateful. He knows I am grateful, or at least I hope he does. I was also grateful to my mom’s nature of repeating one story over and over again without ever getting bored of it.
Him looking at me, my subtle smile; though it was barely even a minute long but those seconds formed one good Father-Son moment for me…