Father.
My grandfather in Vietnam passed away last Wednesday. It’s disheartening and a shock to my system. I went home Friday night to attend the temple service on Saturday. I went back to mourn for my grandfather, but more importantly, to make sure that my dad was doing ok. My dad is 63 years old now. He’s still as stubborn as he was when I was an infant. There was a point in my life where I convinced myself that I hated him. He would always yell at me at a young age, shooting down my self-esteem. He would hit me sometimes when I was being a nuisance. He would give me math problems and make me write out the English alphabet letter for letter when I was like four. I hated it.
He was a hard-ass, no doubt about it.
It wasn’t until recently (maybe three or four years ago, when I went to College), that I appreciated everything he’s ever done for me. He was tough on me because growing up, his dad wasn’t much of a father figure for him. He was only doing what he thought was in my best interest, and for years, I never understood that. I let my dumb immaturity blind me from his affections and love. He loved me the only he knew how: being demanding and tough.
As I write that, I am a little emotional…not over my Grandfather’s death…but more so the fact that his death has made me realize how valuable my relationship with my dad really is. He’s getting old and now I fear that he’ll grow weak and frail. I can’t stand it. I know it’s apart of life but just when I have finally taken an appreciation for him and the things he has done for me and my mom, it hurts. I want him to be that tough-ass that he always was. The arguments that we always get in, as much as I hated them, was a testament to how much he cared. There was this one time at the end of high school when we got in an argument, where he seemed to be comparing me to kids of his friends and how well they were doing in life and how I was lazy and a quitter. I cried and yelled at him during that fight. That was the first time I cried in front of him, I told him how I felt like shit everytime he yelled at me and compared to other kids because they of no relevance. I remember the look on his face when I told him that and it seemed to hit a nerve. He felt hurt and vulnerable…from that day on, I can’t remember another instance where he yelled at me. It was at that point, that I realized how much he actually loves me.
I’m gonna spend more time with him. I’m gonna cherish it. I’m gonna let him know I love him. I swear.
