AS I watch my infant son grow, I wish Dad was around. If he were here, he would laugh with the family at all the adorable antics of my toddler.
Dad died three years ago, but before he left, he imprinted unforgettable moments in my life.
I still remember when my first children’s story was published in The Star’s Kids Corner one Sunday. I phoned Dad immediately and he said he would check it out when he read the papers.
He called later and teased me, saying that the stubborn girl in the story must be me.
Dad read my story! I was elated. It was the first time I’d sent my writing to a newspaper and it was so good to see my name in print. Most importantly, Dad was my first fan.
Soon enough, all my relatives knew about my writing. Dad was so proud of me.
When my first series of children’s storybooks was published, he was overjoyed. He told everyone – yes, everyone, be it friends or relatives who came by. As the publisher gave me 10 copies of the book, he acted as my distributor, giving them out as a way of promoting my work.
I was so embarrassed because I felt I was not good enough. I was afraid people would laugh at me for writing such naïve stories. In fact, someone criticised my work. But Dad assured me I was good, saying that that was the only reason it got published.
Once when I was clearing some clutter after his death, I saw some newspaper cuttings slipped inside his diary. They were my published stories. To some, these are mere pieces of old newspapers. But to Dad, they were precious stories written by his daughter.
My eyes welled with tears. He knew about my published work although I did not tell him about it. That was Dad. He believed in me. That was his way of showing his love and support for me.
Although I continued to write after Dad left, there was always something missing deep inside. If he was here, he would switch to loudspeaker mode and tell everyone about my work.
I miss him dearly. Besides losing my father, I lost my one and only biggest fan.
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