In the memorable year of 1968, while I was diligently studying in the fourth grade, I got into a heated argument with my classmate Savio. During our spat, I blurted out “bloody fool,” which was considered quite offensive for a kid my age back then. Unfortunately, Mother Margaret, our respected headmistress, happened to witness the scene at that exact moment. Her disapproving look made it clear she was really unhappy. She demanded a meeting with my dad, threatening to expel me if he didn’t show up. But given my dad’s busy schedule, the responsibility fell on my dear mom to step in for our family.
She was the picture of elegance when she arrived, wearing a lovely blue sari. Mother Margaret pointed at my mom while talking to me, commenting on her neatness and grace compared to my messy look. My mom, ever the diplomat, promised her my future good behaviour. Little did Mother Margaret know, I’d find myself in similar trouble again, saved only by a kind class teacher who had a soft spot for me since I was a bright student.
My image changed from that day. My classmates and even my teachers began to see me differently, not because of any personal achievement, but simply because I was the child of such a classy and dignified mother. One day, to my surprise, I was called to Mother Superior’s room. As much as I tried, I couldn’t think of any wrongdoing that week. I got more nervous as I entered, only to be surprised to see some of my peers. To my huge relief, it wasn’t a punishment session but an introduction to drama. The sheets handed out were titled “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” marking the start of my acting journey. I was one of the weavers.
As the days got colder and December was nearing, our school announced a big production to celebrate Jesus’s birth. The scale of the show put us all in a whirlwind of excitement. The performance was on a large open ground, and the thought of a big audience only added to the thrill. My role was one of King Herod’s wise men.
The night of the play finally came. The backdrop was dark, except for the twinkling eastern star. As the play went on, I was captivated by the story and the magical setting—the lights, the beautifully designed backdrops, and the amazing power of the hanging microphone amplifying our voices. I got so caught up in the moment that Mother Margaret had to prompt my lines. But in the end, she kindly praised my acting.
Yet the most touching moment of the night was yet to come. As I struggled to navigate the backstage chaos, my dad appeared, hugging and kissing me with a warmth I hadn’t experienced from him before. The scent of rum and tobacco lingered, but I was the embodiment of happiness at that moment. For the first time, I felt a sense of pride and acknowledgment from him—a fleeting but deep moment of connection.
Years later, when I look back at my father’s contradictions, I realize the countless ways he influenced my life, both positively and negatively. He was a mix of a man who was never gentle towards me, often cold and hard. My heart longed for a more tender relationship, hoping in another life for a father’s unconditional love as he gave my siblings.
I’m unsure why he constantly yelled at me but never at my siblings. Maybe it was because I openly disliked the way he treated my mom. My silent disapproval, visible in my expressions, might have pushed him further away. I was very close to my mom, and maybe this closeness stirred some jealousy in him.
He passed away on a Good Friday, the same day my grandma, his mom, also left for her heavenly abode. Strangely, I never missed him. I could never love him as a father, though I respected him as my dad nonetheless. My heart, however, was comforted by his younger brother, who was like a father to me.
To this day, I miss my uncle terribly, a testament to the complexity of the human heart and the lasting impact left by those who give us unconditional love and guidance. I have learned through experience that relationships between people are rarely straightforward. For all its emotional challenges, my father’s influence shaped me in ways I’m still figuring out. He may not have given me the love I longed for, but he left me with lessons—some painful, some deep—that have come to define who I am.
