Thursday, September 08, 2005
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Discipline..discipline..these words kept ringing in my mind as I trudged through the short-lived September Holidays. A repressed soul seeking freedom from the gridlocks of life... I always have stupid thoughts about the pursuit of education. Ahh..does it really make us free? Sigh. That killer essay question. =/
All along, I felt like a free slave for my father's company..until I really witnessed for myself how harsh the boss at a seafood restaurant off Casuarina Road treats his children. That place was brightly lit with a cheery outlook, beckoning us to go in and enjoy a sumptuous meal. We sat at some isolated corners and watched on as a sweet young girl with 2 pony tails came to serve us. She took our orders diligently and buzzed off.
Next came a younger, Ai-Tong looking girl with the trademark mushroomy hair to set the table. Not a single smile. A pitiful look. It felt as though she was forced to help out and she looked extrememly reluctant.
His elder brother (trademark Catholic High geeky intelligent look) came over to serve the broccoli with scallops. He smiled a little, out of politeness. Rather stiff throughout.
His younger sister (typical Nanyang Girls' look) served the drinks and looked as though she had been ill-treated for months. Her eyes lack the usual glimmer of a normal cheerful adolescent.
My whole family was rather amazed at the workings of this eatery house.
Eh? The Aunties that we saw looked moody...as though all were suffering from bouts of...eh..PMS? Hmmm..
The climax finally came.
A bald man clad in a full white suit (typical chef look) with a stern face suddenly appeared out of nowhere and began ordering his little ones around. My mum previously requested for the rice to be served before the dishes (although we all felt it was quite weird) as she was hungry.. Upon seeing this, the iron-man was fuming with anger and immediately shouted: "Who told you to serve the rice before the dishes?! What audacity!"
The little ones scurried away and seemed to be at the mercy of their father (supposedly). They were ordered to stack the chairs, set the tables, clear the dishes, do the washings....everything.
Though the food was nice....I felt rather sad...for those little ones. Although it is right for a father to discipline his children and the children to help their father...it's as though the task is done with the quality compromised.
How then can patrons feel happy if what we saw were sorrowful sights? The father is an authoritarian figure. There's nothing wrong with being strict and stern but not at the expense of the children's feelings..and welfare.
Sometimes I do feel "short-changed" whenever I have to help my father apply renovation permits at HDB..do all the translations for indemnity forms..it can be vexing..taxing...I used to feel that he doesn't appreciate what I'm doing..and it's only when he needs my help then he starts being nice. Otherwise he wouldn't even care. Usually he would simply smirk and say those who receive higher education are usually unfilial. I thought I was being over-sensitive feeling hurt about it. That's the kind of treatment you get when the father is too caught up with working and earning money. And most of the money goes to lotteries...4Ds...
That day after school while I was seated in his lorry tagging along to his workplace that I finally realised how hard it has been for him. The mere heat building up inside the lorry is enough to surge your blood pressure.Then it started drizzling. He asked me whether the bangladeshi worker seated behind (unsheltered) was getting wet. He asked whether he should stop somewhere and pass him an umbrella. Taking a few glances at the burgeoning water droplets on his checkered shirt..I was overwhelmed with emotions. I suddenly realised that my father is such a caring person after all...despite being stingy with us.
I know...he would be helpless. If we were to desert him.
~Everyone is trying to accomplish something big, not realizing that life is made up of little things.~
--Frank A. Clark
InDuLgeD~|11:21 PM|
