My Father - The Player

My Father - The Player

I grew up in the fifties with a very practical and extremely loving father - may he rest in peace - they had a name for him in the small village where I grew up – the official repairman around the house or perhaps one could call him a repairman for our entire village community. There wasn’t anything that he could not fix. His dreams were not grandiose but focused. He was a man of few words and small gestures. Being a practical and a handy man he would be more interested in getting the ancient door of the cupboard fixed than buy a new one.

My Dad never spoke when he was angry. I knew he was not pleased with something that I did, when I noticed from the corner of my eye that his face was a little stern, and would not say anything for a while. In today’s terms I would call that ‘silent treatment’.

Dad in his favourite khaki shorts, tee shirt and a hat - that’s how I still picture him. A hammer, pair of pliers in hand, for Dad it was always the time for fixing things – I don’t ever remember seeing him idle. He always had a handful of things to do - a curtain rod, the kitchen stool, the cane chair, rake handle, screen door, replacing the rung on the bamboo ladders and the broken tile on the rooftop or repairing the pedal of my bicycle. He could fix them all. I am proud that I have definitely carried this trait of his though, but not one of anger management.

As I recall today, it was a way of life, and a good way of life back then – I would modestly say we were not rich, but I felt we were a little better than the poorest around us in the 1950's and 1960's. In spite of hardships, I admired my Dad and Mom’s acumen in putting food on the table for me, and sometimes it made me wonder what life would be for me when I grew up to be of their age. But honestly little did I care about it at all then. At that time I was still in my teens. I had many years ahead or so I thought - everything would fall in place in due course. Re-fixing and mending, renewing and repairing things like my Dad had simply not shown up on my radar. The future of life’s calendar was little to be concerned about. Not in the least.

My Dad tenderly and lovingly gave and provided all that he could afford. These things I took very much for granted while growing up into a man. Sometimes, what we care about most gets all used up without we knowing it, but then suddenly before you even realise it just goes away...never to return. So today...while we have ...it is best we love it.....and care for it.....and fix it when it's broken.....and heal it when it's sick.

In my home, we had a great team. My Dad was the captain and played centre-forward. My Mom, aunts, brother and cousins held their own positions and they all did their best in their own way. And while as though I ran around the entire football field, my father guided me on a positive path and position to get to the goal...and with the ball!

I am still trying to be a good Dad.

Happy Father's Day.

Tony Fernandes