Monday Musings on ILLUMINATION — Do You Love Your Parents? Then Shut Up and Listen (To Them).
I found that my parents have the same wants as little kids.
They want attention.
They want my listening ear.
I moved out when my parents are in the beginning of their 60s. It has been 5 years since I own a place of my own and while I do visit my parents once every week, changes in my original home escaped me. Recently, as if I got hit by a bolt of lightning, I realised that my parents have aged significantly.
It was as if my eyes really opened.
In fact,
- I didn’t recall that my Dad’s hair was getting sparse.
- I didn’t recall that my Mum was hunching this slightly.
- I don’t remember my Dad calling me to ask me how my day went.
- I don’t remember my Mum texting me to ask if I am coming home for dinner that week.
I wonder when these actually begun?
Of course, I didn’t have a clue. If I did, I would have known when these behavioural changes actually began.
Years and years ago, as a soldier in National Service followed by my first job as a young Consultant, my Mum didn’t like it that I come home that often. It meant more work for her in terms of washing and pressing. She loved that I took truckloads of clothes along with me when I disappeared for weeks and enjoyed those periods of lighter housework loads.
Well, you have to understand this.
In those days where cutting edge technology referred to efficient washing by hand, less clothes meant less trouble.
These days, the opposite happens.
As if my Mum would actually enjoy washing clothes by hand (she still doesn’t but I have a strange feeling she would if I request for her to do so), she would ask if there are clothes that require attention to detail in terms of wash and press, and if so, she could teach me how to do it.
In fact, she taught me how to do it over dinner without me asking.
I was confused for a moment. And then I figured that she needed to talk to me. So I listened.
My Dad’s case is slightly different.
My Dad is heading towards the big 70 in a couple of years. I never realised that he aged. I don’t actually remember that my Dad has white hair. Looking back, that just seem ridiculous. I have white hair. Why wouldn’t he?
But now, he has white hair on his head, upper chest and eyebrows.
He used to walk very quickly too. I thought he ran while he walked. Although he still walks at a pace that would put many lethargic teenagers to shame, he has slowed down. A dial down from Gear 4 to 3 might not be noticeable to his friends and other family, it was obvious to my eyes. I know because I used to have a hard time catching up with him walking side by side.
Now, I hold his hand as we walk.
There is a tinge of sadness wrapped in love.
And I remember that my Dad was the real deal when it comes to being a “Man of Few Words”. He really was. It was difficult to solicit long answers from him when I was much younger. His responses could a couple of sentences and that would expend his entire word-count budget for the entire day, much to my mum’s dismay.
Recently, that took a 180.
It was as if my Dad was a spring coil that has been suppressed for many decades, he would now eagerly seek out conversations to partake at the coffee shops around our neighbourhood to get his airtime that he wouldn’t get from home.
That’s because my Mum changed too. She used to be home and hate to be out. Now she wants to be out by the park practising Tai-chi and not be home to sweep the floor.
When I get home for the weekly dinner, my Dad would talk for hours with no end. It was a repeat of his workplace stories he told many years ago which he still remembers, it was that incidence which caused the eventually bad blood he had with his brothers which is still crystal clear in his mind and it was those glorious days as an Insurance agent (then it was “Insurance Agent”, now they are known as “Financial Planner”.) when he could meet folks of high net worth and closed 1 Life Insurance policy a week.
He was openly proud of his past which he never did.
Not in my memory.
I listened. I smiled.
My Dad needed me to listen as he spoke unfettered. I am his best audience.
So I laughed at his recycled jokes for the hundredth time.
So I cursed with him with he became emotionally engaged talking about backstabbing ex-colleagues.
My Dad becomes very happy via endless chattering.
I am happy to be the audience that my Dad requires too.
As much if I hate to admit — My parents have aged.
I have too.
I remembered that I used to fight back their comments and advice as I wanted to my way in Life.
I remembered that.
I don’t do that anymore.
I just shut my trap and listened as they recount their week, bitch about their petty friends in their Tai-chi and Chinese chess communities and the rising prices of food at their favourite coffee shop down the road.
I think that is the best way to show my love.
Through deliberate silence.
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About the Author:
As a Consultant by training, I believe in making the complex simple.
Because simplicity adds value.
Simplicity helps us gain clarity, and clarity helps us to grow.
And if we are not growing, then what’s the point of anything else?
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