Father

My father passed away in April 2019.  Yet sometimes it still feels he can walk through the door with a big fish, shrimp and roasted pork, and we will proceed to have a big dinner with my mother, my wife and our three daughters in our apartment in Hong Kong.  

He can do wonderful things with his hands.  He used to make beautiful vases with cow’s horns, and give them to relatives and friends.  I used to help him polish them.  He then proceed to make sharks, sailboats, ocean-going ships with multiple masts and sails.  He made bunk beds, one for each of our 3 daughters, just like those that they slept in when they were small.  He made models of our house in Ottawa, using scavenged materials, which can be disassembled and re-assembled, and carried them to Hong Kong from Canada.  

Before he passed away, I made him a bird from a palm leaf, that can balance with its beak on his finger.  He was happy with it, even though it was nothing compared to the wonderful things that he made.  

He grew up poor, and went to school for no more than a couple of years before he had to start working for a living.  Yet he was so good at his job that his supervisors promoted him several times even though he didn’t know English, a basic requirement.  As a foreman, he would finish the job well, and his subordinated would write the report in English for him.  When I was in primary 2, I struggled to learn English.  His superiors  would take turns to tutor me to learn English.  That’s how I learned “mathematics” is “咖哩勿食”.  He was friends with everyone: subordinates, superiors, colleagues, clients, strangers, …  He could curse as well as the butchers; but he never used those words with us at home - although I did learn much listening to him talking with other people.  

We were poor; but my parents never let us feel poor.  We never lack food.  We didn’t have a lot of fancy toys.  But my father made us miniature but functional cooking sets out of scrap metal.  We make our own lanterns for Mid-Autumn Festival.  He taught me to make pea shooters out of bamboo, using wild peas as ammunition. He taught me to whistle by blowing against leaves pulled taut.  From him, I learned to look at nature as full of things useful and fun.  

Even though my parents had little or no schooling, they work hard to put us through school, to grasp any opportunity to study, to attain the highest level as we can.  He wants us to make our best effort in everything we do.  When we were living in Canada, he often chastised me for not maintaining our family car in the best shape I could.  

After he retired, he worked on part time jobs, volunteered at nursing homes, churches, non-profits.  He can fix almost anything.  His attitude to family, relatives and friends, to life in general, made him many admirers.  He was, and still is, everyone’s favourite uncle.  

He is my father.