When my son came to me recently and told me
that he did not do that well for his PSLE, I was sorely disappointed. I
became morose and angry. I regressed into a fetal position and experienced a
retardation back to those puberty-fighting days of wanton petulance. In other
words, I acted like a child, spoilt and weepy.
I have made a mistake. I should have
responded differently. I should have recalled that “if I think, therefore I am,” then isn’t it no less true that “if I laugh, therefore I am?” If I could
have done it all over again, I might just laugh about it. I might just look at
my son and echo the words of Mark Twain, “Never
let your schooling interfere with your education.” Or this, “I was born intelligent until education ruined me.”
Laughing about it may look silly and it
doesn’t solve the problem. I know that.
But at least, it is a good vaccine against the virus that often cause grown men
of reasonable intelligence who claims to be a renaissance father to end up acting
like an annoying, pig-headed jerk.
So, here is my shuffled cards of life. The
deck has already been dealt before me. There will be kings of hearts, queens of
clover and spades of the smallest digits. And there will also be a joker or two
hiding somewhere in life’s shuffle. I have a choice. It is a choice between facing
life’s challenges with a sense of humor or facing it with a constipated,
diarrhea-panic look of you-are-just-not-good-enough.
I guess Samuel Beckett was right when he
said, “Nothing is funnier than
unhappiness.” Even in the worse of times, you can squeeze out a pound of
funny like popping green goo from pimples. Take baby Jesus, for example, struggling
in a makeshift manger away from the mad-man Herod’s killing spree. Imagine if
it were three wise women instead of three wise men who came to visit and bless
him. Do you know what would happen? Well,
according to one interpretation, “they
would have asked for directions, arrived on time, helped deliver the baby,
cleaned the stable, made a casserole, and brought practical gifts.”
Or try this Nazi joke for size. Two Jews are waiting to face a firing squad,
when the news arrives that they are to be hanged instead. One turns to the
other and says, “You see – they’ve run out of ammunition!” How’s that for laughing at the storm? Humor
is indeed infectious. It is in fact worse than ebola. And in today’s modern technology age, some Malaysians might just
call it e-boleh!
I recall one of the words of wisdom from
Charlie Brown, “In the book of life, the
answers aren’t in the back.” And if you have time to read the book of life,
make sure you get your hands on a funny one. God knows we already have enough
of melodramatic, soapy-sad tales in our world.
One Holocaust survivor, Gizelle Cycowycz, who was also a
psychologist once remarked, “We laughed
under the worst circumstances.” She recalled in the Nazi-controlled
barracks, she traded dirty jokes with former prostitutes. At the production
line, she unabashedly giggled over funny songs and stories. It even turned a
little sadistic when she laughed at the hardship around her. “We were hungry like hell, but we laughed,” she
said. “It had to be a release.”
And most truly, I seriously need more of
that kind of release. I am a sniff-neck, uptight and perpetually morose father.
If there were ever a rectum competition to see who can shit out the most bricks
per anal force and win the first prize of a truckload of star-dust sprinkled bullshit,
I would have won hands down and pants down (flushed down too).
Personally, I often lose my way in a world
where your worth is measured in the most superficial way. The world somehow
seems to have forgotten that living is hard enough without putting unnecessary
strain on one’s neurotic need to be smarter, look better, earn more, shine
brighter, score higher, accumulate more, and compare endlessly. I always remind
myself that I am indebted to life for just being alive and even more so to
enjoy the company of loved ones and friends. And if the whole of the law is to
love God and love thy neighbors and the rest is mere commentary, then I am blessed
enough to have the opportunity to love my son and to have him love me back.
Isn’t
that what living is truly all about? How much is that actually worth as compared to the material success that the world is desperately advocating for? Has
anyone even bothered to put a price on bonding with your children, being
emboldened by failures and not discouraged, enjoying what you have and not
craving for what you don’t, and honoring your oath by loving your wife for a
lifetime? Is there no pleasure to be derived
from such pursuits that don’t cost a single cent but is infinitely worth more
than anything in this world put together?
So, let me end here in humor. It Is said
that children are like wet cement and whatever falls on them makes an
impression. Well, if that is so, I want this to be cemented with my son: That I love him. That I love
unconditionally. That the only disappointment I have is that I have not love
him enough. That he is the reason why I am a father. That fatherhood is a
privilege and is priceless. That love is my greatest joy. And that he is my
greatest joy. Cheerz.
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