Sunday, 7 July 2013

My dad is my hero

Still learning . Made this out of sudden :) . If there is any grammatical error , u can always correct me.

‘My Dad is my hero.’

The phrase constantly ran back and forth in my mind like scurry ants. 
Can my Dad still be a hero? 

I ran my eyes around the class only to see the other classmates were beaming with joy, smiles plastering their faces and cheerfully answering the question. Answers went around the class; but still I could not figure out mine.

“My Dad bought me an iPhone last week. I really love him … “

“…he always takes our family to overseas…”

“…my dad is an important person in…”

A ‘pang’ of frustration hit me. Having all of those luxuries would be impossible for me. 
Huh … A deep heavy sigh unwillingly escaped from my long-held breath.

 But my Dad is not my hero anymore! I yelled in my heart , frustrated.

“Ruth? How about you ?” 

The image of my father vanished from my head and my mind snapped into focus. Mrs. Larrington’s smile could not ease my uneasiness however; - I could feel a few drops of sweats were trickling down my back. She was heading towards my seat and the sounds of ‘click clack’ of her red heels caught the other students’ attention.

“Uh … uh … He is my . . . hero,” I gulped , pausing for what seemed like ages , hesitated ;-torn between telling the truth and making wild flying lies, when the bell filled the air with the sound of freedom. I inhaled a deep, relieve breath as Mrs. Larrington eventually ended the class.

Dragging my feet home, my mind was still busy recollecting the memory of us ;- dad and me. I tried to think about something else yet my brain did not seem to agree with my desperate desire, the question was still attached to my brain like a plaque. 

As I was about to cross the main road, a sight of a little girl climbing his father’s back caught my attention. Then, she planted a kiss on his cheek and chuckled melodiously as she lied on her father’s back like it was the most comfortable place in this world. Her joie de vivre made my heart to grow with envy. A smirk was etched to my lips unexpectedly.

But … there was something familiar about the scene that caused prickles of recognition down my spine. All of sudden, a déjà vu hit me. I bit my lower lips remembering the facts that Dad used to carry me on his back too. The memory was still crystal clear though I was seven at that time.

It was nearly Christmas and I was snuggling in the thick woollen blanket with Dad. We were very happy as our tête-à-tête was filled with jokes and laughter that it was je ne sais quoi. Then the snows started to fall onto the earth and the pavements were covered with the white sparkles in less than five minutes.  “Dad , look at that.” The small finger of mine pointed at the road as we were watching the snow through our window. It was a perfect night;- I was momentarily paralysed by the stunning vista.

“Can I eat the snow, Dad ?” He smiled and shook his head slowly.

“So , I will get a baaaaaad stomach-ache if I eat the snow?” 

Dad only nodded, smile was still plastering his face. Out of the blue, he wrapped me with the thick blanket and carried me on his piggyback. I let out a loud shrieking scream, shocked by his quick action.

He took me out of the house, carrying me on his piggyback as if I was his most valuable treasure. I twitched in shiver as the cold sprouted my body yet my left hand reached for Dad’s cheek and caressed it gently, trying to transfer the warmth. He held me closer and I wrapped my hands tighter around his neck.

We danced and laughed in the snow; despite of the goose bumps. It was blissful.

However, it was 4 years ago. When Dad was still there to carry me on his back and laugh with me. I tried to curl my lips upward in a resemblance of smile as my heart cried; reminiscing back our memories together. 

Tears started to run down my pallid cheek but I forced myself to smile, half hoping if I wish hard enough, the lump in my throat could be eased.

“Dad. You are still my hero though you are not here in this world anymore.” I muttered under my breath slowly before the sobs grew harder and tears streamed down, ready to drench my collar.

Yes. My Dad is still my hero. He watched me from up there. From the blue skies.

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