Sunday, 9 February 2014


Like I mentioned in the earlier post, growing up I was never really hit. Maybe a handful of times by either one of my parents. So when it did happen it was not something that I forgot easily. Especially, an incident that took place one particular night...*cue ominous music”*..

I was about 9 years-old at the time and I was following my Dad to the Mosque for night-time prayers. Now being a somewhat energetic and mischievous child when not in school (as a student I had decided to take a vow of silence) I was given very simple instructions by my Dad. I was NOT to play or run around the Mosque.

Since I was a somewhat energetic and mischievous child I forgot what he had said the moment he left me alone. Maybe if I was alone I could have behaved myself; unfortunately the presence of other children made that impossible. It's like asking Dexter not to murder people (albeit people who we wouldn't mind being murdered) or asking Sherlock not to solve crimes with style.

Besides being energetic and mischievous I am also accident-prone. Which is a very bad combination in a 9 year-old (I've mellowed quite a bit in now.) Anyway, long story short I ended up playing hide and seek with a couple of other children. In an effort to avoid the seekers I decided to climb a low wall (roughly 6 feet); I managed to climb up on one side but the moment I got my foot over the top I lost my grip and fell head first onto the concrete. (#Fail)

For some reason as I was writing this post I thought of a line out of the Mighty Ducks “Take the fall! Act Hurt! Get indignant!” Well, I couldn't “act” hurt I was hurt and I was dazed and confused. I was really “lucky” since there was a drain close by and I could have easily fallen into that.

I don't know how long I blacked out for, the moment I came to I had a headache and I touched the side of my head and realized I had blood on my hand. I was still in shock and slowly I made my way back to the Mosque and I knew I was in trouble when one of the guys there saw me approaching and looked panicked.

I was surrounded by a few adults at this time and someone had gone to fetch my Dad. When he got to me he took one look and that's when it happened; I got one quick slap to the face. In my Dad's defence it was on the spur of the moment. It still hurt though. I guess a few people held him back a bit and told him to calm down. He then took me by the hand and we went straight to the car and headed for the hospital.

That was probably one of the longest car journeys of my life. I exaggerate of course, it was only about 5 minutes; but on top of the headache and my face hurting, I got a severe telling-off for not being able to listen to simple instructions. On the bright side getting slapped in the face really cleared my head.

I did end up having to get a few stitches and luckily I didn't require a serious operation. The Doctor just gave me local anaesthetic and proceeded to stitch my forehead. I think was scared at the time and I asked my Dad to hold my hand, which he did. I'm pretty sure at this time he felt really guilty for slapping me in the face.

There's one important thing you need to know about my Dad; he is afraid of blood. Maybe “afraid” is too harsh (I wouldn't want him to read this and give me another slap for making him look bad.) Let's just say he wasn't fond of the sight of blood. A few years back when I required a little surgery it was my mother who held my hand while my Dad sat in the corner reading my Archie (erm..I meant my sister's) comics.

For my Dad to hold my hand was a pretty big deal. Of course, he didn't want to look directly at my injury so he held my hand while he was crouched next to the operating table. It's kinda funny now that I think about it, Gawd only knows what the Doctor and nurses thought.

I guess I can call myself lucky if that was the worst punishment I ever received in my life. And I did talk about it with my Dad recently and he regrets what happened. Some people would say that I should have listened to my father; or say that my father shouldn't have slapped me in the face in the fist place.

For me, it's a memory I can always look back upon as a moment when I realized that my Dad really did love me (not that I had any doubts)..

Me and the ole man- #lovemydad

P.S. In an update to that story of the Malaysian couple - Their children have finally been brought back to live with their relatives in Malaysia. The couple are still being remanded and will soon be charged 

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