Some of my earliest memories involve sitting with my dad in his study every night when he came home. Dad has a jade green comb. Every night, he would smile, hand me the comb and say: "Help Daddy clean it, OK?" At age five this task brought me such joy. I would excitedly turn the tap on, and then brush the comb with a used toothbrush as hard as I could. Satisfied with my job, I would proudly return it to Dad. He would smile at me, and place the comb on top of his wallet.
About two years later, Dad left his job and started his own business. That was when things started to change. Dad's business wasn't doing so well, and our stable life started getting shaky. He didn't come home as much as he used to. And when he did, it was always late and I'd already be in bed. I started to get mad. Why didn't he listen to Mum and just stick to his old job? Over the years, I stopped spending my nights with him.
Now 28, I've already got a job. Dad's business has also started to be on track. Things are better. Yet the uncomfortable silence between us persisted.
Two days before my birthday last year, Dad came home early. As I helped him carry his bags into his study, he said. "Hey, would you like to help me clean my comb? It's been a while: since I last cleaned it." I looked at him a while, then took the comb and headed to the sink.
As I cleaned the comb, it hit me then: why, as a child, helping my dad clean his comb was such a joy. That routine meant my dad was home early to spend the evening with Mum and I. It meant he would watch TV with us or playa few videogames with me. It meant a happy and loving family.
I pass the clean comb back to Dad. He looks at it and smiles. But this time, I notice something different. My dad has aged. He has wrinkles next to his eyes when he smiles, yet his smile is still heartwarming. The smile of a father who just wants a good life for his family.
Dad carefully places his comb on top of his wallet. The same old jade green comb. I guess some things never change. And for that, I'm glad.
