so there was the “Bumper Car” incident on the road two days ago, which resulted in a few inconveniences for us. for those of you who aren’t privy to our tweet-world, i was banged from behind our car was banged from behind while i was driving home on the PIE by a young fella in his early 20s, who apologised and admitted that it was his fault.

the guy’s father called me soon after, asking to settle the bill from the damage without going through the insurance company. he even offered one of his cars (!) as a replacement while our car went to a workshop owned by his friend. overnight parking coupon? “it’s ok, just buy and claim from me later,” the father says.

i asked if his son was ok, since he mentioned that his son had blacked out briefly before the accident. (i know right? behind the wheel! in an overtaking lane! spells ‘road hazard’ in capital letters to me.) the father, either in truth or in defence, said he too had encountered such momentary black-outs, so could not fault his son. he then took our car ALL the way to jurong where the workshop is, and when the car was repaired, drove ALL the way back to return it to us. through all this, we did not hear or see the son at all (he drove his dad’s car to work).

luckily we’d dealt with a nice, honest man, and luckily for him too, we didn’t give him a hard time. luckily, as much as we love owning a car, we’re not exactly car-lovers. we don’t give our car a name, or decorate it with fluff and frills, or go insane if either of us gets it into minor scrapes (“gives it character”, we say, and shrug it off). inside, it’s probably one of the messiest cars you’d ever seen. my mum occasionally nags at us when she sees the backseat littered with crumbs and artfully-strewn crap. she insists how the neatness and pride one has for one’s car is a reflection of one’s personality. welllll…

aaaanyway, back to my story.

so izad had this epiphany while we were driving in the little nissan march loaned to us (the car that, incidentally, banged into our airwave).

“kesian, bapak dia.” (“poor thing, his father”.) the lengths the chap went to for his son, taking time off work to meet us and send our car to the workshop, sacrificing his own car for his son to use, footing the bill…

he imagined if it were aniq who messed up like that some day in the future – and we’re quite sure he’s capable of messing up to some degree, not that we’d wish it, of course – he too would be the one to “clean up his shit” (hey, his words, not mine). because, “that’s just what fathers do” (again, his words).

his perspective on fatherhood made me grin a little despite myself. just yesterday, i got mad at the little boy over something and told him i was SO angry, i was not going to talk to him, which made him cry, which made me even madder, and i told his daddy to deal with it.

because that’s what i do when i get mad – i tell them to GO TO DADDY. because daddy is the calm ocean to mummy’s turbulent tornado. (as to why she is predisposed as such, is for another day to discuss and dissect.)

so… yeah, daddy cleans up the shit.

driving lesson 101: DO NOT – i repeat, DO NOT – bang into anyone in front of you. or your mommy will get REAAALLY MAD.

Like

Unlike