echoes of parents day
line 1: mom/dad, happy parents day
line 2: thanks for giving birth to me
line 3: im sorry that (whatever you get yelled for)
line 4: i will be better
line 5: thank you
line 6: i love you
line 7: (sign)
of course, all these letters were inspected by the teachers (so private eh). many letters would be decorated with paper folds, pictures and failed attempts of some sorts of flowers. and with hands sticky with glue, we would bring them home, proudly carrying it in hands, not in the backpack; soon as the door bell rang, we would yell: happy parents day!
then passing of the cards,
then the usual: kicking of the shoes, dropping lunch boxes and backpacks to floor, peeling jackets off the shoulder and promptly sit at the kitchen table with open mouth and hungry stomach: what's to eat? it's a special day! we get something tasty? and of course, mom who knew that it really wont be much different from any other day (even with the curiosity that remains on the corner of the mind: is that a flower or an animal on my card? should i ask? is my child ever going to learn to spell properly or draw something nice?), would whip out something tasty for the kiddies. and we would tuck in, heads in the plates, busy consuming, then a short thanks: thanks mom, you are the best.
last year, we thought of parents day without my wee brother. instead of seeing the boy that she gave birth to grow up to be a man, my mom and my granny buried him in their hearts. and just like prometheus, daily, she loses a chunk of her heart, only to grow them back out with love. then another chunk falls out, fresh wound. this year, i emptied the morning tomorrow, hoping and hoping and hoping that i would get to see mom/dad/granny for a brunch. they were wanting to meet up last week but because of the standing difficulty between the gene pool units and minnows situation (and i was working, it wasnt just an excuse!), we postponed to tomorrow.
until something in the shop went bust and everything was thrown off the kilter, things piled up for customers, more and more stuff, cloths, cloths, cloths, bills, changes, bank-atm-terminal-misbehaving (my gene pools work their fingers to the point of no fingerprints at the dry cleaning shop, at one point to feed the three greedy little piggies and old mom at home, then now with somewhat of a desperation after they lost the wee one), we are postponing once again. i feel sorry enough for myself that im debating to send a flower pot for them. it's cliche and it'll likely to be overpriced mad. it will already be late. and i am a bit hesitant to send flowers because that really isnt what i wanted to do. i wanted to get to brunch, eat some random americanized chinese food and discuss mundane things and see them in person.
and then there's the dumb math.
1 - 1/3 = 2/3
1 - 1/6 = 5/1
last year, my heart was in shreds at this time, the mound of freshly dug soil on the ground, where we tried to put our wee one under the ground. the mound of unspoken and confused tangled mess of sorrows to come for the all the days i would live and remember. this year, just like the mound that is nearly gone, covered with grass (to be marked with expensive bronze marker soon!) from the daily surface, i remember the wee one as on-going basis but it does not disable me to point of total confusion, a pointblank. but when i think of the word parents and the tradition of good ol'korean elementary schools, i cant help but to be a bit lost. arithmetic is not holding its truth and the whole math system crashes.
in the crashed dusts of numbers, logics and reasons, i think of mom, probably worn out and sleeping with aid of chemicals along with my tired old dad, slowly withering and aging in that old marital bed. i think of my old dear granny in her little bed, pile of newspapers and magazines around her pillow, her mind sinking into sleep with weight of her years. my other bro, who must be just getting ready to sleep, off from his late resto work schedules, standing on feet all day, kicking shoes off and getting in that small piece of joy to respite himself, to brace himself for the next demanding workday coming, whatever it may be. i, here in my little mind space, that may not even really exist, thinking about a life that is no longer available for sharing.
simple day it used to be, parents day.