IN REMEMBRANCE OF MY DAD PART 1

The obituary read : Lim Kheng Siang (31 December 1927 - 28 February 2015). There was a brief write-up about his family and his past contributions to society. Today's news, tomorrow's trash.

But who was this man who walked this earth for 88 years ? He was no saint, he espoused no great ideals, except to serve his community to the best of his capability. Nor was he a man of great wealth, although the Malays teased him as "Orang Kaya" . He was born, he got married, he begat off springs, he worked to provide for his family, and then he left this earth. 

Well, for one thing, he was much loved  by his children and more so by the grandchildren. For us children, the love was more of a slow, evolving emotion for when we were young, we feared him more than love. For he was a strict disciplinarian. He brooked no disobedience and his words were law. If any of us children were found to have breach his rules, the punishment was swift and sure. There was no doubt about it. so the children devised clever ways to circumvent the 'rotan' (of which my 2nd sister was the expert!). Read more here

A typical Chinese father, he hardly communicate with us on anything, except to give orders. And we only talked to him when we wanted our report cards signed or to ask for money to pay our school fees. As far as possible, we (at least I) would try to avoid getting in his path. A stare from him would send rivers of fears down my spine! He was strict about our studies and every evening, after dinner, we children had to sit around the marble table to do our homework. My eldest brother, the privileged one, had a table all to himself (and a private room to boot!). There was no television to distract us. so every evening, there was a hum of time tables being recited, Chinese poems being rehearsed and the scratching of pencils on papers. Occasionally there would be a slight scuffle under the marble table when one naughty leg kicked another leg!

Father would sometimes occupy a small section of the table and he would be typing certain documents on the old faithful Olympia typewriter.

Or he would be squatting at one corner of the room, usually near the door, sorting out documents. My impression of his early years at home is him with lots of documents, title deeds, plans of the village, government forms etc..He willed himself to learn Malay and a smattering of English. I still remember my Standard 1 years, when he coached me in English and Malay.

In the early years, though life was tough, he was able to provide for the family. We didn't have much luxuries, but we lacked nothing either. Anyway most of the villagers were equally poor, so we didn't feel any different from the others. Slowly, but surely, he began to acquire assets, First was a small piece of land, then followed by another, and then another. Grandfather was his mentor and stalwart in the acquisition of the land and houses. (the telling of Grandfather's relationship with father will be left to my 2nd sister as she was more involved with them than me)

However, father had his vice i.e. an addiction to the mahjong. At first it was just a game he indulged in during Chinese New Year, just to pass the time. Then he started playing on a regular basis, on weekends with some of the older men. It soon became a full-fledged activity for a few hours every evening. The bets were small and they seemed to have a jolly good time together. Soon he began to play in earnest, bigger bets. Sri Gading 'mini casinos' did not satisfy his addiction and he 'graduated' to Mile 6 to play with the more professional boys. 

Every evening, after work, he would ride his motor bike, his Vespa to Mile 6 and there he would gamble till the wee hours of the morning. There were reports that the professional boys in Mile 6 conspired to cheat him during the mahjong sessions. I would dearly love to meet any of the surviving mahjong kaki and give them a slap for causing our family so much hardship and pain. The family suffered and we, at least I hated him for his indifference to the family well-being. It was his only vice but that vice almost destroyed the family It was this vice that resulted in the dwindling of the assets he acquired in his early years. Even to this day, I have mixed emotions each time I drive past Mile 6.

Yet I do have fond memories of him. Like the time he popped in to my class when I was in Standard 1 to see how I was doing. He smiled and waved to me but I was too surprised to respond or to smile back. (I remember my class teacher scolding me: Your father is here and you didn't even say hello to him" Little did she know the gesture from him was unprecedented!). I remember the rides in his lorry - the times he was back from BP after buying new stock for the shop and he would stop his lorry to pick us up. My friends and I would climb to the back of the lorry and we had a free ride home. (Of course during those times, my status would be greatly enhanced in their eyes!). Or once, when I missed the morning bus and I came home in tears, dad sent me to school in his Vespa. Or the time (in Form 6), I told mum of a flasher lurking behind the government building near BP High School and dad accompanied me to school every morning for a week. Or the time he waited for me every night to accompany me home after my concert performance. Of course, most of all I will fondly remember him for keeping me in the family despite pressures from grandmother.

As dad grew older, he mellowed and we were able to have some kind of conversation. But he was never much of a talker. The only time he was garrulous was he reminisced of his war days. It was my children's dad (Alfred) who prised this detail of his life during one teh tarik session. Read about it here.