Happy Father's Day

Looking back on my past, I have accepted the fact that before I came here to the States, my life back home was pretty much a very protected, pristine, immaculate one.

I blame the fact that I am the youngest one. And physically a bit tiny. And I got sick quite a lot as a baby, compared to my sister who is taller and has a stronger built than me, who virtually never got sick, who was the high school volleyball captain. And, get this: who would have the power to physically smack anyone trying to offend her. She's the total opposite of me. There's an infamous rumor of her smacking my brother's head with my mom's high heels when they're kids because my brother pulled a trick on her. Ouch.

My dad... oh, where do I start...

My dad spoiled me rotten and protected me from everything that is even remotely potentially harmful. He thought and still thinks that I am all that. That I am the precious one. No one was good enough for me. He disliked all of my previous boyfriends. Until they became an ex-boyfriend. He hated them all. Only ChicagoDimcorner passed the hatred phase. Finally.

I remember the first year that I was in Chicago and my dad got sick and was admitted to a hospital in Jakarta. No one told me.
No one told me until a few days later when he got better and was released from the hospital. He told everyone to keep it quiet from me, fearing that I would worry and feel sad.
What?

I mean, WHAT?

He also taught me how to drive, but then hired a driver to drive me around, because I am a bad driver.

He gives unsolicited advise. Starting from career choices, boyfriend choices, my dilemmas in life. Everything.
All the time.

He protected me too much that he took care everything for me without thinking that he might want to let me do things my own way so I can learn from my mistakes.
Or so that I can form my own opinion.
Or so that I can be independent and not being spoon fed all the time.
I didn't even know how to pay my bills when I first got here.

So today, a few days after father's day, I need to get this off my chest:
Look dad, I'm a good driver now. Well, at least I am an okay driver, except when I'm mad because someone just ruthlessly cut my lane. Or when I'm in downtown Chicago, because they are all crazy there. It's not my fault. I am the only sane driver.
I know how to pay my bills since then. How to write a check. Manage my accounts. All that financial, grown up crap.
I'm strong enough to hear alarming news, like if someone got sick and admitted to the hospital. Or that someone's blood test wasn't all that great. That's would explain all the sugar-free food I sent you last week. Got it?
I'm happy that now you embrace ChicagoDimCorner like your own son. Although I hope that since he's like a son now, you won't start giving unsolicited advice too So, keep your cool, Dad. He likes you.
And if I need an advise, I'll ask you, but if not, that means that I know what to do.

And since I was away from home, I went to the bars, clubs, drank, got drunk, got a bad hang-over the day after, got home at 3 AM, all the things you really never want me to do. But I kept an eye on my drinks so no one slipped anything in it. I know my liquor limit, I didn't engage conversation with strangers. I kept an eye on my back when walking home at night. I have tear gas on my key chain, just in case I need to use it.
I made my mistakes, so I can learn from it.
I'm surviving.
I'm doing fine.

I know you are damn proud of me though.
And I know you keep a picture of me and ChicagoDimCorner in your wallet and you show it off to whoever wants to see it. As embarrassing as it is (not the picture, but the showing-off part), I'm letting you to do it.

And I know you love me.
And that's why you did all the annoying things you did... or still do.
And of all people in the world, I guess you're one of the very few people who has the prerogative right to do all that anyway.
Because you're my dad, who drove my to school for 14 years. And some more. You stayed up all night when I got measles. Did everything you could to make sure I have food on the table, went to a good school, read all the books I want. You carried me to my room when I fell asleep on the couch.
Who will walk me down the aisle someday and of course, give unsolicited advice on my kids' names later in the future. And I bet, names will not the only advise you will solicit.
I know it all, and I'm bracing myself for all that. For a hundred more years to come.
So, happy father's day, Dad.

I love you too.