Today's million-dollar question: Why is it when you thank someone, it can be done through a simple message, but when you apologize, it must be done face-to-face, even though they're meant as much as the other?
* * *
Let me share with you, a story.
It was a sunny Tuesday. Blistering hot, noisy as hell, and a girl - about 16 and a few months - stood alone, waiting outside her school, bag in one hand and another on her shoulders. She looked left, right, left then right again, searching for that familiar car she knew was her only means of transport home.
She fiddled around in her pockets. Zilch. Of all the days she had to decide not to bring money to school. Sighing one of exasperation, the girl leaned against one of the poles supporting the overhead shade as she continued to wait.
Her throat itched again and she coughed. Hard. She rummaged through her bag for her gargantuan of a bottle only to find that there was not a drop of liquid left. Her teeth she gritted, annoyed at the fact that she was standing under hot conditions, with a horrible cough - one bad enough for her to be surprised she wasn't spitting blood - and no water to soothe her throat.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a white car with a large rear and she straightened. Could it be?
A Toyota.
She sighed. Her parents did not own a Toyota. It looked close enough to be her car and it was not the first time she had mistaken it for her parents. But she figured hoping wouldn't hurt.
There was no way for her to tell what time it was. How could she? She did not possess a watch. The one she usually wore 24/7 laid at home, strapless. It worked reasonably well, but she wasn't about to carry it in her pocket throughout school and at home. That would be irritating.
Finally, a giant Naza Ria materialized from the corner. That could only have meant one thing: her dad was behind the wheels.
Getting into the vehicle, she glanced at the clock over the dashboard. 4:59p.m. Her dad was about half an hour late.
"Why were you late?"
"I thought it was the deal for me to come only at 5 o'clock? See, I gave you time to come out, didn't I?"
She was infuriated.
How can he say that? Something was scratching at her throat again and she looked around for any bottles but to no avail.
Great. No water. This was a crappy way to start the evening.
"Did you hand it in your medical certificate to your teacher?"
The girl did not answer. She was mad. Did he think that she would actually voluntarily stay in school for an extra half hour every day? Exactly what did he perceive her to be?
"I'm talking to you, you know?"
She held her tongue. She wasn't going to pay any attention to him.
Not long after, his phone rang and he answered it. What he was talking about, she did not know, and she did not care. She was too tired and agitated to be eavesdropping on other people's conversations, though she knew the person on the other end of the line was her mother.
Upon reaching home, she clambered out the car, slinging her bag onto one shoulder and reaching for her other one before slamming the car door. She had intended it be a little softer but the damage was done.
The rest of the day did her nerves good and she calmed down before the sun set. However, she was falling ill and could not make it to school the next day.
Her throat was killing her. She could barely breathe, let alone speak on the phone when one of her friends called. That day she mostly spent sleeping and listening to music on the computer. She slept that night praying she was well enough for school the following day.
Thankfully, although her throat was still hoarse, she managed to get up and get going to school. Both her parents were playing golf that morning so she ended up in school a little later than she planned but tolerated it anyway. Bidding them goodbye, she got off the car and went into the school.
That afternoon school ended at 4:30p.m for her and she was relieved to find that her dad's car - the white one - was already outside when she came out. She got in the car and was about to greet him when she realized he was on the phone.
Patiently, she sat in the car and waited for them to reach home. Her dad stopped by the petrol station near their house on the way and once more she patiently waited as he went to settle the bill with the dudes behind the counter.
Her throat was threatening to scratch again as her eyes wandered over the McDonald's sign ahead. As her dad slid back into the car seat, she asked, on impulse, gesturing, "Ice cream?"
With a voice loud and stern, he said, "NO!"
She was taken back, but didn't question him.
Sheesh, what's wrong with him? She leaned back against her seat as the car stopped in front of their house. She got out of the car and walked into their humble abode, greeting her mother as she walked out of the room where she taught her students.
"Happy birthday, dottie!" Her arms apart, she pulled the girl into a tight hug.
"Oh yeah, I forgot," the girl replied, surprised. Rather than the fact that it was her birthday, it was the fact that she forgot.
"Daddy, did you wish our daughter?" her mother asked, pushing her towards her dad, who was typing away at the computer. Without looking up, he said, "For what?"
"It's her birthday."
"So?"
It felt like someone had plunged a knife straight into her heart, 6 inches deep. The sting was painful enough for her face muscles to turn stiff and show absolutely no reaction except for that twitch near the edges of her mouth.
"Aren't you going to wish her?"
"Wish her for what? She was so rude."
The girl was astonished.
Rude? Just because she wanted an ice cream? Her mother turned to her and asked, "Oh dear, what happened?"
Before she could reply, her father said, "Ask her."
"She can hardly talk," her mother said.
The girl was starting to get annoyed. "I don't know," she croaked, frowning. Refusing to hear any more of his nonsense, she spun around and headed for the stairs up to her room where she could bathe.
That's how you want it? Fine. Two can play at this game, she thought, spitefully.
If he wasn't going to acknowledge her, she wasn't doing so either.
But as she showered, she could not help remembering the painful things he had said. Did he really not care? He did not even show any signs of anxiety towards her sore throat. Instead, he was spouting things like why he should wish her happy birthday.
Which father did that?
After bathing, she was summoned downstairs to have dinner. At the dinner table, her mother coaxed her over to the seat next to her and beckoned her to sit down. "Do you know why Daddy is mad at you?"
She must have uttered it a little too softly, "I don't know."
"You don't care?"
"I said I don't know!"
"He was angry about Tuesday." She figured as much. That was the only thing that made sense for him to be acting that way. "You must understand, daughter, that sometimes I cannot fetch you from school so Daddy has to get you all the way from his workplace. Then there's the bad traffic and everything. You cannot just show your temper just because he was late."
Oh, how convenient of him to leave his part of the conversation out, she thought again.
"So he was very angry that you were ill-mannered. This is being rude to your elderly, you know that? Do you know what you must do now? The two things that you must do?"
Two?
"Firstly, apologize to your father."
That I can do. "Secondly, you must change your attitude. You can't always be like this, understand?"
She was reluctant to do so, but she nodded anyway.
"And by the way, your teacher delivered your present on the way here just now," said her mother, revealing a small envelope with the Kinokuniya label on it. She was ecstatic. That packaging only meant one thing: Kinokuniya book coupons. "Remember to SMS her and thank her for the generous present, okay?"
She nodded again.
After sending the SMS to her teacher, her fingers halted on the keypad. She contemplated sending an SMS to her father, saying she was sorry, but she knew it was a very cowardly thing to do. She decided to do it when he came home later.
But it never happened. Her father was only to return home late that night and she was in bed by then. The next day, after getting dressed for school, the girl went up to her parents' room to wake one of them up. She woke her mother up first, but she gestured towards her father. A bundle of nerves, she shook his feet like she usually did.
Normally, he would give a grunt then get up. This time, however, all he did was snore after a little movement. Even after several pokes from his wife, he did not budge. The girl's mother signaled to give her two minutes, so she left.
All through school, all the girl could think of was that he really didn't care anymore, but it was really beginning to irk her. Did he really feel that way now? Was she of no significance at all?
As the girl walked out of her school entrance at 4:17p.m, she spotted her car outside and flinched. It was her dad again. She had made up her mind to apologize to him, but then she realized her brother was in the front seat.
There way no way in hell she was apologizing in his presence. Too many questions.
Her father dropped him off at the basketball stadium car-park that was on the way for his driving lesson. It was his first day and she could tell he was pumped. Her brother alighted the car and bade us farewell before crossing the road over to the entrance of the stadium.
Silence ensued in the car. Terribly awkward. The girl was shifting in her seat. She wanted to call out to him, but she could not find the words. Her voice would always get caught in her throat. And every time she would have them nearly out, her father would decide to make a call.
Finally, she grabbed a single opportunity and cried, "Daddy!"
He looked at her through the rear-view mirror, "What?"
He looked away as she weighed the words in her mind. "I-I'm... sorry."
There was a pause before he replied, "Don't do that again, okay?"
She nodded.
Another pause.
"Is your throat okay?"
Beads of tears formed at the corner of her eyes as she tried her best to hold them back.
"Okay."
* * *
P/S: Please click on my Nuffnang ads :) Thanks!!
