Yvonne Foong

Dad sat in his chair just a feet away, calmly watching me attempt back-breaking maneuvers wrapping and tying a box meant for Holly at least 20kg. I could never help asking myself what’s so nice watching me grimace with every exertion.

Nothing new. He did that when Aunt Ivy was alive. He did that when Mom and I carried loads and loads of t-shirts throughout 2006.

Reminding him about my damaged nerves and complicating spine surgery never helped. He would roll his eyes and make a face. Eventually. Mom and I learned not to expect help from him. I have to thank God for Mom, who could carry a luggage that male staff at LAX struggled with. She’s always the one who carried my luggage at the airport while Dad simply watched.

Dad only became obviously senile in the past year. Prior to that, he appeared very normal. He was capable of writing letters, criticizing people, yelling at mom with all kind of words, draw landscapes although they all looked about the same, and filing complaints. The only problem that went way back was his lack of speech coherence and irresponsibility. He would jump from one topic to another, often repeating himself and annoying the listener.

And seemingly normal the way he was, it always angered me that he simply watched Mom and I suffer like that. Until this day, Mom never forgets how he left her to cook and manage a food court stall despite promising to assist her before she invested in the business. His only concern was money for petrol since he had to drop her off at work and pick her up in the evening.

Mom has aged beyond her years. She only got better recently, when I managed to raise funds for surgery. write for the newspaper and not depend on her for daily expenses. Mom is still shouldering the household expenses, but with me all grown up and independent now, she can better tolerate my dad the way he is.

Whenever I came back from the U.S. I would be surprised by Mom’s uncouth responses in our everyday conversation, frowning and grimacing, almost a look of disgust whenever she was reluctant or disagreed with me. I thought the responses were over the top and uncalled for.

Then, after settling in, I would observe the way she interacts with dad and see how her habits were cultured. Because Dad is hard to communicate with as he tends to yell at mom over petty issues.

When I was a teenager, mom often said she could had left if it wasn’t for me. Mom and I switched positions now. She’s the one telling me to accept dad the way he is. “You know he’s not thinking straight,� she would say with a mixture of apathy and tiredness.

I suppose the first thing that drove me into the field of Psychology could have been dad. Who knows?
At the end of the day, dad is not a bad person. He isn’t malicious and he won’t think of cheating or hurting people. Somehow he’s just different. I never knew which part of the brain where the bloodclot formed, but much of his behavior seem to stem from damages to the cerebral cortex and frontal lobes.

Even thiugh I dislike some of her habits, mom and I have come to find joy in each other, while enduring dad’s psychopathic behavior.

Posted in General Psychology |