A month ago I saw this man, he was on his bareskin clothing. He's got scars all over his body and he's howling and talking to himself. Lately on my way home, I saw him with hands on his pocket and wearing a jacket and with a hidden face he walked past by me. Folks in the neighborhood treat him good-for-nothin' and his wife went away defeated by her purpose of bringing her husband back to reality. He doesn't care.
A few years back this same person used to borrow Nintendo rom cartridges from me. I'd laugh thinking old people also had time for playing. He'll play with his youngest son till their thumbs would ache. He's proven to me a few times that he's a man of few words. He doesn't talk long and he just say what he thinks. That's particularly rude for me, though.
Gone crazy he could be but that does not remove my respect to a man who once saved his eldest son's life in no regards to the condition that he could be paying it for his own. So many years back when I was still too young for old talks, this person came home from work only to be faced with the screams of his neighbors that his son has fallen down a 15-foot deep well near their house. Exhausted by the day's work yet his spirit was forced to act in the swiftness of time, he jumped into the well. Perhaps he overheard from his neighbors that his son had been floating down under for too long a period of time that he never thought of losing another second. His jump was perfect, his reflexes were keen and he hugged his son from down under perhaps reaching for a ray of life from his face. He was crying maybe yet his tears were submerged with the freezing water from the well. Perhaps he was swearing on why his neighbors never looked for a rope or tie somethign down upon which his son can grasp into. They were both well afterwards. Seemingly well.
A couple of years passed and he changed. Perhaps the shock? Or maybe the revelation that nobody really cares? He's got to learn from it and he did.
Somehow he's born under a bad sign and just for another year or two later he lost his youngest son. The darkest thought of which is water. I'm not superstitious and I just don't want to subscribe by it but in the most unpleasant of things, his youngest son died by drowning in a pit filled with rainwater! I am no father but I would want to tell from his eyes that night we visited the wake that he was swearing and raising one hand unto God, screaming in his darkest thoughts, "Why? Why? Why?". But no - he did not. He looked at me and softly spoke in a manner he I rarely hear him, "God has His plans for my little Magie. He's supposed to have done his part." I left a sigh out.
Lately, he's been seen walking around in barenaked clothings with scars all over his body and yet he care no more. Maybe he was thinking everyone doesn't care really. His wife left to live with his eldest son away seeing and believing his husband to be out of his mind. He lived alone afterwards.
I couldn't think of a better title for this post than to put it that way - a father loves his son with everything in him he wills to give. Perhaps this could be the greatest love?
I couldn't say. I had to be in the position anyway.
A few years back this same person used to borrow Nintendo rom cartridges from me. I'd laugh thinking old people also had time for playing. He'll play with his youngest son till their thumbs would ache. He's proven to me a few times that he's a man of few words. He doesn't talk long and he just say what he thinks. That's particularly rude for me, though.
Gone crazy he could be but that does not remove my respect to a man who once saved his eldest son's life in no regards to the condition that he could be paying it for his own. So many years back when I was still too young for old talks, this person came home from work only to be faced with the screams of his neighbors that his son has fallen down a 15-foot deep well near their house. Exhausted by the day's work yet his spirit was forced to act in the swiftness of time, he jumped into the well. Perhaps he overheard from his neighbors that his son had been floating down under for too long a period of time that he never thought of losing another second. His jump was perfect, his reflexes were keen and he hugged his son from down under perhaps reaching for a ray of life from his face. He was crying maybe yet his tears were submerged with the freezing water from the well. Perhaps he was swearing on why his neighbors never looked for a rope or tie somethign down upon which his son can grasp into. They were both well afterwards. Seemingly well.
A couple of years passed and he changed. Perhaps the shock? Or maybe the revelation that nobody really cares? He's got to learn from it and he did.
Somehow he's born under a bad sign and just for another year or two later he lost his youngest son. The darkest thought of which is water. I'm not superstitious and I just don't want to subscribe by it but in the most unpleasant of things, his youngest son died by drowning in a pit filled with rainwater! I am no father but I would want to tell from his eyes that night we visited the wake that he was swearing and raising one hand unto God, screaming in his darkest thoughts, "Why? Why? Why?". But no - he did not. He looked at me and softly spoke in a manner he I rarely hear him, "God has His plans for my little Magie. He's supposed to have done his part." I left a sigh out.
Lately, he's been seen walking around in barenaked clothings with scars all over his body and yet he care no more. Maybe he was thinking everyone doesn't care really. His wife left to live with his eldest son away seeing and believing his husband to be out of his mind. He lived alone afterwards.
I couldn't think of a better title for this post than to put it that way - a father loves his son with everything in him he wills to give. Perhaps this could be the greatest love?
I couldn't say. I had to be in the position anyway.
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