"Give Me Back What is Mine" 2

Suddenly images of waiting at a bus stop - God knows why - led me to the thought of what happened shortly after I surrendered the handkerchief back to my dad.


My dad, being the wise and kind one, as he gave me the handkerchief, was clearly aware that I will never be able to fully utilize it. Not able to understand the value of that silk handkerchief, he decided to keep it and give it back to me later when I'm slightly older and 'more mature' to handle it wisely.


A small kid I was, and a small mind I had. The whole idea of having to 'wait for the handkerchief' wasn't something I actually liked. My mother spent many many weeks of having to painfully explain to me why I couldn't have the handkerchief yet, and why I had to wait for it, so that I won't tear the handkerchief, so that I won't simply lose it, so I won't destroy it or use it wrongly and stuff...


.. but the hard part came, when I suddenly saw the old handkerchief I used to have.

And this time, it was in the hands of a kid of my age, that I actually - and seriously - disliked.

My jaw dropped as I saw him pulling out that handkerchief from his pocket. What on earth is that handkerchief doing with him?!? And as he drew it out, he shaked it so hard and flapped it open without giving it much thought of 'what would happen to the poor handkerchief'. Anger started to rise in me, and I could feel the heat all over my face.

After some vigorous shaking and flapping of the handkerchief, he wiped his nose. Blowing hard into the handkerchief, I could see strains of the utterly disgusting mucus coming out from his nose, and he wiped harder than ever.


That was the last straw. Breathing fury and inhaling fumes, I charged right up to him. I was almost running with my fist clenched tightly. For a small kid back then, I sure was mad and angry. My eyes were burning at the sight of him, and I saw him burning and bleeding in my anger as I approached him. He's going to pay for it, he will.


At the nick of time, luckily, my mother stopped me. Holding me back with one hand on my shoulder and the other hand on my head with her back facing the boy, she pushed me all the way back to a little corner and carried me up from there. I wasn't prepared to give up at all. I was so close to socking him for treating my beloved handkerchief in such unruly and inhumane manner, with no sense of responsibility or awareness towards the value of that handkerchief he was holding. Fighting my mom, I was kicking and pushing her hands away to almost no avail. Slowly, as I realized that I could never outdo my mother, the struggle faded slowly.


No more did I fight my mother. That time, the anger and fury made me weary and tired. I was then devastated, a soldier lost in nowhere, a pilgrim without a compass. Sadness overwhelming me, I cried and sobbed softly. In the middle of a grand function, I would be really shy if other people saw me crying, and I was careful not to let anyone see those tears of mine. Sobbing, I finally fell face first into the strong shoulders of my mother, and wrapped my little hands over her neck.


Patting me on the back gently, she carried me out into the garden for a walk. I was still crying, but only the tears were left on my face. My mom's shirt was almost drenched in my tears. She hummed the song "Give Thanks" softly into my ears, and that really did calm me down.


But the sadness, the frustration, the struggle..


My handkerchief, once everything I only had then, now in the hands of an idiot that didn't appreciate it..


Why?


"Why is it with him?" choking on those tears, I finally asked.


"It's dad's to give darling," my mom sad softly. For a little boy, I thought I could sense the sadness in her tone and voice. "But I'm sure dad knows what he's doing ok? He loves you darling, I promise.."


"You know that too don't you?" she continued.


I nodded my head slowly. Back then, I couldn't understand why would he ever allow such an obnoxious kid to hold the once favourite handkerchief of mine, and until now I still don't. All that I could remember now, is that after I nodded my head while rested comfortably on my mother's shoulders, I still cried, in my heart, for a long time. I cried, and cried, and was left to cry. My dad, I thought, would never have seen me cry back then.


But somehow, later as I grew up, even if I never actually knew why he gave him the handkerchief, I had this strong inkling, that he knew exactly when I cried, and why I did. After all, he's the dad.