My papa

Papa retired from serving the government when I was only three years old. As a kid, I got to spend a lot of time with papa. Everywhere papa went, I tagged along. I was very much attached to him; he was actually my companion at home because mummy was too busy with the housework. Mummy was also fierce while papa was always easygoing so I usually opted to cling on to papa.

One of my daily routine with papa was to comb his hair. I loved it each time he finished his bath or woke up from his afternoon naps. Papa would sit at the edge of the bed in front of the mirror while I climbed on the bed to comb his hair, he was my doll. I took pride in decorating him. I took my own sweet time to play and comb his hair according to my choice of style and he would let me be (of course he would privately re-comb his hair if I did a bad job).

Years went by and I grew up. I stopped combing his hair. Yesterday afternoon, papa came out from his room. He looked frustrated. He had difficulty shaving. I looked at my aged papa. I wanted to be the little Jenny who used to comb his hair again but of course, my eighty year old papa did not have much hair on his head for me to comb anymore.

This morning, I offered to shave papa. He did not hesitate. I found his shaver, sat him down and shaved him. It was not easy actually, I tried my very best to be gentle, I did not want to cut him. After shaving him, I offered to trim his hair and he agreed. I gave papa a new look within half and hour. Once again, I took pride for the new look I gave my papa. He was satisfied, so was mummy. The satisfaction I had was pretty much similar to how I felt 20 ++ years ago, the only difference would be that little Jenny was no more that little and this time, I did not need papa to carry me down from the bed after I was done with his head.

(papa then when I was 3, papa and myself 2 days before his 80th Birthday)