The Nexus Gulf

The storey we all loved to hear as kids was the one about dad that would explain why his face was covered in what we as kids saw as millions of little pricks and marks of which I will tell you all about closer to the finish of my tribute to the best dad a girl could ever have had. His death at the early age of 54 came as a shock specially when his designation for the infirmary was to get a plaster cast removed only to have him dropped dead in the waiting room.

Eventhough the parting of the ways was abrupt the fondest of memories has still held a powerful presence in my thoughts over the 26 years where I was proud to call him my dad. If I could wrench the clock back – I would tell him how sorry I was for the times I took him for granted but unluckily that self-reproach will be brought to my grave where I know being the good man that he was will be waiting for me at the pearly gates with open arms full of forgiveness.

They say the good die early and that is what has helped to comfort the resentment I felt towards the man up above for taking dad so soon.People view the word “special” in a lot of ways. So what do I see in my father that makes him to a greater extent special than the others?

Dad and his Fathers Day Gifts served thirty-four years in the army but trouble was brewing up on communist day in Hong Kong where dad was stationed. It was the sound of warning signal bells that prompted the evacuation into motion for the folks living outside the barracks to turn back to the camp straightaway.

Eight of us were crowded in the rear of an army wagon with only pillows used for protection. We promptly followed the order to keep our heads down – the Chinese mob come out from the entrenches that lined the route, equipped with all forms of arms – 21 stones got in the wagon as we headed toward the camp.

The convoy of trucks that travelled along behind and stopped – now became burning wrecks.If a barrage of boulders were hurled into the back of the wagon – just what kind of state was the front of that vehicle in and that of the driver. There were no medals of courage awarded to the driver when recognition was presented by the army officers for his act of valor. The reason why was because he should not have been driving at the time, so all the pats on the back went to the wrong man sitting up front.

I often wonder now this day would we all came out alive if the boot was on the other foot, if those drivers did not follow the rules.

The result of that dreadful day was a truck with no windshield, a driver with no face and eight people who lived to recount the story. Now, you know the reason why the scars on my father’s face scarred us for life.