‘Daddy, my tummy hurts.’ squirmed the boy.
‘It’ll go away. Don’t be a girl now.‘ Dad ends the conversation by handing a pack of pil-chi-kit-teck-aun.
A few years passed, the boy spent his teenage years in a boarding school. He played rugby, winning every game he’s ever been to. He was a star but fragile at some point.
‘Hello dad,..‘ the boy excitedly called home for a victory lap and to inform dad of his injury.
‘You need cash?‘ as usual, not knowing how to pat his son’s back, the dad asked.
‘No. I need to see a doctor, I think I tore my muscle after winning the tournie,‘ whilst tangling the metal phone-booth cord, the boy complained.
‘Slap on some Yoko-yoko, it’ll be fine, I didn’t raise a girl, so toughen up!‘ dad hung up, assuming the conversation is over. He didn’t know the boy had been sleeping in a seating position for a week now. All that the boy has was Ponstan (pain killer pills) to get through the night.
Fast forward 30 years later. The boy became a man, had his own family and busy.
*Dad calling…* displays on his everything-enabled PDA phone.
‘Hi son, my chest hurts. Can you take me to a hospital’, whilst in bed, dad called.
‘Oh dad, don’t be a girl now. Toughen up! I was raised by a man, am I right?‘ he gave dad the same line he got when he was in pain.
Two weeks later, dad passed away. Dad wasn’t a smoker, diabetic nor was he a cancer patient. He only had air bubbles trapped in his lungs.
The man cried and grieved over the death of his father,’I should’ve taken dad to hospital for such a simple procedure.‘
Moral of the story, I believe you fruitful readers could leave in the commenting area.
ps: Writing this made me miss the Old NH.
pss: This is a fictional story, but could happen if you’re the Dad in this story.
psss: Can air bubbles cause death? I’m no Dr. House, I just made that up.
pssss: Do me a favor, click on this! (It’s for Negaraku! thingy)