Memories of the Wind.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Mr Smelly Tan and his once innocent boy.
I cannot remember many intricate dealings with Mr Smelly tan during my early days except for certain memories that remain etched firmly in my mind. I was a frequent witness of domestic violence at a time when Mr Smelly tan was still leading a normal life as a vegetable seller, my mum alive, and me havent suffered the kismet of being scarred mentally by emotions and physically by numerous pimples.
My mum held order by subjecting Mr Smelly tan to ridicule and constant beating. She has a fondness for using various stances depending on the severity of Mr Smelly tan's crime and the metal cloth hanger is often called upon when the needs called for it. It was executed with such magnificent grace and sleek that I suspect it was the long lost skill, 'The Dog Beating Rod", except the weapon of danger is now the cloth hanger.
According to an inoccent boy, pain was inflicted when there was any hint of disobedience. Mr Smelly tan must have been a real bad boy. Hence, I disliked him, though I forgot that I was not any credible as a good kid myself.
One random afternoon, my mum brought me to visit Mr Smelly tan at work, and she specifically instructed me beforehand to call Mr Smelly tan "Dad". Mission Impossible.
When I reached his workplace, despite my mum urging me on, I absolutely refused to acknowledge Mr Smelly tan, right in front of my paternal aunt. It must have been a real embarassing moment for the adults, but I was just being an inoccent kid. I could not remember if I hav added:
"He's not my dad." or whatsoever.
...
And from then on. I did not once call him dad anymore.
That word sounds both vulgar and gross to me.
No thanks.
Not so innocent anymore.
My mum held order by subjecting Mr Smelly tan to ridicule and constant beating. She has a fondness for using various stances depending on the severity of Mr Smelly tan's crime and the metal cloth hanger is often called upon when the needs called for it. It was executed with such magnificent grace and sleek that I suspect it was the long lost skill, 'The Dog Beating Rod", except the weapon of danger is now the cloth hanger.
According to an inoccent boy, pain was inflicted when there was any hint of disobedience. Mr Smelly tan must have been a real bad boy. Hence, I disliked him, though I forgot that I was not any credible as a good kid myself.
One random afternoon, my mum brought me to visit Mr Smelly tan at work, and she specifically instructed me beforehand to call Mr Smelly tan "Dad". Mission Impossible.
When I reached his workplace, despite my mum urging me on, I absolutely refused to acknowledge Mr Smelly tan, right in front of my paternal aunt. It must have been a real embarassing moment for the adults, but I was just being an inoccent kid. I could not remember if I hav added:
"He's not my dad." or whatsoever.
...
And from then on. I did not once call him dad anymore.
That word sounds both vulgar and gross to me.
No thanks.
Not so innocent anymore.
Labels: Mr Smelly Tan and his boy.
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