Conversations with Dad

Dad and I have this nightly prayer routine; no matter how tired we are, or how much work we have to do, we make time for a short prayer together. Of course there are some nights where I don't come home, but that seldom happens -- probably less than once a month on average -- and even when I have to stay out, I try to call home, and we pray over the phone.

After praying, we sometimes follow it up with a nice chat. There are times when I have so much work that I circumvent this by acting distracted, and he usually gets the hint; I feel guilty, of course, I know how much he loves to talk to us, and I hate depriving him of that, but if you've met my dad, you'll know that he can manage regular three-hour marathon speeches conversations.

Tonight, as we let go of each other's hands at the end of our nightly prayer, he let out a sigh.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It just occurred to me that I finally understand why your grandma was always worrying about us." He stared out of the window.

"It's your turn to worry about us now, huh?" I grinned.

"Yeah, precisely!" He laughed.

"There's nothing to worry about, Dad," I assured him.

"I know, but then I still do -- I worry about all the worst things that might happen to you kids, and even the not so bad things, like whether you're coping with your studies, whether you have enough money, whether you will be able to find a good job, a good husband..."

"Dad..." I rolled my eyes.

"You know, Grandma used to stay up to wait for me whenever I came home late, even when I told her not to."

"And now you do the same! You're always staying up to wait for me, even when I tell you not to!"

"Haha, yeah. But Grandma was better at it than I am," he laughed. "She actually stayed awake waiting for me. Me? I always fall asleep on the couch when I'm waiting for you! HAHAHA!"

"..."

Oh well, it's the thought that counts, I suppose.