My Father (IV)

One

The earliest memory i have of my father is of him driving the second car he had ever owned, our first family car, and me sitting in the back as we came off the East Coast Parkway (ECP), the wind buffeting my face and ruffling my hair.

It was a red car, a Honda or a Nissan. i’m not too sure. The only thing i remember of that car are the wind-down windows and the knobs that were used to wind down the windows.

i remember being highly fascinated by these wondrous contraptions. And because i was not given carte blanche to wind the windows as and when i wanted to, it was a fantastic treat each time my father gave me the go-ahead to.

Two

We stayed at Lagoon View for the first eleven years of my life; twelve for my parents since it was a year after they had married before they welcomed me into the world.

Our apartment was on the twentieth floor, in the block that stood closest to the ECP and the sea. There were four apartments on each floor and an ample common area, the centerpiece of which was the lift.

It was in that common area my father taught me to ride the bicycle.

Not having been a particularly courageous child, the challenge of riding a bicycle, mastery over the art of balancing on two wheels, was a formidable one.

My father’s method was simple though.

After i had mounted my magnificent, black and white BMX, he would take hold of the seat, his fingers gripping the underside of the edge of the seat, before i proceeded to pedal tentatively around and within the common area.

It’s a feeling i cannot forget – when he held onto the seat, all fear i had of toppling over or of crashing ceased.

i felt well and truly safe.

And then, one particular day, i was pedaling as usual, but the amazing thing was that i found myself pedaling towards my father, who was smiling proudly a short distance away.

He had let go of my seat.

And i had finally learnt to ride the bicycle.

Three

Imagine.

A stadium filled to capacity. Fifty-five thousand people. A sea of red and white. Wave after rippling wave. A chorus of passionate cheering.

i attended my first football game when i was thirteen.

That was the day of the Malaysia Cup and the romance of the Singapore Lions. A time when one of the most comforting and familiar sights at the National Stadium was that of a ball flying off the boot of Zulkifi Kartoyoho and threatening to put out one of the numerous bulbs that made up the towering floodlights of Kallang.

He had a good friend in the Singapore Sports Council and so we had free passes to matches at the National Stadium, the VIP area at that. So while the majority of spectators sat under the naked sky, we were always under the cover of the imposing roof which sheltered the grandstand.

The one match i will always remember?

1991.

The Caltex Shield.

The Arsenal versus Liverpool.

At the National Stadium.

Tony Adams. Good golly, Tony Adams!

The Arsenal won. But of course, albeit on penalties.

After the match, he handed me a copy of the match programme – with the autographs of EVERY Arsenal player!

i still have that dear, dear programme with me today.