Musings about Dad

BPO - My father joined the army when I was just 20 years old. The night before he enlisted, my paternal grandfather brought betel leaves to my maternal family to formally propose marriage, asking my mother to let my father marry me. That year, my mother was also eighteen, and many men admired her. And then my father went away and didn't return for almost 20 years. That promise made when we were eighteen or twenty years old only came true two decades later.

Báo Bình Phước•21/04/2025

While my peers were already grandparents, my father only just got to hold his first child. I was the youngest, the most spoiled by my father. When I was born, he was almost 50 years old, an age when, in the countryside, families usually have many children and grandchildren. But back then, many families, like my parents', experienced delayed happiness, all because of the war. After liberation, my father continued to work in the armed forces, but soldiers who had faced life and death on the battlefield like him only wished to be reunited with their families and their wives, who had waited for them throughout their youth. He requested to be discharged from the army and return to work in community organizations in his hometown.

People have always likened "mother to a lullaby" or "a lullaby carries the autumn breeze, a mother's hand fanning to bring the wind," but for me, my memories are always of my father carrying me on his shoulders, walking around the house and singing lullabies to me on scorching summer afternoons. From sour figs and peaches, from storks and herons to fish and beggars, from the story of Kieu or Mother Tom and Mother Suot, all were present in my father's lullabies. Therefore, even before I could read, I knew To Huu's poems by heart, and I knew how to quote from Kieu and use metaphors in folk songs and ballads.

I remember those summer nights when Dad would take down the wooden doors and prop them up on the hedge, placing a few basins of water underneath, and we'd lie there enjoying the cool breeze. What I loved most was listening to him fan me while he told stories and recited poetry… But what I loved most were his stories from the battlefield, about sleepless nights on marches, getting malaria… and the images that came to mind were of courageous soldiers, and the beautiful camaraderie and fellowship.

I still love rainy days, when Dad would always pick me up from school. He'd lift me onto his back and wrap his raincoat around my neck, covering my head completely. I'd lie on his thin, frail back, inhaling the pungent, salty, and slightly muddy smell of sweat; he must have just come from the fields but rushed to pick me up without showering. I'd tell him all sorts of stories, occasionally asking where we were, and he'd patiently answer while carrying me, gripping the slippery, bumpy road. Perhaps these are the most beautiful moments that will forever remain in my memory, moments that nurtured my childhood and my soul, so that now, almost halfway through my life, I still cherish the image of my father in my heart, with a pure and innocent spirit.

In the fourth grade, I was selected to participate in the Vietnamese language competition for gifted students. My homeroom teacher wanted me to come to her house for extra lessons on weekends. The journey was long, so my father left his farm work to take me there every day. Rain or shine, for months on end, on his old, sturdy bicycle (formerly a cargo bike), he carried me on his journey to conquer the world of learning. My father was old and frail, but his willpower and resilience were stronger than steel. He was the one who enlightened me and nurtured my dreams. Back then, all I wished for was to grow up quickly and succeed so I could buy him a beautiful bicycle and give him the best things in life, but by the time I could afford it, he was gone.

The day my father passed away was a stormy night, bitterly cold. There was a violent thunderstorm that uprooted trees along the roadside. Even though I managed to catch the fastest bus, I didn't have time to say goodbye to him one last time, or to feed him his favorite sticky rice cake. That's my biggest regret, and it still haunts me to this day.

My father, a man who may not be perfect in the eyes of the world , but who has always been great and wonderful to me. His life is a beautiful violin melody!

Hello, dear viewers! Season 4, themed "Father," officially launches on December 27, 2024, across four media platforms and digital infrastructures of Binh Phuoc Radio and Television and Newspaper (BPTV), promising to bring to the public the wonderful values of sacred and beautiful fatherly love.
Please send your touching stories about fathers to BPTV by writing articles, personal reflections, poems, essays, video clips, songs (with audio recordings), etc., via email to chaonheyeuthuongbptv@gmail.com, Editorial Secretariat, Binh Phuoc Radio and Television and Newspaper Station, 228 Tran Hung Dao Street, Tan Phu Ward, Dong Xoai City, Binh Phuoc Province, phone number: 0271.3870403. The deadline for submissions is August 30, 2025.
High-quality articles will be published and shared widely, with payment for their contributions, and prizes will be awarded upon completion of the project, including one grand prize and ten outstanding prizes.
Let's continue writing the story of fathers with "Hello, My Love" Season 4, so that stories about fathers can spread and touch everyone's hearts!

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