Fathers, Sons, and Revealing Masks

Watching this father and son interact made me think back to the cold and distant relationship I had with my own father. Family roles have changed so much since the 70s and that's got to be good news for sons and daughters growing up these days, although Korean dads (and increasingly mums too) still seem to be stuck at the office until 8 or 9 in the evening most week nights so maybe this takes its toll on the family.

Coming to terms with one's own past life is an important process, and the latest poem I wrote for our poetry group is an attempt at painfully reflecting, embracing and moving on from that past.

Heartstrings
Also known as chordae tendinae
these thin cords extending along the muscles of the heart
tighten to prevent the tremendous flow of blood pressure
from pushing back into the atria causing imminent death.

Two or three in the morning,
falling in and out of consciousness
the heartstrings suddenly snap.
My guardian angel deserts me
and I am left completely alone
With a crazed heart that knows no rhythm.
It pounds ecstatically
freed from the regime of a regular beat
colluding with an electrical wiring
that has short-circuited.
And I am supposed to above all
Keep calm…

So there I am,
twenty hours on a plane from friends and family
splayed out uncomfortably on a dingy hotel bed
trying to will my heart to be good
and end this wild, destructive rampage.
But my heart is going for broke
up to 180 beats a minute now
sweat oozing from all pores
my breath becomes labored.
Panic attacks set in and multiply
the room begins to reek of mortality.

I am transported to my father’s side now
looking at his sunburned, gnarled limbs
clashing with the cool white linen of a hospital bed
amazed at his will to hold on for two weeks now.
He epitomizes the Aussie battler
has survived five heart attacks
wild bushfires, droughts, the rise and fall of commodities
carcinomas lasered periodically from his skin
wife and kids deserting him for gran’s after drunken spats.
He has become a larger-than-life superhero
giving his everything to the farm
while the relationships around him languished.
There are sacrifices you know - a small price to be paid
for extending one’s empire of land beyond the horizon.

Now the big finale, has come and passed.
Another heart attack has ravaged his system
stealthily taking him away beat by wearying beat
as the life support machines give up his struggle.
I imagine him reaching up to whisper some confession in my ear,
something to bridge the gap that has been dogging us all these years,
but unlike in the ‘talkies’ as he affectionately called them
he simply transpires without a sound
and is gone forever.

It is three in the afternoon
a divine sun beaming in through the shutters.
I am completely worn down without a hint of sleep
but content and at one with the world.
For my heart has granted me another reprieve
and like a prodigal son has slipped back into its regular beat.
Again I am planning and scheming for a fuller life
oblivious to wealth, empire-building or emotional baggage.
I walk the streets of Buenos Aires in awe at life - reborn
thanking rather than cursing my father for this inheritance,
for forcing me to focus on the basics of life
To wallow decadently in every moment
With no steely gaze directed at a master-plan far beyond the now.

Heart strings…
strong feelings of love or pity
tugging or pulling at somebody’s conscience