Poetry | Self-awareness

Umbrella Dad

As a child, I didn’t like my dad’s stories — but I got wise.

Photo by Vic_B from Pixabay (cropped by the author)

Coolness clueless boy
didn’t see a harbor to dock.
My umbrella dad,
fighting fiercely, when need be,
doting dad a storm life guard.

I struggled with severe asthma as a kid and could not participate in sports activities. I was more interested in creative exploits such as drawing, singing in the choir, and telling stories.

My brothers were 20 years older than me and dad always told family and friends at gatherings how my brothers were fantastic sportsmen. Dad played tennis and was chosen to represent our town’s tennis team in league matches till he was 67 years old.

Young, sensitive, and bullied-at-school-for-being-different me ‘heard’ what was said differently. I interpret things personally and took them to heart. This action contributed to my low self-esteem as a teenager. I took his words as rubbing my non-athletic prowess in my face making a joke at my expense.

He didn’t though, quite the opposite in fact.

In my late teens, I outgrew my asthma. At university, I started to play badminton and was relatively good at it. I played in…