At 65, my kids gave me the gift of my own words

By Sunil Saxena

In the very first year of my wedding, I was blessed with twins — a boy and a girl. It was a joy to see them grow up.

Today, both are married, have families of their own, and live their own lives.

On my 65th birthday, they gifted me a scrapbook. The scrapbook was filled with one-liners, things that I had said while they were growing up.

Today, it is my most treasured possession. I cannot hold back my tears and laughter as I turn the pages.

The scrapbook opens with a handwritten note celebrating the milestone: “This scrapbook is a collection of your famous lines that remind us of you always. They bring back the incidents and the smiles surrounding them.”

The succeeding sentence is no less mesmerising. “Some have become our lines too — that we often say … to our children.”

No father can hope for a more eloquent tribute.

The scrapbook starts off with “Our favourite line … the small joys of life,”. These small joys were little things such as sipping a lemonade, taking a pony ride or going for a drive.

My goal was to make them realise that happiness was small joys added together. I would tell them to do more of what made them happy instead of conjuring a mirage called happiness.

I was especially happy to see the idiom “live and let live” in the scrapbook. This is what I wanted them to do: respect everyone, whether they liked them or not.

At the same time, I used the idiom to teach them to respect all forms of lives. Both my son and daughter hated cockroaches and wall lizards. They refused to step into a room if they spotted one.

I had to cajole them, convince them that every species has a right to live. The world will become unliveable if we don’t give space to other life forms.

I would tell them to learn to live with lizards, spiders and cockroaches. They would have none of this; instead, they would insist that I take these creepy crawlies to my room and live with them.

There were several digs at my habits. Scrawled across one page were the words: “Right now: I will just take a short nap.”

Another page politely reminded me of how I tried to blackmail them: “Father’s Day is coming … I was just reminding you.”

But the one that really hit home was this: “Skip school today. Take an off.” This was their way of telling me that when it came to school, they followed their mother. I could go on baiting them, but to them it was idle talk. Rain or hail, fog or mist, my kids never missed school.

However, the one-liner that had me in splits was the line that I used to mock my wife. I would often make fun of the sewing machine that sat in a corner of our house, occupying space and doing nothing.

It had been used no more than half a dozen times ever since its purchase. But my wife refused to part with it. It was her most prized possession.

The children remembered my frustration and my sarcasm, especially the line that I would often spout when I would fail to make my wife see reason: “It’s a priceless antique… Treasure it.”

Another one-liner that brought back fond memories was: “Shall we order food from outside?” I would propose, and my wife would dismiss the idea.

Sometimes, my twins and I could persuade my wife to drop her opposition. There would be High Fives, and such “wins” would then become part of our “small joys of life.”

A part of the charade was asking children to persuade their mother that the idea was theirs, and not mine. “Don’t tell Ranjana that I said it,” I would tutor the children.

But my wife always knew whose idea it was.

And then I would put on my most innocent face and protest, “Ranjana, they know all my lines.”

The scrapbook also reminded me that “Age is just a number,” and that I should not be defeated by my growing years. “It’s all in the mind,” the scrapbook mocked me with my own words.

Another one-liner that found its way in the scrapbook was my take on God. I would often tell them that whatever happens is with the will of the God. “I believe God shows the way…” I was therefore very happy to note that his one-liner resonated with my children.

The children may have got married and moved out, but they left me with this thought: “We have left some pages blank for you to add some more of your one-liners.”

(First published on Medium.com.)

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