In my mind's eye, I can see you running. Your little legs are churning and your heels are kicking up high. The slap of your feet on the ground are sharp and staccato. Of course, you are grinning and your little eyes are sparking. You run for the joy of running, a small privilege, given our race's sometime fraught relationship with nature, over the long years of our time. Usually you run within the boundaries of my comfortable, or comforting, vision, free for a time from the usual confines of walls, gates, or dangers, free for a time from the restraints of worrying minders and dragging, well-meaning arms.
I think you hardly know where you are running to, and when you will stop. I wonder when was the last time I ran like that. I can hear you running. Usually you will call to me, if I am not calling out how fast you are, darling. What amazes me sometimes is that you run a little oddly, at least the way I see it as an adult. Not efficiently, I suppose, but not inelegantly either. And you don't really tip over often, as long as your sandals fit well. Not that I worry, after all. Falling is very important. I'm sure know, or rather, harbour doubts about that, by now.
People who see you walk say that you walk with a bounce. You bounce along the road, looking curiously everywhere. Does it show them that you are happy when you are walking, when I am holding your hand? You always laugh when I start bouncing and skipping along with you. Sometimes you insist quite strongly that I stop that. OK. Maybe it's because you think I should be the sane person around. Leaving room for you to be a little nutty. Well, maybe, sometimes you are entertained when I am silly.
I guess you are aware that adults can be boring and stern, somewhat predictable. The truth is that all adults are silly in their own ways, and your Papa, or Pappy, is silly too. Most adults have forgotten what it is to be young and small. They are quite careful to be serious and to sort of protect what they think other people think of them. They consider that image has something to do with status and worth, and others' concern. Truth be told, there is some merit in that thought. A very old fellow, Confucius, 孔子, said it was important for a son of princes to be grave. To be honest, I don't think much of that. I think he said many other important things, things like properness, courtesy, respect, piety, observance of decorum, and so on. But in those times it was important for officials and gentlemen to treat each other gravely and civilly, in good, classic manners; it allowed for frank and respectful conversation. He didn't want anyone to forget their place, be impolite to their hosts, or make light of traditions.
I am not too much of a grave man, even though I don't mind being a little serious, sometimes. But I am more of a indefinable man. I am not predictable, but that's just the way I am. Some people might like to experience life through calmness and predictability, but I just like the strange and quirky, and the terribly funny side of things! I often think that when I can finally look at something in hindsight and laugh it off, laughing at myself, or at the misfortune of it all, I am well and strangely over it, better off with a bit of experience. Well, I guess you already know that Papa is very funny. Well, so are you! I always say that you used to be cuter when you were smaller, but you are funnier now.
You're a little lucky in one sense: because you're my daughter, you hardly ever feel self-conscious around me. You don't have to worry about how I will react to you, or something you do. That much, unfortunately, is predictable to you. Well, be yourself, darling, just be yourself always. I know that sometimes it is a drag just to get through the day, doing everything people want you to do. Nevermind. Just think happy thoughts, think of Bedok, and look to happy times with Papa OK. Think of running around again! I'll do my best to be there with you too, darling.
