Why I Don’t Like My Father’s Friends

By the title of the blog, you might have guessed that I am not much fond of my father’s friends. Amongst millions of questions that are squirming in your brain right now, the BIGGEST one may be “WHY… WHAT HAPPENED????

Well, my dear friends, the answer is complicated. Before your brains go awry, let me assure you that they have not harmed me in any way other than bruising my soul (repeatedly).  

To explain this in detail, I must go back to the beginning… or more appropriately, when all hell broke lose in my childhood. The unfortunate day was January 30th 1984. A terrible accident (may be pre-medicated or may be not) caused his premature demise. I was few months over 5 years of age.

Initially I was not sure what had happened, and by the time I did, it was obviously too late. It was a permanent “Hasta-La-Vista Baby” from my father and that was the end of that chapter.

Now, to understand my father, this is what you need to read. He was a happy and a jolly person who had more friends than one could count. Plus, he was a nice guy who did many nice things for innumerable people. Upon his early release from the earthly plane, these friends and well-wishers of Baba took it upon themselves to give me lessons as to how great he was.

Unfortunately, I lived not very far away from my ancestral home, which meant these friends of his would often drop in (both announced and un-announced) to check up on us. Those were traumatizing moments for me. I just wanted to run away from home when they were around.

I did not wish to listen how awesome my father was when he was a kid or how resourceful and naughty he was, or for that matter how kind he was. I never got to meet that part of him in real life, and those stories caused me nothing but trauma.

I mean, even though everyone in my family did beyond their best to make sure I had everything, but I did miss the fact that he was not there to teach my how to ride a bicycle, or a bike or take me to movies or buy me music. I found it excruciating when other friends’ dads came to drop them to school or take them out over the weekends.

I already had so many things to miss about him and all the stories I heard of him from my mom and grandparents were enough for me, but these guys would not stop…

They were, as a matter of act, they are, forever stuck in the past… I understand they miss their friend, philosopher and Guide, but they cannot possibly miss him like my grandparents did, or my mom does, or even I do…

So yes, since my father’s friends had nothing else to dish out other than pain, I do not like them at all.

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