They say my father is a quiet, serious man.
He wears quiet, serious, grey glasses perched on the tip of his nose, that peek out from underneath quiet, serious, grey hair.
They say my father was a lonely man.
A bachelor before my mother, nearly all alone in the US, with no one but a brother he somewhat knew and a University he didn’t know at all. He still stands with his arms folded in the corner of every party, rarely seen speaking to someone who hadn’t addressed him first.
They say my father is an angry man.
When he is angry, his face grows still, and his eyelids twitch. The whites of his eyes nearly pop out from his wrinkled, pockmarked face. He yells.
They say all that.
But I think his jokes are hilarious. He tells them like I already know the punchline, with a wink and a smile and a twinkle in his eyes, and most of the time I already do. His brown eyes behind grey frames are reflected in my brown eyes behind black ones.
He intersperses his jokes with old Tamil sayings that aren’t exactly the kindest, but I love it when he laughs, and I laugh, too. He teases me, and he teases my mother, and I think the more he teases us, the more he’s saying that he loves us.
I think he really enjoyed his time with my uncle, even when he first came to the States.
He has annoying roommate stories and crazy homework stories, enough to make everyone laugh. For the tougher times, he had memories of his Sri Lankan home and money of his own. He even got a driver’s license and now drives like a well-controlled maniac, pressing the horn to match the rhythm of wild Hampton Roads tunnel traffic.
He treats my uncle’s daughter like his own, and he often gets my name and hers mixed up. We tease him for being forgetful, but I like it; it means I’m not alone, even though I’m an only child. It means I have a sister to get mixed up with.
I think that he doesn’t get angry often and that he’s understanding.
He used to get angry more. Or maybe my young self used to have distorted, blue-tinted vision. He would yell, and I would yell back, fueled by curry and hormones and over-tightened neck muscles.
Now, I would say he listens to me. He grunts and he pretends to be watching football and checking on his fantasy team, but his head is tilted in my direction. He’s nodding calmly, even gently. He pokes his head in my room whenever I’m doing Physics homework, and we laugh over my mistakes more than we fight over my handwriting.
Whenever I am worried that he will be disappointed, he almost never is. He’s told me that he loves me for who I am and not for my A’s, and that he is proud of all that I’ve accomplished. The only thing he wants from me is to see me cheerful and happy.
So, if you meet him, look beyond the grey hair and the crossed arms and the whites of his eyes.
Look into his pupils and see them brighten when he looks at his family, when he looks at me.
Be happy for him, even when you’re in the middle of a pandemic. Keep your smile pasted on and your head held up.
It’s all worth it, just to see him smile back.
Brammy is a Harvard sophomore who enjoys creative writing in her free time. She studies English and Chemistry and enjoys public service and journalism, while also taking classes to enter Medical School.