Getting Old

I am getting old, I realized.

When my sons were staying with me, their companies were taken for granted. They spent their times at home doing what they wish while I glued myself to the seat in front of the TV. It seemed we live under the same roof but in different world. We heard each other’s laughter but not sharing the same joy. They grown up in a blink of eyes while my grey hair reminds me I have aged.

When they are away to pursue their tertiary education, I miss them more than I ever realize, but when they return home to spend their school holidays, I hold them in my arms with joy for minute but soon my attention was distracted by the LCD. Could I claim that I love them full-heartedly?

I missed the opportunity to share their childhood which I could defend with glorious excuses, that I worked hard away from home in order to provide them the best a father could possibly do. But now, the side effect of such vain excuses has taken over and it becomes part of our lives.

Dear Lord, what have I done to my relationship with my sons?

I know they love me, but we all know that something is missing. It’s that little rapport that make us “friend” is lacking, or it’s that straight face I had which deeply imprinted in their memories?

How I wish I can redo these all over again.