What my father doesn't know

My father is not tall,

Nor dashingly handsome,

Not the knight in shining armour

And I doubt the suit would fit him well.

Plus, he'd look ridiculous in it,

on a horse.

My father does not sing like Tom Jones,

nor dance like Fred Astaire,

though on many occasions

when we were young and noisy

he would do his best impression

of The Beatles.

My father doesn't own a computer.

He doesn't even know how to turn it on,

and forever wonders how the Internet works,

what chatting is all about,

why does a Book has a Face,

or is it a BLOG, or a BLOCK?

My father knows what an APPLE is.

How hard can it be?

It's either green or red!

Oh, he knows what WINDOWS are.

They are of many shapes and sizes.

Who am I kidding?

My father owns a handphone.

He's not that ancient!

When the phone beeps of messages,

he does nothing,

'cos he can't retrieve it,

'cos he doesn't know how.

But my father would be worried sick,

if any of us fell sick.

My father would endure the sleepless nights,

anticipating how we'd do in the exams.

And then more sleepless nights,

pacing every square metre of the house,

when the results were due.

My father is not my friend,

he deserves better than that.

He has never failed me, nor the rest of us

He is THE Father that we have,

that no other can have.

I now understand,

why he was sometimes such a pain,

he was only being a FATHER.