Raising children..

Mr.L was a very weird, lonely man. He was tall and skinny and bonny. So bonny even his cheeks sank in instead of popping out nicely like red apples. He spoke with a Very loud voice, but funnily he’d tell little kids off for speaking too loudly.

Mr L was never married, he lived alone next door to my parents. All he had were his 5 shirts, 2 pants and a motorbike. We are not sure what furniture he had in his house, coz he’s never invited anyone in. (I know what shirts he had, coz he always washed them and hung them very neatly on the line outside.)

Every morning, Mr L would put on his best work shirt, and his best work pants which were three quarters long, barely reaching to his ankle. Then he’d get on his grumpy motorbike and coax it to start. That darn bike would spitter sputter and choke but would refuse to start till Mr. L did some tinkering and knocking here and there. Then off they’d go to work. Again, I’m not sure what he did for a living, but someone said he sold ice.

In the evenings, Mr L would come back, change to his tattered white singlet with holes here and there; and put on a different pair of three quarter length pants with thread dangling at the end. I’m not sure why his pants were always too short, perhaps he grew taller in his old age (he must be about 50 something) or perhaps his pants shrunk. Then Mr. L would pick up a long sharp stick and go check his barren brown, dry garden for any fallen leaves. He’d pick the leaves one by one, then go outside and sweep the leaves on the ground while mumbling and grumbling about why the government shouldn’t plant trees, for they create unnecessary mess with all the falling leaves.

Once a poor old cat sat in Mr. L’s very hard brown garden. I said poor cat, coz Mr. L picked up a long stick, held it with two hands and raised it above his head. Then slowly with his eyes popping out, he approached the cat, and chased it with all his might out of the garden, across the road and into the next lane. Now, if I was the cat, I’d never step in there EVER. And smart as cats are, none of them ever returned to this garden.

I’m not sure if Mr L ever ate well, but I know he listened to music at nights. Perhaps he had a very old record in his house? For we’d hear Chinese opera or Beethoven’s symphonies blasting ever so loudly, so loudly we’d hear it through the walls of my parent’s house, across the street and several streets down.

One fine day…Mr. L’s bike broke down. It spittered and sputtered as usual, but refused to start. So Mr L had no choice but to cycle to work. Now cycling on the very very busy highway is surely a very dangerous act, especially if the bike is an old rusty one with no reflectors. He met with an accident one day and landed in the hospital for a few days.

Thereafter he became a little afraid of cycling and started to buy parts hoping to build his motorbike again. I’m not sure why he didn’t just buy a brand new one. In the mean time, he had to cycle to work, but more cautiously.

Last week, Mr.L didn’t come home for a few days. We grew worried, but thought perhaps he’d decided to take a break and visit his sisters. My mum worried even climbed over the fence to make sure Mr. L had not fainted in his own house. 6th day came and no Mr. L. Then in the morning, my mum heard a boom on his door and went to see if Mr L had returned.

Alas, no Mr.L but his three sisters. Mr.L met with another accident, and the police only informed his family 3 whole days later. This time,…… Mr. L, did not survive. His sisters did not find anything in his house worth taking, they couldn’t even find the documents to the house in which he lived.Though he was somewhat strange, we will always miss the sounds of him tinkering and knocking the bike, the loud opera music and in a strange way, his loud complaining voice. Rest in peace Mr. L.