Childhood Musings.

When I was a little kid, I used to share a bed with my Dad. I remember it being a queen size bed laid without a bed frame on the carpeted floor. My mother was partial to Japanese decor, and it was in that manner that the master bedroom was designed. Actually it was more a fusion of Western and Japanese decor. How so? The bed, as I said, was close to the floor, in line with traditional Japanese style, and sliding wooden shutters took the place of curtains. The lamps however, were classic dimmable western glass lamps, casting yellow light of variable brightness.

I only started sleeping on that bed after my Mum left. I had my own room across the hallway. Mine had a wallpaper of stick-figure birds flying among fluffy white clouds, all against a sky blue backdrop that obviously, was meant to represent the sky. I had my own single bed with a pull- out drawer where I kept most of my toys;toys that I used to replace neatly after I was done playing with them. I was three, and if my Mum's words were true, I was one neat freak. Ok, she said "neat boy", not "neat freak".

When I was a little kid, I used to share a bed with my Dad. During nights when he was busy on the phone with one of his girlfriend-of-the-moment, I would dim the yellow lights to a point of it not being too glaring for sleep but not so dark that it casted strange shadows that suspiciously resemble monsters. I would make sure the wardrobe and bathroom doors were securely shut, eliminating the doubt in my little mind that someone, or something might be lurking behind the ajar doors. After the surroundings have been secured, I would crawl under the quilt and lie face up, hands rigid to my side and legs close together, my tiny personal bolster close to my side. I would close my eyes and try to sleep, usually without much success. Then, I would meekly walk out to the living room where my Dad would be lying on the floor whispering sweet nothings to his girlfriend, and I would complain of not being able to sleep. I remember my Dad asking me to try again, and again till he gets fed up and storms to the room, upset that his conversation with girlfriend-of-the-moment had been interrupted by his 4 year old son.

I liked having my ears dug gently with a cotton bud. It calmed my mind and soothed my soul. My dad used to do it for me, probing gently and often remarking that my left ear canal is slightly bigger than my right, making it easier to dig. He was careful and gentle, afraid that he might insert the cotton bud too deep into the canal, and on the rare occasion that he does I would jerk and mumble "ouch".

When I was a little kid, I used to share a bed with my Dad. I remember dreaming about being in a great battle with a giant octopus. We were at the bottom of the sea, little shaun suddenly endowed with the ability to breath underwater I suppose. I clutched a short sword in my hand, thrusting it into the octopus' crusty red hide. I swam around the monster, avoiding the deadly grip of the tentacles, wriggling agilely out of its grasp when caught. As the battle wore on, I felt this overwhelming need to pee. I was in the sea, I thought, surrounded by water, what hurt will a little extra pee do? And so I peed. My dad was furious. Standing aside with a convincingly guilty expression on my face, I watched him clean up the mess with a pail of water and a wet cloth, simultaneously delivering a lecture about peeing before bed before dusting the entire pee area with powder, lots of powder. I remember the powder smelled pretty good. But then again, anything would smell better than the urine of a four year old.

Peeing before bed became a nightly ritual, especially on the weekends that I spent with my dad. Weekdays were spent at my uncle's place, where surpisingly I didn't wet the bed - at least not that I can remember. On weekends I'll stand by the toilet bowl softly whistling to myself, trying to coax the sometimes non-existent pee out. My father was insistent on me peeing before bed, but strangely, it didn't occur to him to add brushing of teeth to the nightly regime. Brushing of teeth on a twice-daily basis only happens when I'm with my mum, during short stays with her when she returns to Singapore, or when I fly to wherever she is at the moment for vacations. I was raised well, between my Mum and my Dad, they thought me almost everything I needed to know, failing only to impart a self-confidence and eloquence that I sorely lack. Ah .. those, and a diligent spirit.

That, was a brief snapshot into the childhood of the great Shaun. Hrms, was I saying something about lacking self-confidence? Ah don't be silly. I was lying. I'm full of it. *GRIN* Daryl mentioned something about that in a friendster testimonial he wrote .. let me dig it out. Here it is:

"..a handsome,
over-confident, obnoxious, cow
murdering monster"

I just had to include the word "handsome". I kind of resent the term "obnoxious" but I suppose greatness must come with the ability to deal with people's envy. Muahahaha.