Father is an inveterate alcoholic. The stuff is his only comfort in the world. Can you imagine a Chinese man imbibing spirits in the morning, without any food or dishes to go with his drink? My father does.

My grandfather died of hypertension-related conditions. So did my two uncles. Therefore, my mother and I want Father very much to kick the booze. Having attempted many times, my mother became hopeless, saying, “He is so crazy. Once you go out of his sight, he will steal a drink, just like a thief!” She turned to me for help.

I tried, time and again, to persuade Father to quit his killing addiction, but to no avail. I got desperate, too. One day, I was arguing with Father over his habit. Staring him in the eye, a cold smile on my face, I went, “Go on with your sole love, Dad. Someday should you die from your infatuation, do not tell guys down there that I was your son. I would be ashamed.”

From then on, Mother noticed that Father cut down on his consumption. He promised Mother that he would never drink in my presence.

The last day of my winter vacation saw my parents visiting my uncle and aunt. For the trip, Father rode a motorbike, Mother riding pillion. I did not join them because I would be returning to school the next day. I was alone at home, packing up for the trip. By 8, they still had not come back. Worried, I called my uncle. He said that my parents had left his home two hours before.

“Where on earth could they have gone?” I asked myself.

Some time later, my uncle called back, breaking the news, “Your parents are in hospital. Your father was drunk. He fell and injured himself on the way home.” I got furious.

About 9.30 pm, they came back from hospital. Mother looked all right, with some minor bruises. Plastered all over, Father was a much different story. In silence, I glared at the pathetic man. No sooner had they stepped in than I went into my room and locked the door from inside. I heard on the other side of the door Father murmuring to Mother, “Oh, dear. What should I do? Son must be very angry. I’m afraid he will not talk with me anymore.”

After the incident, I did not see Father drink once at home.

One Sunday last month, I was home on a weekend break from school. When I was watching TV, I heard Mother yelling in the kitchen, “Why are you drinking again here? Shame on you! Stop it!”

“Shh! Son is home,” the hopeless man pleaded. “I will not drink in his presence, you know, Darling.”

“So that gives you an excuse to drink here in the kitchen?” shrieked Mother.

“Just a little, just a little,” Father tried to play it down. “Calm down, darling. Stop fussing.”

Eavesdropping on their funny exchange, I could not help smiling wryly in the living room.

Oh, poor Father!