Animal Stories

Slipping into the comfort of my thick quilt, I close my eyes in silent contentment as my father tucks me in.

“Goodnight, girl!” my father booms and then squeezes me tightly, squashing my arms to my side, like he always does, then lets go. Lazily, I snuggle further into my blanket and mumble a slightly incoherent reply, something along the lines of “I want to sleep”.

My father does not hear what I say. In his childlike mood, he teasingly adds, “You want a bedtime story? It’s your favourite, the Adventures of the Animals! What shall it be tonight? ‘Monkey and Elephant’ or ‘Giraffe and Crocodile’? Hmm?”

Suddenly, memories come rushing back in a blur from years ago. Dad’s laying down beside me, his head resting casually on his arm and asking me for two names. One for the Bird, one for the Cat. I choose “Kitty” for the Bird and “Birdie” for the Cat, pointing clearly at two imaginary figures in the air with my stout arm. I recall his reaction that day, and on the many other days akin to this; the chuckle that seems to reveal he knows something I do not. I feel uncomfortable. I don’t like being left out of the secret, but for tonight I will let it go. My father then proceeds to recite a ten-sentence long story about Kitty and Birdie who meet in a backyard one day, becoming friends though Birdie secretly wants to paw down Kitty and eat her for dinner. Eventually giving in to temptation, she does so one evening. I wince at the ending, but my beat has already tuned itself to fit my father’s odd rhythm. I am not surprised. “Don’t say things like that again, Daddy,” I scold, reaching up to pinch his nose. “Especially when Jie Jie’s around. You know she loves animals,” I whisper, frantically stretching my neck to make sure my sister’s asleep. “Yes, ma’am! Point taken!” My father salutes, slapping away my fingers from his nose bridge. I sigh.

That is my father; not the overly protective and loving dad, but the juvenile and carefree dad who would tell his five-year-old daughter such a story at bedtime and risk keeping her awake the whole night due to nightmares from his horrifying story. I roll my eyes in exasperation at my father’s childishness, fighting back a yawn threatening to come out. I feel a surge of frustration.

“Dad, this is no time for jokes! I’m really tired now, I have to wake up for school early tomorrow and I don’t have time for your Animal story! That was ten years ago. I’m too old for that kind of story, Dad! Maybe it’s time you realized that. Please, let me sleep now!” I say, voice bordering on yelling. I do not mean for it to come out so brusque and rude, but tonight I feel particularly short-tempered and at my limit of tolerance towards my father’s jokes. As I turn around to show my father my expression of weariness, I do so in time to catch sight of the absolute shock and hurt on his face.

“Okay then, goodnight now, girl,” my father whispers as he leaves the room. I cannot help but notice the pain and anguish in his words. I reflect on my actions and find that I have truly been out of line. That is not the proper respect shown to one’s father, I hear a voice taunt. That is the same voice that haunts me whenever I read The Giver; that cold, empty, malicious voice that reminds me of what our world could one day possibly come to. A world without any true emotion. A world without any decisions. A world that could one day be mine. Can I imagine a world without the love of my family? Live in a world without the teasing and bantering of my joyful, juvenile father? I do not think I can come close to that idea, for fear of breaking down.

Slowly, my thoughts digress to Jonas. No one could understand him, or his actions. The suffering he went through for the sake of the selfish who seek to control, the agony he felt when he could do little but stare on as his fellow citizens continue to commit the unthinkable, and the despair he felt when the people he loved more than anything in the world rebuked him when he asked a seemingly simple question, “Do you love me?”

I can only imagine his pain as he suffered alone with the huge burden of Receiver without the support and love of anyone except the only person who understood, The Giver. As I repress a small sob threatening to escape my lips and hastily wipe away a layer of mist forming over my eyes, my mind floats back to my father and his Animal stories. Each time my father completed a story; he would hug me tightly, gently whack me over the head and send me to sleep. It was routine. A familiar one, and each night I would anticipate it but still thoroughly enjoy it. I struggle to recall why so, and after a period of time then realize it was because I felt assured of my father’s love for me. True, I would be slightly annoyed that he would clip me over the head, and it stung, but what mattered most was that he would send me to sleep with a lovely bedtime story and a hug. An act of love from my father. I have the privilege and comfort of love, but Jonas had no way to experience it with his own parents. Sympathy for Jonas and his community fills me. For his community because their lives are so pathetic, without knowing love; and for Jonas because of the unrequited love he has for his family.

Slowly, I start to recall the things that my family members have done just for me. Enduring sleepless nights while tending to me when I fell ill; offering advice and consolation when I was down; a simple hug, a simple story, a simple “I love you”. I have so much, and yet I push it away. What others would do to experience what I have. I do not deserve this. My heart fills with remorse and regret for my actions; and with affection and care for my father.

I compose myself, and trudge out of bed to my father. Shyly peeking out from behind the wall, I call out, “Dad? Are you busy?” My father’s head swivels around at lightning speed, shoulders jolting. I have accidentally startled him.

“No, girl, I’m not. What’s the matter? You couldn’t fall asleep?” He asks in concern. His voice is lined with worry, but behind that I can sense the sadness and hurt. My heart is suddenly heavy, but I ignore that.

“Could you tell me an Animal story? My mind can’t rest, perhaps a story might help,” I reply, crossing my fingers behind my back. Please forgive me, I desperately add inside my head.

My father smiles warmly. “Come on, let’s get you inside and back to bed. High time you fell asleep already, young lady. What’s bothering you?” He questioned curiously. “It’s unusual for such a person who loves sleeping more than food to willingly let precious sleeping time pass by her like that,” he adds with a mischievous grin. Back to normal, I see. That is good news. Maybe, just maybe, I am forgiven. It wouldn't hurt to hope.

I return the grin with a toothy one, eyes like crescent moons and laying back down in bed. My father whacks my side, eliciting a small giggle from my lips. “Move over now,” he reprimands, pretending to be angry. “Who will it be today?”

I wrap my arms around my bolster and contemplate for a moment. We look a sight, father and daughter crammed onto one narrow mattress. I could not care less. I make up my mind.

“The story about the Bird named Kitty and the Cat named Birdie. That one,” I determinedly say. My father’s eyebrows shoot up so high they almost disappear from his forehead.

“That story? Hey, kid, you’re the one who told me never to tell such stories again. I had to alter my whole storytelling concept because of that!” My father whines, scratching his head in confusion. I roll my eyes, but in my heart I feel a strong wave of love for my father sweeping over me. No, I cannot imagine a world without my father.

“It’s never too late to realize a mistake you’ve made and rectify it, Dad,” I say in a solemn voice. “Besides, I kind of grew fond of that story and Jie’s not around now!” I cheekily add. My father lets out a sigh.

“Okay kid, you said this, so here goes! Once upon a time, there was a Bird named Kitty and…”—

A daughter who just woke up to the fact that everything that was worth anything at all in her life was right in front of her eyes; and that it wouldn’t kill to lose a few minutes of sleep.