Hari Orang Tua di Korea Selatan

Setiap tanggal 8 Mei, seluruh masyarakat Korea Selatan memperingati Hari Orang Tua. Menunjukkan rasa berbakti anak-anak kepada orangtua, mereka pun merayakannya dengan sukacita, termasuk para selebriti.

Para idola K-Pop seperti G-Dragon Big Bang dan Sehun EXO pun menunjukkan rasa sayang mereka terhadap orang tua dengan merayakannya di akun sosial media masing-masing.

Pada Kamis (08/05), G-Dragon mengunggah foto selca dirinya bersama sang ibu di akun Instagramnya. Terlihat leader Big Bang tersebut berfoto bersama sang ibu yang terlihat memegang buket bunga anyelir cantik berwarna merah dan kuning sementara G-Dragon tampak rapi dengan tampilan dandy dan kacamata.

G-Dragon menulis, “#HariOrangTua Ayo berbuat baik pada orangtua.” Berdasarkan akun Instagram milik sang kakak, Kwon Dami, G-Dragon merayakan Hari Orang Tua tersebut bersama dengan kedua orang tua, kakak perempuannya serta seniman asal Milan Piero Fornasetti yang sedang melakukan pameran di Korea.

Sementara itu, maknae EXO, Sehun juga ikut merayakan Hari Orang Tua di akun Instagram yang baru beberapa hari dibuat olehnya. Sehun mengunggah foto buket bunga anyelir merah dan menulis, “Berikan bunga anyelir kepada orang tuamu di Hari Orang Tua.”

Di Korea Selatan, Hari Orang Tua memang identik dengan bunga anyelir merah atau merah muda, untuk mengungkapkan rasa cinta dan terima kasih mereka kepada orang tua di Hari Orang Tua. Di Korea sendiri tak merayakan Hari Ibu atau Hari Ayah secara terpisah seperti di negara lainnya, melainkan hanya merayakannya di satu hari yang sama, yaitu setiap tanggal 8 Mei. Selamat hari orang tua!



sumber dari: dreamersradio.com/

Gobind: My father was a simple man

GEORGETOWN: Gobind Singh, the second of Karpal’s five children, gently shook my hand as I conveyed my condolences on his father’s passing.

He appeared composed when I asked him if he would share his thoughts with us about his father who perished in a road accident on Thursday and we duly sat down in a corner of the crowded porch.
Gobind stared into blank space for a while before telling me with a small smile that the “Tiger of Jelutong” was a great father.

“He was the most loving father. He was extremely patient with us. Having him around meant a lot of fun.

“He was strictly principled but never once was he a disciplinarian. Instead he was always encouraging and never made us feel like studies were the only thing in life,” he said.

Gobind, who is also the Member of Parliament for Puchong, added that as a politician, Karpal was a great teacher.

“He was my ally in Parliament,” said Gobind, adding that Karpal was always humble and never made anyone feel like they were junior to him.

He said that it was rare to come across someone like his father and that is why he was so loved.
Gobind also shared that Karpal was a simple man who enjoyed little things like Sunday morning breakfast.

“He liked to come home over the weekend and have a meal with us in the Air Hitam coffee shop or the Nasi Kandar shop.

“He adored his grandchildren and often used them as an excuse for his rounds to the local Kentucky Fried Chicken, though we were all aware that it was he who loved the food there,” Gobind added.
Gobind noted that his mother Gurmeet Kaur has been especially affected by Karpal’s passing.
“She is the iron lady of the house who dedicated so much of her time before and after dad’s accident to looking after him.

“She played a pivotal role in his life and he in hers. I really do feel upset for her,” he said.
Gobind also acknowledged Michael Cornelius, Karpal’s assistant, who also perished in the Thursday morning accident.

“Michael sacrificed a lot for my father and during a meeting he had openly told him, ‘Thank you, without you I am nothing’ which caused Michael to break down.

“Michael gave his life for my father and his sacrifice was selfless. We would like to convey our deepest condolences to his family,” he added.

I thanked Gobind for his time with tears in my eyes thinking that while the Tiger of Jelutong’s roar may have been silenced, his legacy will live on.



sumber dari: thestar.com.my/

Seeing a Woman: A conversation between a father and son

Someday I am going to have to have the conversation with my son. No, not the conversation all parents dread giving and all kids are mortified having. I enjoy making people uncomfortable so that conversation should be fun.

No, I’m talking about another conversation. The one that happens after I catch his eye doing what male eyes do well – following an object of lust. We will probably be out at the mall, because that’s what dads do with their sons, and I’ll catch the look. Maybe we’ll go to the beach and see it. Doesn’t matter where it is, there will come a time when I will see it. And then it will be time for this conversation.

***** 

Hey, come here. Let me talk to you. I saw you look at her. I’m not judging you or shaming you. I know why you did. I get it. But we have to talk about it because how you look at a woman matters. 

 

A lot of people will try and tell you that a woman should watch how she dresses so she doesn’t tempt you to look at her wrongly. Here is what I will tell you. It is a woman’s responsibility to dress herself in the morning. It is your responsibility to look at her like a human being regardless of what she is wearing. You will feel the temptation to blame her for your wandering eyes because of what she is wearing – or not wearing. But don’t. Don’t play the victim. You are not a helpless victim when it comes to your eyes. You have full control over them. Exercise that control. Train them to look her in the eyes. Discipline yourself to see her, not her clothes or her body. The moment you play the victim you fall into the lie that you are simply embodied reaction to external stimuli unable to determine right from wrong, human from flesh.

Look right at me. That is a ridiculous lie.

You are more than that. And the woman you are looking at is more than her clothes. She is more than her body. There is a lot of talk about how men objectify women, and largely, it is true. Humans objectify the things they love in effort to control them. If you truly love a person, do not reduce them to an object. The moment you objectify another human – woman or man, you give up your humanity.

There are two views regarding a woman’s dress code that you will be pressured to buy into. One view will say that women need to dress to get the attention of men. The other view will say women need to dress to protect men from themselves. Son, you are better than both of these. A woman, or any human being, should not have to dress to get your attention. You should give them the full attention they deserve simply because they are a fellow human being. On the other side, a woman should not have to feel like she needs to protect you from you. You need to be in control of you.

Unfortunately, much of how the sexes interact with each is rooted in fear. Fear of rejection, fear of abuse, fear of being out of control. In some ways, the church has added to this. We fear each other because we have been taught the other is dangerous. We’ve been taught a woman’s body will cause men to sin. We’re told that if a woman shows too much of her body men will do stupid things. Let’s be clear: a woman’s body is not dangerous to you. Her body will not cause you harm. It will not make you do stupid things. If you do stupid things it is because you chose to do stupid things. So don’t contribute to the fear that exists between men and women.

A woman’s body is beautiful and wonderful and mysterious. Respect it by respecting her as an individual with hopes and dreams and experiences and emotions and longings. Let her be confident. Encourage her confidence. But don’t do all this because she is weaker. That’s the biggest bunch of crap out there. Women are not weaker than men. They are not the weaker sex. They are the other sex.

I’m not telling you to not look at women. Just the opposite. I’m telling you to see women. Really see them. Not just with your eyes, but with your heart. Don’t look to see something that tickles your senses, but see a human being.

My hope is that changing how you see women will change how you are around them. Don’t just be around women. Be with women.

Because in the end, they want to be with you. Without fear of being judged, or shamed, or condemned, or objectified, or being treated as other. And that’s not just what women want. That’s what people want.

Ultimately, it’s what you want.



sumber dari: natepyle.com/

A Father’s Passing: One Year Later

Writing about my feelings over the past year has helped me. The simple act of getting what’s on the inside to the outside is helpful, of course. But more importantly, the comments I’ve received on my posts either directly on the blog or through discussions with family and friends has helped me learn that what I’m going through is normal. I had never really seen people in mourning. Mourning is such a private thing. Too many people don’t share it, including me. I share it through my writing. But I find it extremely difficult to share it by visibly displaying it. I suppose we don’t want to burden others with our pain. Or maybe we don’t want to appear weak. Or perhaps we know that life is already hard enough for everyone; we might as well deal with our own issues internally so others can get on with their own lives and issues.

Whatever the reason, we tend not to share our mourning with others. And the result for many of us is that we don’t understand the process and we find it difficult to deal with it. This is why I’m going to continue to write about this until I feel I don’t want to anymore. Many people have arrived at my blog by doing a simple Internet search using keywords such as “father”, “death”, “passing away”, etc. This means that there are people out there that need to understand their own mourning process through learning from the experiences of others. I know that I’ve learned much from my readers’ comments. I thank them dearly.

This past year has been very difficult for me. It doesn’t seem to be getting easier. I had expected it would. I thought time heals. It hasn’t; at least not yet. I remember my Baba all the time. Sometimes when I remember him it puts a big smile on my face. Most of the time it causes me to break down crying. I miss him more than I could ever describe. I’ve probably already said this in a previous post: it feels like I have a phantom limb. It feels like a part of me has been amputated but the rest of my body will not acknowledge its absence. I know he’s there. I just know it. But then I look for him and he’s gone. It’s a horrible horrible feeling. This feeling actually makes me feel thankful sometimes. I’m thankful that God knows my limits. Some people have to deal with the loss of more than one family member at the same time. I don’t want to imagine what that must be like. I am fortunate. God is teaching me about death slowly. I would not manage learning the lesson any other way.

I still dream about Baba. But they are more normal dreams as opposed to the dreams of burials that I had in the early days of his death. They are dreams of him still being in my life. He’s just there. And it’s nice to have him back that way. It’s a blessing.

I think the worst of it is when something triggers my memory of difficult times my father went through. This happened last night. A family event reminded me of an incident, several months before my father’s death, that caused him real heart break. He cried for days. My cousin called me while I was in the midst of an emotional breakdown remembering this. “Uncle Abbas is not worrying about these things now,” he told me. “He knows all the details about this incident now and more,” he continued. “And he could care less about them.”

My cousin was right. I know he’s right. This leads me now to understand that sometimes we continue to carry our loved ones’ pain with us even after it has gone away for them. Their pain is as alive in our hearts now as it was in their hearts then. It is for me, at least. I wish I knew how to release that pain. I don’t. This is a lesson I still need to learn.

My father’s death makes me think about my own death when the time comes and the effect it will have on my children. I want them to know how much I love them. I want them to know they are the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. If anyone ever tells them that I was angry at them for doing one thing or the other I swear to God I will  haunt that person forever. My children are and have always been perfect. My children need to know that they are free to do with my memory as they please. They can keep it to themselves or they can share it with the world. Their memories of me and their experiences with me are theirs to own and no one else’s. I continue to feel guilty that my father died in a hospital. He wanted to die in his own bed. We had no choice but to take him to the hospital. I know my Baba won’t be angry with us about that. But it still hurts me to think about it. It hurts me immensely. I want my children to know that whatever happens, there is nothing they can do that will make me angry with them (except the fact that they never clean their rooms anymore…that makes me angry!).

I want them to live their lives to the fullest. I want them to know they can do whatever it is they want to do with their lives. If they need to be far away from me to do that, then so be it. If they don’t speak with me frequently because they are busy with their own personal stuff, it’s all right. I’ll be all dramatic about it. I know I will. I’ll throw temper tantrums when I don’t get a call once a week from each and every one of them. I promise. But all I really want is for them to be happy. I want them to know that I’m here for them whenever they need me. I had that with my Baba. I always knew I had that. He gave me my sense of security no matter how far away we were from each other. I was blessed.

Kids, when I die, bury me whatever way you see fit and wherever you think is most suitable. At this stage I have no after-death instructions. I may have figured it all out later in life. If not, just do what you think is best. I’ll be dead so it won’t really matter to me.  The only important after-death instruction from me is for you to be happy and to live your lives the way you want to. I’ll be happy no matter what you do as long as you do what you want to do.

A final note to the readers of my blog: my kids don’t read my blog as far as I’m aware. So when I die, can you please direct them here? :-)



sumber dari: nadiaelawady.wordpress.com/

A Daughter Losing Her Father: Six Months Later

This blog post is not about me being morbid nor is it about me feeling sorry for myself. Over the past six months since my father died, I received a few comments on the two posts I made about my father’s passing. These were mainly comments from other women who experienced something similar and who were wondering how other women were dealing with it. More importantly, I noticed on my blog statistics page that almost every day people were using search engines with key words like “losing a father” and “daughter losing father” and thus getting referred to my blog.

Losing a parent is one of the most difficult things in the world and people want to know how to deal with it. It’s strange that I have seen family and friends lose parents but haven’t heard much from them about what it’s been like.

When my grandparents died, I knew it was hard for my father. He had a very strong connection to both of them. He’d talk about them and tell us his childhood memories of them. But I never saw him cry or exhibit pain over their loss. I assumed that because they were elderly when they died, losing them was just a part of growing older and that people had it in them to deal with that.

Two of my best friends lost parents as well. They both seemed very strong in dealing with it. I never heard anything from them about the difficulties they faced dealing with the loss. Again, the impression I got was that it was a normal phase of life that we go through and we’re built to deal with it.

I’m learning it’s not as easy as people make it seem to be. It doesn’t matter how old you or your parents are when they die, their passing is one of the most difficult things in the world to deal with. And it seems that it doesn’t matter what culture you come from, people tend to hold in their emotions while in front of others. People seem to think that they need to be strong for others. I know I’ve done this. I don’t want my own children to know I’m in pain over the loss of their grandfather. I don’t think they’ve seen me cry over his loss. If they are around and my father is brought up, I’ll put on a strong face, and even a smile, and talk about him lovingly. But then I may need to rush to the bathroom to let go of the tears in private.

So does it get any easier six months on? Not really. Not for me. I had a couple of good months where I felt the pain was easing. Most significantly, I stopped thinking of my father as often as the dead man lying on the hospital bed all covered in white. That phase was one of the most difficult. Perhaps one or two months after his death I started getting the more normal images of my father when I thought of him: my father lying on his bed in his bedroom telling me stories, my father sitting in his favorite lazy-boy chair watching TV, my father telling one of his dirty jokes and laughing his great belly laugh. Although the weeping hadn’t stopped, it became less frequent and less intense.

But it seems that I’m going through another phase of intensity again. It started a few weeks ago and it’s getting worse. Almost everything reminds me of my Baba. I think a lot in my head and somehow most of my thought processes end up leading me to my father even when they start out having nothing to do with him at all. And the minute the thought of him comes into my head that’s it. The intense weeping starts and I can’t help but call out, “Baba Baba Baba!” It’s worse in the mornings while I’m driving to work. But it can happen almost anytime. When I’m sad about something I remember my Baba because he’s the person I’d always go to for advice or consoling. When I’m happy about something I remember my Baba because he was always the first – and sometime only – person I really wanted to share my good news with. When I’m just normal I remember my Baba because it would have been nice to stop by his house for a few minutes on my way home to say hello or even to phone him up.

The dreams have been intense as well. I dream about him a lot. In all the dreams I can remember, he’s in the grave. Sometimes he’s awake in his grave and I feel relief that his death was just a big mix-up. It never really happened. Other times it’s as if he wants to tell me he’s all right. The most interesting dream I had was of visiting my father inside his grave. His grave was a large room. I went inside and there were young men wearing white cloth, somewhat similar to what pilgrim men wear in hajj, cleaning the grave. My father had been removed to a shelf above his spot in the grave so the spot could be cleaned. He was wrapped in a white blanket and part of his face was showing. He was resting peacefully. On another shelf in the same grave room was another man wrapped in white with part of his face showing, also resting peacefully. He looked like he was in his 40s. He had a close-shaven beard and his head didn’t have much hair. He was handsome. That man, I knew somehow, was the Prophet Muhammed peace be upon him. In the same dream but in another instance, my father was standing in his grave with his arms open for me. He had a huge smile on his face. He was happy and he wanted me to know that.

It must be important for our subconscious mind to convince itself that our loved ones are in a better place. This must be part of the healing process. I wake up from these dreams missing my father terribly but feeling happy for him. It does help to see him in my dreams.

I wish people shared more the things they go through when they experience happy and difficult times. I think that’s why I was such a big Oprah fan. Oprah and her guests broke down barriers by talking about feelings. By listening to what other women went through and being able to relate to it no matter how far away I was and how different my culture was made me feel normal. So many things we go through are just a normal part of this journey and sharing those things and having people share them with you helps you along the way.

Losing my father when I was at the ripe age of 42 was one of the most difficult things I’ve had to deal with.  Being able to share with you all has made it just a tiny bit easier. I hope someone out there finds solace in relating to my experiences.



sumber dari: nadiaelawady.wordpress.com/

Special Hero © Christina M. Kerschen

When I was a baby,
you would hold me in your arms.
I felt the love and tenderness,
keeping me safe from harm.
I would look up into your eyes,
and all the love I would see.
How did I get so lucky,
you were the dad chosen for me.
There is something special
about a father's love.
Seems it was sent to me
from someplace up above.
Our love is everlasting,
I just wanted you to know.
That you’re my special hero
and I wanted to tell you so.



sumber dari: familyfriendpoems.com/

Chicken Soup for the Father's Soul

The coauthors of Chicken Soup for the Golfer's Soul, USA Today's #1 bestselling sports book of 1999, bring readers this sure-fire hit for fathers celebrating the joys and challenges of fatherhood.
New dads, granddads, single dads and dads-to-be - this book offers them all an entertaining and inspiring collection of stories on the triumphs and trials of the amazing journey called fatherhood. Chapters include: Special Moments, Overcoming Obstacles, Insights and Lessons, The Joys of Fatherhood, Across the Generations, and Achieving Dreams. By sharing true experiences and insights, this book provides reassurance to fathers and a reminder to cherish the special moments in life.

sumber dari: books.google.com.my/

Standing up for his son

On a Thursday afternoon in May 2010, shortly after his mother dropped him off at home from school, Ty Field-Smalley, who was 11 years old, took his own life. He was only a week away from completing sixth grade. "We buried Ty May 17, 2010," says Kirk Smalley of his son, who had been relentlessly bullied by the same boy at school for two years.

Ty's bully ended up serving only one day of his three-day suspension, the first and only time he was punished by the school for harassing Ty.

The following Monday, after Ty had committed suicide, the bully "went up to a little girl and said that Ty died because of her," Smalley says. "Then she tried to go home and kill herself. The first day of school this year, the year after Ty died, the same little boy walked up to my son's best friend and said, 'I took care of one of you. Now let me see what I can do about you.'"

"Ty died 503 days ago."

Not only is Ty's father counting every day since he lost his son, but he has devoted himself to working for Stand for the Silent, a non-profit anti-bullying organization created by students in honor of Ty. "I'll fight bullying wherever it's found," Smalley has vowed. "Schools. Workplace. I’m not going to quit until bullying does." Since Ty's death, Smalley, who is from the small town of Perkins, OK, has spoken at more than 100 schools and addressed well over 100,000 children. He teaches the life-and-death consequences of bullying with testimonials, videos, and role-playing activities.

He's determined to save other children from such an unthinkable fate, and spare their parents such unimaginable misery. "If his mother, Laura, or I had any notion Ty would have done what he'd done, we would have done anything necessary to save him," Smalley says. He and his wife did what they could, including "constantly" going to administrators, begging them to do something to help Ty — to no avail. "Laura says she would have yanked him out of school. But this is a tough one. You can't run away from bullies all your life — there are bullies everywhere you go. Let's pull the bully out of school."

School policies victimize the victims

"We taught Ty to stick up for himself,” Smalley says, “but he never would. He was the smallest guy there was, but he'd stick up for other kids. There was another little kid, an American-Indian boy, who got picked on a lot. Ty would stick up for him and so the bigger boys would beat Ty up and leave the boy alone."

Finally, Ty had enough and he stood up for himself. He fought back, and when he did  both he and his bully were meted out the same punishment: suspension from school. This common practice, called a "no-tolerance" or "zero-tolerance" policy — which holds any child who is involved in an altercation responsible — sends the wrong message to a bully's victim, says Smalley. "Don't suspend children for being victims."

Ty was crushed by the suspension, says Smalley. The first time he ever defended himself, he was punished. Hours later, Ty took his life. "If someone on the street comes and jumps at you, you have to protect yourself. It's ridiculous that the schools don't have to follow the same rules and laws that our society does,” Smalley says.

Never hold the victim responsible for being bullied, he says. "They should tell the child, 'You'll be protected,'" not ask, as Smalley says the principal did at Ty's school, 'What did he do to get picked on?' That happens a lot," adds Smalley, who is adamant about not bringing the bully and victim together to resolve the problem, another regular practice at schools.

"Now the victim has to confront his tormentor face-to-face. That's so hard for a child to do. First, they are terrified. They know if they tell what's really happening, what's really going on, the bully will catch him in the playground and he'll pay the price. So the victim goes into the office and lies and says, 'He was just teasing me.' Bullies are smart. They get [grown-ups] to believe it’s the victim's fault.”

Making bullies’ parents accountable

More than the bullies, who Smalley points out are children themselves, he believes their parents should be held most accountable. "A bully's parents tend to be bullies," says Smalley, who adds that he's never met the bully's parents, nor have they ever approached him to talk or apologize — even after Ty died.

"Policies on bullying don't work," Smalley says. "Those are just pieces of paper, and if you ask a school about their bully policy, most schools don't even know if they have one. We need legislation that holds parent accountable for their kid's actions, that gives the schools an out if a child is being bullied so you can tell a bully's parents, 'You have two weeks to make a change in that kid's behavior.' If that doesn't change, you give [the parents] a warning. Then you fine them. If it's the fourth or fifth instance, they maybe you send [the parents] to jail for a few days."

Smalley, who with his wife Laura appears in Bully, a documentary to be released in March of 2012 (read our review of Bully), comes across as a calm and dignified, but grief-stricken, father who is not out for revenge or retribution — he isn't suing the school district or the bullies’ parents — but is steadfast in his crusade to fight the negligance, cruelty, and destructive rationalizations that perpetuate a culture of bullying.

“We got the answer that boys will be boys, that bullying is just a childhood rite-of-passage. That's not true. It's that way only because we allow it to be that way."



sumber dari: greatschools.org/

Wish You Were Here © Diana Doyle

Three months have passed
I’ll never forget the day
Someone rang to tell me
That you’d gone away

The hurt is the same
Like an open wound
There are days
I don’t utter a sound

Some days the pain is stronger
It makes me sick and weak
I can’t stand this much longer
I just sit here and weep

I’ve shut my private door
And let no one in
Locking myself in a box
They try, but I won’t give in

You were like a rock
Strong, faithful and true
What worth has my life
Now I don’t have you

I was your first born
Daddy’s little girl
I took my own path
But was still part of your world

I was not the best
Guilty of neglect
But you know daddy dearest
I had so much respect

I always loved you
My dad, my star
Now my pain is
To worship you from afar

I love you now
As I did back then
I just hope... one day
I will see you again

I am so proud of you
Brave and strong to the end
Now when asked “how are you?”
There is no need to pretend

We all love and miss you so much, sleep well
and take care of all who went before you

Forever in my heart x



sumber dari: familyfriendpoems.com/

Father Lyrics

Father hold father.
I know, he hasn`t been easy
To be there for me.
Hold my father, hold father.
I know, he hasn`t been easy,
But you will stay in my mind always.
Fasted for the boys,I was stays to playground.
We find this left on the merry go round.
Think about courierswho's the king with the crown.
Let me do everythingto perfect going down.

Our nature Boys must be boys
And I earn with stage of life you got to make a choice.
We got to work.
We got to work hardly.
Found different base
Would the same cards

It ain`t easy, ain`t easy be your man
To find the right woman who caresand understands.
The defraud do keep my words in your mind.
Love is got to give
And you can change your while.
To be your favour,
Think about your life.
We do the right thing at the right place in time.
Half passions exactly what we need.
I`m blessed to be your father, answer dead yes or die.

Father hold father.I know, he hasn`t been easyTo be there for me.Hold my father, hold father.I know, he hasn`t been easy,But you will stay in my mind always.

I`m sorry found didn`t mean to make you cry.
My dad also left and I still don`t no why.
I missed my daddy, he was strong older was.
I wonder if I see him in a feast daddy was love.
I wanna thank, I`ll pray to heaven father.
But touch you for my family, my sister and two brothers.
All we need is a food and a shelter.
 Keep it going on, and any can forever.
Another family`s bled drift the point.
How many man have a since sleeping in the dark.
God never knows, Everybody has a storry
The most man`s smile even do station have to worry.
We got to keep on.
We got a good reason, if a step for yourself at least the kid too need to feelin`.
I`m very proud to be the man that I am.
Thank you mum and dad,I do the best that I care.
You did all your good
It wasn`t enough.
I did understand,Why you were gone.
Now I`m a father of my own,
And I`m tryin` my best.

I need and understand your love.
Why did you go?
Why did you leave a sorrow love?
Father hold father.
I know, he hasn`t been easy to be there for me.
Hold my father, hold father.
I know, he hasn`t been easy,But you will stay in my mind always.



sumber dari: asklyrics.com/

Nuts For Dad Gift Basket

Dad will feel like he's #1 when he opens this gift full of treats just for him! Our impressively presented gift includes Trail Mix (3 oz), Coconut Cashew Brittle (3 oz), Smoked Almonds (3 oz) and two Dad's Root Beers. All the goodies are packed in a reverse corrugated paper box with a lid and include "#1 Dad! Happy Father's Day" labels on them to make sure he knows he's the best!



sumber dari: aagiftsandbaskets.com/

the keychain you made me for Father's Day

sumber dari: huffingtonpost.com

Father’s Day Special: The Circle of Life

Despite (most likely because of) recent events, I find myself reminiscing about the joys of following this greatest of games.

My introduction to cricket was because of Dad (Appa as I call him). Those were the days before TV in India and Appa listened to the radio commentary religiously. I was too young to figure out what was going on and pestered Appa to tell me a story instead.
“Hmmm Appa is busy why don’t you ask your mother.
“She is cooking and she chased me out of the kitchen” I replied.

Appa tried a few more manoeuvres to distract me but I was not to be denied. Finally Appa hit upon a plan. He drew a large oval and named the fielding positions at the appropriate locations. He brought out the chess set and my job was to place the pawns in position mimicking the field setting described on the radio. Appa maintained a running commentary on what was going on and gently introduced cricketing strategy. The hitherto unseen game came to life and I was hooked.

This became a family ritual whenever a game was on, during which, he regaled me with cricketing anecdotes like the one here.

Seeing my blossoming interest in the game he bought me a cricket bat and also a cricket board game with plastic fielders, an inclined plane with a ball bearing was the bowler and you could change the pace by varying the angle of the plane. Appa probably had visions of turning me into a cricketing superstar. The only thing in the way was my abysmal lack of talent. Appa was not too disappointed though as I declared him the greatest Appa in the universe.

The years rolled by and the mid-nineties found me in my early twenties. I was also in my rebellious stage. Somewhere along the way, in my eyes, Dad had gone from being super-Appa to a dictatorial usurper. Appa and I had frequent and intense skirmishes mainly concerning his (what I thought at that time) unjust fiscal policies and his constant heckling to get me to focus on my studies. In those times of strife, sporting events (Cricket & Wimbledon) were the only cause big enough for both to lay down arms, sink our differences and declare an unconditional cease fire.

Around this time (1996) the Titan Cup rolled in and an India – Australia day/night ODI was scheduled for Bangalore. I had missed the earlier India-Pakistan World Cup match and I did not want to miss this one. Luckily, a relative of a friend of a friend worked at the Chinnaswamy Stadium and could get us tickets. Appa demurely coughed up the money. The scene was repeated in several other homes and as a result 10 friends and I were going to the game. He even surprised me by slipping me some extra money, unasked, before I left for the game. The man was a mind reader. My experience of the game deserves a post by itself.

Soon after, I left India looking for green pastures and greener dollars. Time with family was limited to a few days a year when I visited India. In the intervening years my rebellious phase petered out and the earlier hostility with Appa was replaced by mutual admiration and respect. On one of my visits, I took him to a game in Bangalore. Appa burst a gasket when I told him how much I paid for the tickets.

“You should be saving money not spending it like it grows on trees”.
“But Appa, it’s not all that much when you convert it to dollars; moreover the seats are right behind the bowlers arm”.
“Hmmmph at those prices we should be standing next to the umpire”.
Appa grumbled about my spending habits all the way to the stadium. The game started and all was forgotten.  Appa was like a kid and thoroughly enjoying himself. There were no further bulletins on the importance of saving money.

During the break my mind wandered to my first game at this stadium.  Appa delicately cleared his throat “ Son, do you remember that game you watched here? What was it… more than 10 years ago?”
Appa’s ability to read my mind still amazed me. It was on the tip of my tongue to say that was what I was thinking too. But all I said was, “Wow that was a long time ago…. Yeah I remember”.
A nostalgic look came to Appa’s face. “You know, I watched the game on TV and for the first time I hardly paid attention to the game. I was scanning the crowd to see if I could catch a glimpse of you. All I saw was a bunch of ediyates (idiots in the Indian accent) acting like monkeys”.

I let that racially charged statement slip. And just like that, in an instant, the years were peeled back and it was the Appa of old regaling his little kid with stories and impressing said kid with his knowledge. For the first time in my life, I hardly paid attention to the action on the field and watched Appa having the time of his life.



sumber dari: nestaquin.wordpress.com

Dreams from My Father

Years before becoming the 44th President-elect of the United States, Barack Obama published this lyrical, unsentimental, and powerfully affecting memoir, which became a #1 New York Times bestseller when it was reissued in 2004. Dreams from My Father tells the story of Obama’s struggle to understand the forces that shaped him as the son of a black African father and white American mother—a struggle that takes him from the American heartland to the ancestral home of his great-aunt in the tiny African village of Alego.

Obama opens his story in New York, where he hears that his father—a figure he knows more as a myth than as a man—has died in a car accident. The news triggers a chain of memories as Barack retraces his family’s unusual history: the migration of his mother’s family from small-town Kansas to the Hawaiian islands; the love that develops between his mother and a promising young Kenyan student, a love nurtured by youthful innocence and the integrationist spirit of the early sixties; his father’s departure from Hawaii when Barack was two, as the realities of race and power reassert themselves; and Barack’s own awakening to the fears and doubts that exist not just between the larger black and white worlds but within himself.

Propelled by a desire to understand both the forces that shaped him and his father’s legacy, Barack moves to Chicago to work as a community organizer. There, against the backdrop of tumultuous political and racial conflict, he works to turn back the mounting despair of the inner city. His story becomes one with those of thepeople he works with as he learns about the value of community, the necessity of healing old wounds, and the possibility of faith in the midst of adversity.

Barack’s journey comes full circle in Kenya, where he finally meets the African side of his family and confronts the bitter truth of his father’s life. Traveling through a country racked by brutal poverty and tribal conflict, but whose people are sustained by a spirit of endurance and hope, Barack discovers that he is inescapably bound to brothers and sisters living an ocean away—and that by embracing their common struggles he can finally reconcile his divided inheritance.

A searching meditation on the meaning of identity in America, Dreams from My Father might be the most revealing portrait we have of a major American leader—a man who is playing the most prominent role in healing a fractious and fragmented nation.

Obama, the son of a white American mother and a black African father, writes an elegant and compelling biography that powerfully articulates America's racial battleground and tells of his search for his place in black America. 8 pages of photos.

sumber dari: barnesandnoble.com

i love you daddy.....

Be a Better Dad: How to Discipline with Love

For dads of infants and toddlers:

• Discipline as a way to protect: At this age, guidance and discipline are about protecting your little one from hurting themselves. Say "no" firmly, but not harshly, when your child does something dangerous and move him or her away from the object or area immediately.
• Consistency is important: Be consistent with enforcing the boundaries you set in your home—inconsistency will confuse your child and give him the "ok" to push the limits if he thinks he can get away with it.

For dads of school-aged children:

• Discipline as a way to nurture: As your child gets older, he or she can understand moral principles and you can begin to use discipline and guidance to help him or her learn that certain behaviors are not only unsafe but unacceptable. When your child does something inappropriate, talk with him gently about why the behavior was wrong—explain how it hurt other people or is rude.
• Take a break if you're frustrated: The old trick your mom taught you to count to 10 before you speak can actually be helpful if you find yourself losing patience with your child. Never discipline out of anger. If you are frustrated, tell your child that you will talk with him or her later after you've had some time to think about an appropriate way to respond to his wrong behavior. Take a walk, read a book, do something else to calm yourself down. Then go back to your child and calmly discuss.
• Make the discipline fit the child: Different children will respond to different approaches of discipline. One of your children might learn better through being deprived of a privilege (such as watching TV or a favorite toy); another child might respond more to being sent to his or her room or having to do extra chores.

For dads of teenagers:

• Discipline as a way to guide: At this point, your teen is becoming an adult and wants to be treated as such. But, he or she is still going to make mistakes and some unwise decisions, and still needs your guidance. You still need to be your teen's parent, not best friend, and that means setting rules to help your teen make good decisions and firmly enforcing consequences when those rules are violated.
• Let them make mistakes: While your teen still needs to honor your family's rules, giving your teen the freedom to make his own choices can be a valuable learning experience. Yes, they'll make mistakes and experience the consequences of those. But you are there to help them navigate those situations. Always make sure your words and actions communicate to your teen that you will always love them even if they make mistakes.

sumber dari: oprah.com

Be a Better Dad: 5 Tips for Showing Affection

Hug them, every day if possible.NFI President Roland Warren grew up without his dad and felt like he didn't really know how to show affections to his kids because it hadn't been modeled for him by his dad. When their son was young, his wife encouraged him to hug him even though it might feel a little different. "Well, you're just going to have to do it because he needs it." It's true—your kids need to physically feel that they are loved by their dad, even if it feels a little strange to you at first. If possible, make sure you hug your children every day.

Say "I love you," every day.Not every dad is in a situation where he can physically hug his kids every day. But you can say "I love you" every day. If you don't live with your kids, call or text them every day to tell them you love them. And, of course, if you live with your kids, make sure you say this too. It's not enough to demonstrate that you love them by your actions—you have to say it too.

Be creative in how you show affection.Affection can be shown by more than hugs and “I love you.” Write your child a note telling him or her what you appreciate about most about his or her personality or character. Let your kids gently wrestle with you on the floor. Take your child out to for a special date every month. These things can’t replace hugs and “I love you,” but they can reinforce what you express physically and verbally.

Remember that kids never stop needing affection.It may become more difficult or awkward to show affection to your kids as they get older, especially in the teen or young adult years. But they still need you to demonstrate that you love them, perhaps even more as they enter more challenging stages of life. Don't be bashful about hugging your teen or young adult or saying "I love you." Even fully grown adults who have their own children need their father's love!

Know why affection is important.For some children, physical touch is their primary love language. For these kids, daily hugs are especially important. But for every child, physical affection tells them that they are valued and accepted for who they are, that their dad will keep them safe, that their dad is proud of them and approves of them, and that they are loved no matter what.




sumber dari: oprah.com

what sons need from their fathers

I am often asked what sons need from their fathers. My answer really boils down to a few simple but critical things that every good dad must do, built on a framework of providing, nurturing and guiding.

But here's the problem: Too often, fathers think they're doing a better job in these areas than they really are. I've found that these four questions, though, can help a father ensure he's giving his son the fundamental things he needs. (And if a child's father is not in the picture, his mother can use these questions as a guide to help her find male role models who can give her son these kinds of affirmation.)

"Does my son know that he matters to me?"

We invest—money, time and energy—in the things we care about. In other words, if you ever want to know what someone cares about, look at their bank statement or ask them how they spent their time.

The primary way that dads can help their boys understand that they matter is by making them a priority over the myriad demands that life throws at us. With many things competing for a dad’s money, time and energy—our jobs, technology, entertainment, sports, television—it is easy for a child to think that he doesn't matter. It is critical that dads make it clear to their sons that they are a priority, that our most important investment is in them and that all the other "stuff" gets only the leftovers.

"Does my son know that I love him?"

Nurturing means a lot of things. It certainly includes hugging and kissing our boys—yes, even boys need hugs and kisses—on a daily basis and telling them that we love them. But it also includes taking care of their daily needs, like cooking for them, giving them baths, playing with them, reading to them and helping their mothers.

And I have discovered that despite the conventional wisdom that nurturing is primarily mom's territory, the root meaning of "nurture" is "to protect," a role that most dads are comfortable with.




sumber dari: oprah.com

How Does a Daughter Talk to Her Dad?

Their loss was too devastating to talk about. So Kristy Davis and her father found a different way to communicate.

After my mom died, we bought home electronics.

My father sat across from me in a restaurant booth. Here was a man I hardly recognized: vulnerable. Two days before, cancer had killed my mom in the bedroom they shared for almost 30 years.

"So how's school going?" he asked.

"Fine," I said.

"You know, your mother wanted you to go."

"I know, Dad."

"You know, she was happy that you..."

"I know, Dad."

I've since heard my father compared to early Paul Newman characters like Cool Hand Luke, a prisoner whose bulletproof resolve leads to trouble. But if my dad—a retired air force colonel, devoted Christian, and family patriarch—has a flaw, it's one we share. Or, as Luke put it, "What we've got here is a failure to communicate."

Because we couldn't talk about God, politics, or her, we went to Best Buy. We trolled the fluorescent aisles, browsing among shiny objects. It smelled like plastic. It sounded like static, an incipient white noise holding hostage otherwise erratic thoughts.

Talking about operating systems counts as a conversation between my father and me. The man owns his own power generator, fiber-optic flashlight, and solar-powered radio. I've had my gearhead phases, too: rock climbing, photography, and lighting design equipment. We are a lot alike. We are completely opposite. I'm Apple, he's PC.

While we've always been gadget crazed, the high-tech spree began after the hospital sent her home to die under hospice care. My father upgraded every possible device to provide comfort and make life easier. But the week preceding the funeral was an all-out electronics binge.

My dad bought two additional keyboards (one collapsible, one hardwired) for his newly acquired laptop, a wireless mouse and a wireless modem to connect our portables along with his desktop to the printer. We had a lot of work to do, a funeral to plan. We needed all systems up and running. This we threw ourselves into with zealotry fit for presidential elections. Every hour brought something else we needed: USB cables, another modem, better software, photo paper, ink cartridges.

My older sister arrived with a PowerPoint presentation featuring family photographs set to music—a Hawaiian ukulele player's rendition of "Over the Rainbow." We bought an LCD projector to display the slideshow. We could have borrowed one, but all projectors were not created equal, we knew.

I drove an hour south to buy a mini disc player to record the service. It wasn't enough to turn on an analog tape recorder. We needed top-quality sound, good enough for a movie, but burnable to CD.

We spent a lot of time getting these devices to work. While my brothers transported family members, and my sisters went to the morgue, my dad and I saw to all things technical. We hardly had time for condolences.

When visitors arrived, we made them watch the PowerPoint presentation, thereby determining the proper focus for any given square feet of distance, from projector to screen.

"Computer stuff," my older brother said, when someone asked our whereabouts. "They're in there doing computer stuff."

sumber dari: oprah.com

"He Helped Me Find What It Was I Loved"

What I remember of my father are the dark suits he wore and the tired way he came home in the evening. He seemed beaten down by something, something large and sharp, and I wasn't sure what that was. My mother used to say, "He comes home late because he gets very tied up at the office," and, in the literal-minded way that small children think, I pictured him roped and cuffed to his swivel seat, and this seemed terrible to me. He was frail and pale and needed protection. I used to bring him offerings: a pale green shoot, a clear cup of water, a serrated shell from the beach.

When I turned 10, I fell in love with horses. I fell in love with their dry, velvety noses, their thick pink tongues, and the way a canter felt when I sat deep in the saddle. My mother, a strict woman, forbad me lessons: Jewish people, she said, did not ride horses; they played tennis or golf. I pined and pined. I read Black Beauty again and again. And while my mother forbad me my passion, my father welcomed it, aided it, perhaps because he sensed that through passion we find our freedom, the highest expression of self. He was all tied up, but for his daughter, he wanted room to run.

He was a frail pale man and wouldn't cross my mother's mandates in any direct way, but whenever she left town he would sneak me out to the stables. I remember him coming to my room in the earliest part of the dawn: I remember the whisper of wheels on the wet road as we drove from suburb to country; I remember the sweet smell of dung, the hot blasts of a horse's breath. I remember how he stood by the fenced-in field and watched me, my father, still in a dark, serious suit, the sleeves too big, brass buttons winking in the dawn. Month after month, year after year, he helped me find what it was I loved: He drove me there; he watched me take the four-foot fences, the horse surging forward, me hunched high up on the neck as I entered the air.
—Lauren Slater




sumber dari: oprah.com