This is a true story. Names have been changed for privacy.
Boris was a patient father and his temper rarely flared up. On the few occasions that it did, it sometimes exploded into a blind rage. All six of his children would run for cover, guilty or not guilty.
At the time, 14-year-old Rex, the eldest, was on the only computer in the house. He was playing games. Rachel, 11-years-old and the second eldest, asked if she could use it for an hour to key in her English composition, which she had written by hand and was due the next day.
“In a while,” Rex told her. But his in-a-while was taking too long. So Rachel complained to their dad, Boris, who told Rex to move along. Grudgingly, Rex stood up and banged the chair before leaving. Boris, the conservative parent who demanded total respect from his kids, thought Rex was being defiant and disrespectful. He screamed at him and wanted to hit him.
It was good that the housemaid intervened, trying to calm Boris. Poor Rex was devastated. He never talked to his dad again, not ever. He renounced his dad forever. Imagine the torture of living in the same house as the dad whom he had renounced.
Years passed; the hate remained. Rex could not forgive his dad and kept his grudge inside him until he started working as an IT executive for a big multinational firm. Rex attended a company seminar on relationships at home and at work. It was a long weekend. The seminar was held in a plush five-star hotel. The attendees were required to talk to each member of their family and iron out any unresolved grudges on the last day of the seminar. And so, the phone rang.
REX: Hello, dad. (There was no hesitancy in his tone; he blurted out his feelings so fast) I just want to talk. Remember, as a kid, you almost hit me because of a lousy computer? I never forgave you. I renounced you. From then on, it was as if I had no more dad. I hated you in silence, and I am almost sure you didn’t even know how I felt all this while until now. But now I forgive you, dad. I love you. His voice croaked.
It was as if a ton of bricks had fallen on Boris. He was so ashamed of himself. The tears were copious on both ends of the telephone line.
BORIS: Forgive me, son, and thank you for loving me in spite of that. Now, I realize it was not really disrespect; it was pure reflex. It must have been torture keeping your grudge in silence for so many years. I’m sorry. I love you too.
REX: Yes, it was torture. But now, it’s all over. I feel as if a huge thorn from an old wound that never healed has been removed. Our seminar speaker guided us on how to talk. It must be straightforward, simple, and quick. No “palabok.” No mushy talk. I feel like screaming with joy.
After the five-minute conversation between father and son, Rex went outside to the garden and screamed his heart out in absolute joy, to the shock of some hotel guests who thought he was deranged.
Boris and Rex became the best of friends. They played ping pong, poker one-on-one, and chess. They were very competitive. They went biking together often. Rex became a professional cyclist who went to Paris for a marathon. Boris was there to cheer him, of course.
Reconciliation is awesome. It heals the body and the soul on both sides. Reconciliation is premised on forgiveness and humility and unconditional love. Forgiveness heals. Hatred consumes.
I wonder if this personal reconciliation could be applied to warring nations to achieve world peace, especially in the Middle East, where everything is going haywire. It might be possible, but it must be hard.
