The Man Who Never Took the Drumstick
My father was the quietest person in the house.
Most of the time, he spoke only to my mother.
Whenever we ate chicken, he would choose the neck, legs, and backside.
He always said those were his favorite parts.
Whenever there was a drumstick, he never took it. It always ended up on one of the children's plates.
As children, we accepted this without question.
Only years later did I wonder whether he truly preferred those bony pieces or whether he was quietly giving the best to his children.
Even when we treated him to a meal at the economical rice stall, he would choose only one or two dishes.
He never asked for more.
He never complained.
He was content with whatever was given to him.
He did not smoke, drink, gamble or chase other women.
Most of his life revolved around work and family.
I cannot remember him buying anything expensive for himself.
He never said, "I love you."
Yet even after he was gone, he continued to provide for his family in ways that helped us when we needed it most.
Looking back, I realize that his love was rarely expressed in words.
It was expressed in sacrifice.
The deepest love is often spoken through actions rather than words.
