Jude was impressed when he heard me whistle. First thing he asked was who taught me how to whistle. I thought for a while, I had no idea how did I learn how to whistle. Just to satisfy him, I told him my father taught me. He was ok with the answer.

That left me thinking: Actually how many things had my father taught me.

I realised there wasn’t many, if not none. Not for as far as I could remember. I felt rather… meh.

My father had been the kind of “father” father. You know, the kind who is in charged of bringing home the bacon, who left everything else to the mother.

He did try to get us into fishing. I suppose if I had ever shown any interest, he would tell me everything there was to know about fishing. Sadly I wasn’t. I suppose he would be happy to teach me about writing. Then again, I was never a big fan of one.

At my young age, I was into doodling, video games, music, doing dangerous stuff. None which involved him. It was my mom who taught me how to ride bicycle. Subsequently, I learned to ride motorbike myself. I learned to drive myself.

Obviously, it wasn’t my father who taught me how to whistle.

Realised my mind strayed away for too long, I turned and looked at Jude, I told him I will teach him how to whistle one day when he is ready. He nodded happily.

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