拉緊你的手

印象中，每週末與父親相處的時光，不外乎兩件事情。

一是我在客廳裡玩電腦，他則安靜地坐在沙發上看重播的老電影，然後在同一個場景打起瞌睡，所以不論看了幾遍，有些細節他總是連不起來。又或者，我們會前往3C賣場，看看有哪些便宜可撿。

不幸的是，十歲的我對於爸爸眉飛色舞地講解如何提升電腦速度、CPU、RAM之類的術語完全無法理解。而當我大到能聽懂時，比起爸爸專業性十足的「數位講座」，我更喜歡悠哉地待在CD區，看看有什麼新貨。

有一天，我們像往常一樣，停好車後走向賣場。當我們準備穿過停車場的馬路時，父親突然握住了我的手。那是一條車速慢又沒什麼車的馬路，而且那時，我已經15歲了。對於爸爸突如其來的舉動，我驚訝得無法言語，甚至把它當個笑話般講給媽媽聽。

當我決定攻讀心理學博士時，父親選擇延後退休，以防我未來無法謀生時，能隨時支援我。但父親從未透露過他的擔心，直到多年後，媽媽輾轉告訴了我。

又後來，我成為了一名出家人，我的父母到寺院來看我，媽媽悄悄跟我說：「我能感受到你父親現在很放心。看到你在寺院裡過得快樂，他終於可以安心了。」
事實上，我甚至不知道他曾經擔心過。

在我一生中，父親除了給予無條件的支持，並沒有要求過什麼。他讓我自由探索每一條我想走的路，但若有什麼意外，他也會第一時間出現，確保我安然無恙。

回想起那個週六下午，他牽起我的手穿過停車場，我才明白，那一刻，爸爸的舉動並非突如其來，爸爸的手一直默默等待我人生的每個路口，從始至終，從來沒有放開過。

Growing up, weekend rituals with my father was one of two things:

1) Me playing on the computer in the living room while he watched reruns of old movies on TV (somehow managing to fall asleep during the same scenes every time—is this a dad thing? Or just a my dad thing?), or

2) Going to the electronic store because there was a good sale.

Unfortunately, 10-year-old me couldn’t quite grasp what was going on as my father explained the various parts of a CPU, what makes a faster machine, and the nuances that determined a good sale. And by the time I could understand, I was old enough to wander off on my own, choosing to wait in the CDs section instead.

I’ve since come to regret prioritizing pop culture over personal computer science lectures, but that’s not the point of this story.

Just about every weekend throughout my childhood, my father would pick me up from whatever extracurricular, take me to lunch, create his own detour, and drive us to the electronic store. But there’s one instance that’s stayed with me well over 15 years.

That day, we pulled into the parking lot, like the hundreds of times before, parked the car, and walked toward the automatic sliding doors. As we were about to cross that faux street that stretches between the front doors and parking lot—the street where cars drive 5mph and watch for pedestrians—my father suddenly takes my hand. I must have been at least 15 years old.

I was too stunned to pull my hand back and shared a good laugh with my mom later that day. But I think about this moment a lot and how it foreshadowed much of my adulthood.

When I decided to get my Ph.D. in psychology, my father decided to postpone retirement. Just in case I’d never make a living, he was ready to support me for the rest of my life. More significantly, my father never hinted he was concerned. My mom only relayed this plan to me many years after the fact.

And a year after I joined the monastery, my parents came to visit. I called home shortly after they left to make sure they arrived safely. My mother assured me they were well, and added, “I can sense your father feels at ease now. He can finally relax after seeing, for himself, that you are happy in the monastery.”

Again, I didn’t even know he was worried.

My entire life, my father showed me nothing but support. I always thought he just held a more individualistic viewpoint and didn’t worry much. But just like that Saturday afternoon when he held my teenage-hand to cross the parking lot divide, I’ve come to see my father had always been holding my hand in secret. Thus granting me the freedom to trek every path I’ve ever wanted to explore, but should anything happen, he would’ve already been there to make sure I’d be ok.

作者：法崇
編輯：法黠