Month: December 2021

June 1990: Departure Lounge@ Mingaladon Airport, Yangon:

“I Hope I can join you very soon Hlaing” Nyi Naing said.

“Me too. I hope to pass the PLAB exam soon enough that I can bring you over there shortly” Hlaing said.

Hlaing had taken a bold step in sitting for the Professional and Linguistic Assessment Board (PLAB) exam in UK. It was quite unusual those days for a single woman with no relatives or a support system in UK to attempt the PLAB. All she knew was an elderly English couple whom her dad had acquainted while he was working at Myanmar Embassy in UK during the late 60s. They kindly gave her a sponsorship and a promise to help her out during the first few months. After that she would be on her own, sink or swim. Due to the restricted foreign currency exchange rules, it was quite costly to purchase air tickets or pay for the exam fees from Myanmar those days. With that and the uncertainty of passing the exam, Nyi Naing couldn’t take a chance like Hlaing. His parents were not well off and they needed his help in sending his younger siblings to college. They spent all of their earnings and savings in sending Nyi Naing to medical school and now it was his turn to work and return the favor. Business at his GP practice in Hlaing Township had just started to pick up and he couldn’t afford to throw in the towel at that point. Those days PLAB was notorious for its high failure rate especially for the Myanmar candidates since they were unfamiliar with the exam format, being isolated from the world during the preceding two decades. Every foreign medical graduate needs to pass this test if he or she wishes to work or be trained at British hospitals. It is an equivalent to USMLE exam in USA. But this was the strong willed Hlaing, one who had always yarned to visit the west again. Nyi Naing just had to accept her decision. He was hoping that in another year or two, he could close his GP practice and try to join Hlaing in UK. He needed that much time to polish his English skills too.

“Will you promise to write me every week?” Nyi Naing asked.

“Of course, Naing.”

“Pinky promise Hlaing?”

“Yes, pinky promise, now would you kiss me for the last time Naing?”

Before he could say anything, she dragged him to a little corner at the balcony, hugged him tight and gave a warm kiss on his lips. As quick as the kiss was, she broke off suddenly and asked him to leave before she boarded the plane. She said she had never cried in public and didn’t want this to be the first time and she might if she saw Nyi Naing waving goodbye. Realizing that he too would perhaps do the same when her plane took off, Nyi Naing accepted the suggestion and started walking away. As he was leaving, he ran into Tun Oo who was entering the terminal. He gave a polite greeting and asked where he was heading. Turned out that Tun Oo was to be on the same flight, planning to sit for the PLAB in UK like Hlaing. Nyi Naing wished him good luck in the exams and made a quiet exit. He trusted Hlaing and yet his heart was heavy for no reasons. Next and for the first time, he decided to close his GP that evening and went to a bar with his best friends Soe Than and Maung Maung Lay. In the end he sobbed like a baby that night though he was too drunk to be ashamed of.

December 1991: @ Thuyain GP Clinic. Kamaryut Railway Station Road, Hlaing Township:

Nyi Naing got off the trishaw and trudged into the clinic building. He was more than two hours early and no patient was there yet. Not even his front desk helper Maung Zaw Lin. But that was by design. He didn’t want to meet anybody while he was reading Hlaing’s letter one more time.

The past one and a half year had been tough for everybody. Hlaing was very stressed in UK. She failed PLAB twice already and was to take the last and the final attempt very soon. Her finances were tight. She was writing less and less frequently to Nyi Naing and whenever she did, she sounded defeated. She said there were so many new things to be acclimatized. Weather was harsh. She was lonely yet phone calls to Myanmar were very expensive. She had to work part-time as an aid at a nursing home to make ends meet while studying day and night for the exam. The only thing in her favor was that she didn’t need much polishing in her English. In the meantime, Nyi Naing’s father suddenly passed away from a stroke. He had three younger siblings who were still in school. It became impossible for him to leave Myanmar, at least for the next few years. He couldn’t leave his mom and the younger siblings high and dry. Moreover, government jobs were becoming very attractive and easy to come by since many doctors resigned while others left for abroad as long as they were financially capable. Ministry of Health (MOH) then came out with a new policy that, unlike before, the newly appointed assistant surgeons (AS) would be assigned only at the teaching hospitals during the first two years. Only later they would be sent to the districts. MOH felt that the change would benefit the rural hospitals better since they would be receiving a seasoned AS than one who had just come out of internship. But that inadvertently opened up a door for those who were smart and willing to work hard. During that first two years, if one could pass the MSc entrance exams, he or she would be considered a post graduate (PG) trainee and hence would not be sent out to the districts. The opportunities in the career ladder seemed to have become wide open and readily accessible for those who wanted to work hard. Hence, Nyi Naing was having second thoughts in not joining the government service. His only reason was that entering the government civil service would prevent him from joining Hlaing in UK.

But that dream was shattered on that day. He started to read Hlaing’s letter again which he received in the morning. It said: “Forgive me Naing though I can fully understand if you don’t. It’s too much to explain now and I don’t want to sound like an innocent one justifying my actions. May be one day I can fully explain this to you. But for now, I’d rather call you “a friend” Naing!” Love. Hlaing. It was short but was more than enough to relay the intended message. Between Hlaing and Naing, they both knew what this sentence of “rather call you a friend” meant. It was their personal coded message. That was a Dear John letter. After all, their relationship was first announced in an opposite way, “I’d rather not call you a friend”. That night Nyi Naing submitted his application for a government employed doctor (AS) job. And he received no further letters from Hlaing.

Later and little by little he learnt more about Hlaing from his friend Soe Than who went to UK. Contrary to Nyi Naing’s initial suspicion, it was nothing to do with Tun Oo. That smarty pant did quite well though, passing the PLAB exam in his first attempt and was already aiming for the MRCP diploma and beyond. Hlaing met a German doctor who came for rounds at the nursing home she worked as an aid. Learning that Hlaing was a doctor, he helped her a lot both career wise and in financial means. He got her into a clinical attachment position at a nearby teaching hospital. Supposedly he was a very nice gentleman. Eventually proximity begets intimacy, especially when one was downtrodden and lonely. To make the long story short, Hlaing fell in love with that German guy. She passed the PLAB exam in her last attempt and was finally able work as a doctor too. The last Soe Than heard of Hlaing was that, there were to be married next year in Germany, at his home town. Nyi Naing didn’t feel bitter. He just blamed himself that he couldn’t be next to her when she was vulnerable and needed him the most. He just accepted this as his fate and tried to devote his life to medicine from then onwards. He promised himself that one day he’ll get himself a MRCP and a period of overseas training in the west. That was what Hlaing had wanted to have him in the first place. He had failed her twice before, once during the 1988 uprising and later in not accompanying her to UK soon enough. He won’t fail her for the third time. By hook or by crook, he would get a MRCP.

Late Spring 1998: @ City of Chester, England:

Nyi Naing’s initial fears were unfounded. Robert was such a nice gentleman. He genuinely showed interest in the affairs of Myanmar and made Nyi Naing feel at ease right away. If there were any awkward moments, it was all from Nyi Naing. May be that’s a skill in life that Myanmars need to pick up from the westerners, how to show no animosity towards the wife’s ex-boyfriend over a dinner.

Nyi Naing arrived to UK six months ago as a Myanmar government’s state scholar. In Myanmar, after his first posting as a newly minted AS at Sayagyi Professor Winston Hla’s surgical ward, Nyi Naing was sold into Surgery. He threw away the dream of becoming a physician and shifted gears to become a surgeon. He eventually completed his MSc (Surgery) and was then sent to complete his Fellowship of the Royal Colleges of Surgeons (FRCS) training in UK. He was assigned at a teaching hospital in Birmingham area. By then quite a few of his classmates had settled well in UK. Through that old friend network, he had reconnected with many of them except Hlaing. He learnt that she and her husband were living in Cheshire. He deliberately made no attempt to contact her. It was Hlaing who tracked down Nyi Naing’s phone number and invited him to come visit her family in Chester that weekend.

While the three grown-ups were sipping wine and savoring the Sunday Roast and the Yorkshire pudding, Hlaing’s daughter May, who was three-year-old, played with her princess dolls in the living room.

Hlaing said, “Sorry for the last-minute invite Naing but I had just realized that we have only two more weeks left in UK and I wanted you to meet Robert and May while we are still here.”

That came as a surprise. Nyi Naing said, “What do you mean Hlaing?”

“We are moving to America. Both Robert and I will be starting our residency training over there in three weeks. And it seemed that we are moving there for good with no plan to return to UK.”

Before he could even think he blurted out: “Do you have to?”

“In a sense yes. You see, as an overseas graduate from Myanmar, I have not been progressing well in my career in UK. For example, I had been trying to get into the Cardiology Specialist Registrar training to no avail during the past two years. Having MRCP is not enough. Robert is also very interested in the bench research in his field. But funding for basic science research in UK is not as generous as in America. Of course, he can always return to Germany but with me not speaking German, I won’t find a job there. Therefore, we decided that America will be a good fit as the neutral third country for both of us. And that’s why we don’t think we’ll come back to UK either”.

There you go again Hlaing, a girl full of surprises, at least for Nyi Naing. One who always embraces change and adventure. And for the next two hours they tried to catch up which meant it was mostly Hlaing inquiring about friends and family in Myanmar. She hadn’t visited Myanmar since she left seven years ago. She was a bit out of the loop even from the classmates who were in England. When she learnt that Nyi Naing remained single, her eyes suddenly looked soulful though nobody except Nyi Naing noticed it. And finally, it was time for Nyi Naing to leave. He took the Intercity train from Birmingham to Chester. Robert volunteered to stay behind and watch May while Hlaing drove Nyi Naing back to the train station.

It was an extremely quite ride until Hlaing started:

“Naing, it’s about another forty-five minutes before your train departs. Can we stop for a few minutes to chat? I know a nice place where we can park the car and walk a short distance over the stone bridge crossing the River Dee. From there you can also see the Chester Cathedral in a distance”.

“Sure Hlaing.”

It was about eight o’clock but being spring, the sun had already set. The River Dee which Nyi Naing felt to be the size of a brook for Burmese standard was flowing quietly under the bridge transecting the town of Chester. After walking a few feet along the pedestrian path, they stopped in the middle of the ancient stone bridge.

“I don’t know how to thank you for coming out to see me Naing. I was worried that you might be resentful towards me. To be honest, since I learnt that you arrived to UK a few months ago, I meant to invite you over but was worried that you may turn down my invitation. But when I realized that I have only two more weeks to stay in this country, I just had to take the chance. And I am glad I did. I am also very proud of you of what you have become Naing, a soon to be a FRCS surgeon, a job at the professorial surgical ward in Myanmar waiting. Your English has improved so much that I couldn’t even recognize you at first on the phone. And you had achieved all those within the past seven years. Do you still have time to compose poems?”

“Thank you for the kind words, Hlaing. Being single helped. Without any family responsibilities, I was able to devote myself to the study of Medicine and English at all times. And no, I don’t compose poems anymore. Can’t get into the writing mood. And by the way you have a very beautiful family. Robert is such a nice man and May is so cute”.

“I know Naing but sometimes I lament and feel guilty of what I did to you. Will you forgive me?”

“I always forgive you Hlaing.”

“Sorry, I should have known that too Naing. It’s not an excuse but those were my bleakest days in life. I was so lonely and desperate in a foreign land where every attempt was a failure.”

“Let’s not talk about the past Hlaing. In life, what doesn’t kill makes you stronger. At this point you should be appreciative of what you have now, a lovely family and a beautiful daughter. In a sense those bleak days took you to where you are now. So, you should be thankful.”

“True and thanks for being such a gentleman Naing. I have never felt so relieved like now. But can I still ask you for one more favor?”

“Shoot Hlaing.”

“Can I continue calling you a “friend” Naing?”

“I will forever be your friend Hlaing and you will be mine too. Now let’s get back to the train station. If I miss this one, the next one won’t be till 11 PM and I have to be in OR (Operating Room) by 5 AM tomorrow”.

Hlaing seemed to have become very relieved for the first time in the whole evening. There was a notably radiant smile from her for the rest of the car ride. She dropped him off at the station but after flashing the hazards lights, she got out and quickly came around to his side of the car. Glowingly, she planted a quick kiss on Nyi Naing’s cheeks and said,

“Goodbye Naing. Hope to see you again somewhere sometimes and hopefully with Mrs. Naing then.”

Then she drove off. And that was the last Nyi Naing saw of her, at least for another decade.

Nyi Naing’s surgical training in England was a smooth sailing. Since he had already passed the Myanmar version of the FRCS exam, which was MSc (Surgery), the British exam wasn’t a tough one to overcome. And under the close tutelage of his Professor Sayagyi Winston Hla at New Yangon General Hospital in Myanmar, Nyi Naing was so already well trained in the fundamentals of surgery that he was ready to operate efficiently in the British ORs. The British consultants were very impressed by him. Since he passed the FRCS relatively quick, he also had a chance to go through the hands-on training for a longer period than others who were focused on passing the exam. As his elective, he spent six months at the solid organ transplant surgery division of the famed Birmingham General Hospital. But during his next two years in England, he never heard anymore again from Hlaing in USA.

( Part III to follow).

(This piece was first written around 2013. It was based on the events leading to and during the turbulent times, around 1988, when Burma went through a nationwide uprising toppling the then socialist government and then followed through for the next two decades in the lives of Nyi Naing and Hlaing. Yet with the Spring Revolution of 2021, a sense of de javu has returned. The emotional scars of 8888 are coming back to haunt many lately. The story is mostly fictional but there also may be a thin veil separating the characters in this story from those in real life. Many are walking different paths and living different lives thirty years later but the author feels it still resonates well with what’s happening today. Yet reminiscence is the only solace the author can find now while desperately hoping for better times.)

Fall, 1984: A meeting room next to the Students’ Affairs Dept. @ Institute of Medicine 1

“Alright, let’s get rolling with the meeting” hollered Ko Aung Myint Htoo, who was the chief editor of medical school’s annual magazine. “As usual, now is the time of the year to elect new members of the magazine committee. We need one representative from each class for both Myanmar and English sections. For the most part in senior classes, the committee members remain unchanged from the previous year unless one resigns or another challenger comes up which often is never. Nobody wants to spend countless and thankless hours working on the magazine unless you are a literary nut. Even for a literary lover, most rather contribute articles than be in the actual magazine committee. But it is a little different for the second MB class who had just entered the medical school. This will be their first year in the magazine committee and we expect to have some fresh blood. Secretary Ko Ye Tint Kyaw, have you counted the ballots?

It sounded quite democratic but to be honest, like anywhere in the world, there also was a little inner circle of literary lovers or a magazine mafia in the schools. Most of the times, those who were already in the magazine committee would do a scouting work by looking at who submitted stories and poems the previous years. Then they would indirectly coax or guide those individuals to run for the election and win. The only exception may be in the English section where the faculty advisors from the department of English often suggest a few names who were strong in English based on their personal connection or the English test scores. Ko Ye Tint Kyaw announced, “Ma Hlaing Myat Thu for the English section and Ko Nyi Nyi Naing for the Myanmar section from the second MB class. Make sure you two mark your calendars to be available on the first Wednesday of the month. That day after school, magazine committee meets monthly”.

That did not come as a surprise. Hlaing Myat Thu’s English was impeccable since she spent a few years overseas as a kid when her father was working as a junior officer at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.  While Nyi Naing and many others who graduated from the district high schools with socialist era English curriculum struggled to write a page long narrative, she was composing poems in English like a native speaker then. As different as their backgrounds were, they fast became friends. She was head strong for a Myanmar girl and many mistook her for being a prude whereas in reality she was being independent and outspoken. She was just a bit bohemian. Nyi Naing always wondered if poet (sayamagyi) Kyi Aye’s persona would have been like Hlaing when she was young. Hlaing liked Nyi Naing for of his humility, honesty and sincerity which were rare qualities among the male medical students. Most were either nerdy book worms or spoiled brats who were treated as privileged ones in the families just because they got into the medical school. As a result, most had substandard EQs and zero interpersonal relationship skills. Nyi Naing was a rare exception. Perhaps his parents, both of whom were high school teachers, coached him well.

Fall 1985: At the corridor next to the third MB lecture hall, IM-1.

“Nyi Naing, may I speak you for a moment?” said Tun Oo. It caught Nyi Naing by surprise. Sure, he knew Tun Oo, who didn’t? But they would never consider each other as close friends to make casual chats while passing by. He was a big shot, son of a famous consultant physician in Yangon and was also an academic high achiever. He got distinctions every year in medical school. He came to school driving his own car when Nyi Naing daily commuted via the ever-crowded Yangon City Buses from public transportation service.

“Sure, what can I do?” said Nyi Naing.

“How can I be in the school magazine committee, particularly in the English section? Since you are in the magazine committee, maybe you can pull some strings for me?”

Now Nyi Naing understood where he was coming from. In the class, one didn’t need to be Einstein to observe that Tun Oo had a crush on Hlaing Myat Thu. It was also a no secret that Hlaing had no interest in Tun Oo. Though he had better English than Nyi Naing since he went to a famous missionary school in Yangon, he was never known to be into literature. He simply wanted to impress Hlaing or get closer to her by being in the same magazine committee.

“I am sorry Ko Tun Oo, it doesn’t work that way. Magazine committee is made up of those who are dedicated in bringing out a school magazine either by their literature contribution or are willing to sacrifice their study time in taking care of the magazine affairs. If you are really interested, my suggestion is to submit your work to the magazine committee and make everybody aware that you are a true literary lover. That will give you a good chance to be elected in the next year’s committee. That’s the best advice I can give.”

Tun Oo turned around suddenly and walked away without saying a thank you. And Tun Oo wasn’t the first one who had approached Nyi Naing in thinking that he may be able to put in good words for them in trying to win Hlaing Myat Thu’s heart. Too bad none realized that Nyi Naing had feelings for Hlaing too.

Summer 1986: Final Part-1 PSM field trip @ Kyon Pyor Township:

“I don’t read Burmese novels except by one particular author” Hlaing Myat Thu said.

She and Nyi Naing were sitting under a Tamarind tree on the bank of the little dam at the outskirt of the town. It was the usual after dinner stroll by the group. The rest of the group members were a little further ahead having fun wading in the ankle-deep water. It was about 7PM and the sweltering heat had just given way for the evening breeze. Eight final part one medical students were there for two weeks, attached to the township medical hospital to be exposed to rural medicine as required by the school’s Community Medicine curriculum.

“Really, by whom?” Nyi Naing asked in surprise. He was a big fan of Maung Sein Win, Min Lu and the ilk then. He was dabbling in poetry too.

“I don’t know why but I can’t feel or appreciate most of them. May be because when I was young, I didn’t grow up reading Burmese books. The only novels I enjoy reading are the ones by Takatho Phone Naing, such as “Ta Pyi Thu Ma Shwe Htar (i.e., Htar from overseas), “Moe Nya Ein Met Myu (i.e., Fog of the rainy night) or “Tha Nge Chin Lo Pei Set Yway Khor Mi Khine (i.e., I’d rather keep on calling you a friend Khine) etc.”

“Really, why do you think you could connect with him though?”

“May be because most of his characters were western trained academicians. May be because he often included his own experience as a state scholar in the stories and I was able to relate to the stories. May be in my subconscious mind, I want to return to west where I spent the first few years of my childhood which was very memorable. Maybe I don’t fully understand the nuances, metaphors and the plot construction with their subtle but implied meanings in Myanmar prose. I don’t know and sometimes I am confused about this world around me, really.”

Nyi Naing made a deep sigh and said, “Will you be confused if I now tell you that, I wish to call you more than a friend Hlaing?”

This time Hlaing got it. She stared at Nyi Naing for a few seconds. Then suddenly and without saying a word, she planted a quick kiss on Nyi Naing’s cheek, made a giggle and dashed off to the other girls who were walking back towards them. After a few steps, she turned around and said, “I can be more than friends with you Naing”. Nyi Naing sat still. He wondered how many Myanmar girls reply by a kiss when a boy makes his first proposal. Earlier, he had told Hlaing that his mom calls him just “Naing” at home. A smile came on Nyi Naing’s face. Both women whom he loved most in this world now call him “Naing”. What a lucky man he was!

20 September 1988: House officer on-call room @ West Yangon General Hospital:

“Please change your decision Hlaing, I think it is much riskier to take that route than staying put here” Nyi Naing said.

“ Naing, it’s not because I am worried of being arrested by staying in Yangon and wanted to go into hiding. I just felt that justice needs to be served. Those cruel military dictators needed to be retaliated by an armed uprising. That’s the only language they understand, the one that comes out of a gun barrel and the justice they deserve. See what we get by the peaceful protests on the streets of Yangon?”

Following the 8888 revolution, the military staged a coup the day before and had started forcefully clamping down the demonstrations. Both Hlaing and Naing were house officers at that time. Hlaing had been a firebrand and was more involved in the uprising. Just yesterday she participated in the last round of demonstration near the Sule Pagoda when army opened fire. Hundreds died in front of her eyes and she was lucky to be unharmed. A night time curfew had been declared and the military intelligence agents were arresting activists by going on a house-to-house search. She was thinking of running away to the jungles of Thai-Myanmar border where supposedly a student army would be formed with the help of the local ethnic rebels who had been fighting the central government for decades. A few medical students had secretly arranged to leave Yangon that night from the Sin-Oo-Tan jetty in a fishing boat which promised to take them to either Moulmein or Dawei as the first leg of the journey. With many security checkpoints, travel by land was considered unsafe. Nyi Naing was desperately pleading her not to join the voyage.

“Look Hlaing, please don’t make important decisions in a haste. We are just six months shy of finishing our internships and getting our medical licenses. Otherwise, all that we had worked hard for in the past 7-8 years will be a waste. I promise that once we finish our internships and if you are still dedicated to join the underground revolution, I will come along with you to wherever you decide go. But this time, please listen to me.”

Hlaing displayed a little hesitancy but still she didn’t promise Nyi Naing anything. She said, “There will be a few girls in the group including Cynthia Aung.”. Cynthia was a house officer like them but was from Institute of Medicine 2. Knowing how stubborn Hlaing could be, Nyi Naing had no choice but to use the last option. He secretly informed Hlaing’s parents of her plans. He made them promise that they never disclose who tipped them off or even acted as if they had been tipped off. For the next few weeks, Hlaing was either constantly accompanied by one parent or was under the constant surveillance that she never had a chance to join the new student army, All Burma Students’ Democratic Front (ABSDF) that was formed at the Thia-Burma border. But then with the news trickling back on how tough and unpredictable things really were in the border areas, she finally gave up the plan to join the armed revolution.

(Part II and III to be followed)

( This was first written in 2011.)

Back in Burma when I was growing up, we had a system in our family. My two sisters and I had to notify everyone when we left the house by yelling something like “Tharr Thwar Byee Ah May! (i.e., I am leaving mom)” and wait till a reply is heard. I think it was more of a safety check and a way of reporting to the parents that we were going out in case we needed permission. Years later when I started a family of my own, I insisted on continuing that tradition. But of course, here in the west, we tend to show affection to each other more openly compared to my childhood when respectful gestures towards parents were considered to be of more importance. When my daughter goes out, even just to the neighbor’s backyard to play with her friend, she says, “Bye Daddy, love you!” and I would reply “Bye Thamee-Lay, love you too!”. And likewise, when I step out of the house, I reciprocate by saying, “Bye Thamee Lay or Bye Mommy, love you!”. And they will reply the same. The only exception is when you leave the house angry such as after a quarrel. Then you can expect a quiet departure without any announcement! Luckily those episodes are far and few in between.

Our daughter Hannah turned nine this year and is in fourth grade now. Given her extracurricular activities and her ever increasing private tuition hours (Kumon Classes), some of the evenings can be quite hectic. Like most working couples, the wife and I have to tightly coordinate our work schedules and her activities so that one of us is always available to drive her around. Sometimes it seems things require the precision and punctuality of a covert military operation. We are talking in terms of a margin of error of 20-25 minutes that can make Hannah miss her lesson or practice. Thank God we live in a Midwestern small town of USA where traffic jams are almost nonexistent allowing us to eliminate at least that variable in our highly choreographed daily lives.

Mondays are my days when I am the assigned person to pick her up from school, take her home, feed her, make sure she finishes her homework and later take her to the ice rink at a nearby town. By the time she comes back from ice-skating, she often has just enough time to take a bath, get a light supper, and finish up home work for the next day before she goes to bed. School starts at 8AM in the morning and we can’t rely on the school bus since nobody is at home in the evenings to receive her from the bus. It is better we go and pick her up at the school where she can remain at after-hour care providing us some flexibility. Fortunately, I am a physician in a private practice where I can dictate my own working hours. I have instructed my receptionist to assign my last patient at 3:30 PM on Mondays so that I can leave work early.

This past weekend had been very busy for all of us. I was on-call at the hospital. Hannah had her school spelling bee contest and the talent show that required a few rehearsals and preliminary rounds throughout the weekend. No matter how many pages (beeps or calls) I received during the preceding night, I still had to get to the hospital very early the next morning to wrap up my rounds after which I tried to get home in time to attend her shows. She won a first prize in the talent show and a second prize in the spelling contest. By the Sunday evening the whole family was pooped. Hannah couldn’t finish some of her Kumon assignments that she had to turn in on Tuesday. And the Monday didn’t start out any better for me either.  Some patients arrived one hour later than the assigned time but still requested to be seen cramming all other appointments. Some patients were unexpectedly too sick requiring arrangements to be admitted to the hospital.  One demanding out of town relative suddenly accompanied the patient for the first time grilling the doctor needlessly as if he or she was the most compassionate patient advocate of the time and so on. When I left the office, I was drained and a few minutes later than usual. It was a rough day and I was cranky.  I still had incomplete dictations and electronic medical records that I intended to finish up later from home. I drove to Hannah’s school to pick her up. Once she was in the car, she realized that she left her jacket in her locker. She had to run back to her classroom to retrieve it. I gave her a lecture on “being a responsible person” in an inpatient tone. She listened quietly.

Once we got home, I sent her up to her room to do homework and change outfits for her ice-skating. I told her that the time was 4:30 PM. To get to the ice rink in time which requires about 30 minutes driving, we needed to leave home by 5:45 PM the latest. And she was to come down at 5:30 to have dinner that I was about to fix. At about 5:15 I gave her a reminder call to come downstairs in a few minutes. She replied that she still had quite a bit of homework to finish up. I told her that she might have to leave it unfinished and do it after she returned from ice-skating by staying up a bit late that night. At 5:30 I gave her another shout, a bit in a stern tone. She said she was wrapping up the last problem and will come down soon. Five minutes later she rushed down with her ice-skating gear in hand. She quickly ate the dinner while I helped her pack the skating bag. I reminded her that we were running a bit late. She also wanted some fruits so I had to slice some apples. And finally, when I thought we were all ready to leave, she asked if she could use the restroom. Of course, I couldn’t say no. The nature’s call takes precedence over everything else. By the time the car rolled out of our drive way it was 6:00 PM and we were 15 minutes late already. She realized that too.

I was upset about her lack of time management. I berated her with a few words. I usually try and succeed in not showing my temper in my conversation with her. But that day I gave into my ugly side, the sarcastic one. I asked her,

“Thamee, what grade are you in?”

She replied, “Daddy, what happened? Of course, I am in fourth grade!”

I continued:

“Oh, I was just wondering if you got demoted at school since you seemed not to be able to read a clock. I thought any fourth grader could read a clock”

She replied nothing and I carried on.

“What time does your ice-skating begin?”

She replied, “6:15”

“How long did I tell you the drive takes to get there?

“30 minutes”

“Then as a fourth grader can you tell me what time should we leave home to get there in time?”

“5:45 PM”

“Thank you Thameelay, I just wasn’t sure if you still remember the third-grade math”

She sat quietly. And after a while she asked if I could turn on the radio for her to listen Disney channel songs.

I said, “Sure of course Thamee-Lay”. With that I turned on the radio.

After one song, I spoke again.

“Do you think listening to the radio will make a car fly and gets to the destination sooner?”

“No daddy, of course not, why”

“Well, I was just wondering. Since you knew that Daddy was a little upset about this delay and you still cared to request to turn on the music, I thought you might be thinking music makes the car goes faster”.

For the next fifteen minutes of the drive, we both sat extremely quiet. I peeped at her from the rearview mirror. She looked remorseful. I started to feel bad. Finally, we got to the skating rink. Normally when she gets a little late to her activities or the school, she jumps out of the car and dashes to the building.  But today after she stepped out of the car, despite being late, she turned around and said,

“Bye daddy, I love you”. And then instead of moving forward, she hesitated a bit to wait for my response.

I was stunned. I wasn’t expecting this. I berated her and treated her sarcastically. I thought she would have slammed the car door as she stormed out. But now she is forgiving me. She is extending the olive branch. I felt suddenly small in front of her. Here a nine-year-old was showing more maturity than her forty something year-old father. I was thinking what I would have done had I been in her shoes, such as slamming the door angrily, yet she had been more gracious than me. And I had forgotten that she was only nine years old. What the heck I was thinking about time management when even some college kids can’t follow it? My frustration at work had spilled over to a child’s innocent life. How ugly? I stepped out of the car, gave her a tight hug and said,

“Bye Thamee-Lay, I love you too”.

Suddenly a smile appeared on her face. She realized her dad had forgiven her. She turned around and dashed happily towards the entrance. Tears welled up in my eyes. And that’s why the world needs children, to make us better persons!