CHAPTER 97

2025-10-23

Lun had put me on his personal blacklist and saw me as a high-risk figure. I had to “clear my name” and start over.

After I volunteered to cut Lun’s hair twice, and later accompanied him to the hospital when his kidney stone flared up, those experiences—painful and unforgettable for him—left him wary of my visits. His eyes, once bright and trusting, were now full of suspicion and even hostility, as though afraid I might cause more trouble. This estrangement between father and son made me deeply uncomfortable. I had, in his mind, become a high-risk person.

To restore my standing, I first needed to stop making things worse. I explained to the staff at his residence that I would no longer involve myself in his haircuts—whether he went bald or grew his hair long would be entirely up to them. I hoped time would gradually wash away my bad record.

At the same time, I needed to rebuild my image in Lun’s heart. The most effective way was to strengthen our bond in a positive way—by bribing him. Lun didn’t care about money, but he was very fond of snacks, especially those that were crispy and crunchy.

Each time I visited, I brought along his favorite sweet and salty snacks for him to enjoy. Over time, he began to associate my visits with tasty treats. Whenever Wednesday came, he would automatically look forward to seeing his father.

However, such a strategy required the approval of the familiar group home staff, since snacks and soft drinks were strictly prohibited. I explained my intention, and once they understood, they gave their permission. From then on, I always kept some snacks in my car just in case.

Since my wife passed away last year, the staff—worried that I might feel lonely—kindly prepared a meal for me each week so that I could share dinner with Lun during my visits. During the summer, he enjoyed eating outdoors in the back garden, and I would join him there.

Now, when I drive into the parking area behind the residence, I can already see Lun peeking out, searching for me. After dinner, I call his name; to him, when Dad calls like that, it surely means something good is coming. His eyes widened in eager anticipation, and I said, “Daddy brought you some chips.”

His tension immediately turns into delight. I walk about ten feet away to the car parked outside the gate, take the snacks from the trunk, place them in a bowl, and raise it above his line of sight. Then I reveal the surprise before handing it to him.

He’s never greedy—each time, he simply gives me a look that means, “Just a little more, please.” After a few such visits, we established a new routine: after dinner, he may have three small portions of snacks—first savory, then sweet, with buttery cookies as the grand finale. He eats the first two quickly, pacing back and forth, but when he reaches the third, he sits down on the long rocking chair and enjoys it slowly. Between each portion, he automatically drinks half to one cup of water. Both the staff and I praise him for that.

Two weeks ago, he ate two plates of dinner, and I, soft-hearted, let him have three large portions of snacks. That night, he had a stomachache. The staff warned me, and I immediately admitted my mistake—snack portions were reduced at once.

After three months of careful observation, Lun has completely forgotten our past conflicts. I am now off his blacklist—and can begin anew.