A fiery dispute

My father and I were sitting in the car with the engine idling for over ten minutes, waiting for my mother to arrive. My mother's second cousin, who recently moved from Singapore to Sydney with her husband and young daughter, invited us to dinner. It's worth noting that my mother is a Singaporean, while my father is a white Australian. His family originally comes from Scotland, having moved to Australia for a better life, likely to escape the dreadful Scottish weather.

"What is your mother doing, Jess?" Dad broke the silence and asked. 

Understanding it was a rhetorical question and that he knew she was still getting ready for the party, busy trying to choose a dress among a hundred or checking her makeup for the umpteenth time, I replied, "Her usual rituals!" 

Dad nodded in agreement and glanced at his watch. "We're going to be late," he said before turning back to scroll through Instagram posts on his phone.

My parents come from entirely different backgrounds and hold unique perspectives on life. My dad is laid back and humble; he appreciates simple pleasures and values authenticity. He never judges people based on their job titles or wealth but on their inner qualities. On the other hand, my mom is strict and flashy. Her upbringing drives her to emphasize wealth and status, often placing more importance on people's appearances than their true personalities. She constantly worries about everything, especially what others think of her. She's always eager to showcase our family's success and status. Even though I'm just fifteen and in high school, my mom has big plans for me. She's determined that I will become a doctor, not because she thinks it's a cool job, but mainly because of the respect doctors receive in Singapore. Being called a 'doctor' is like wearing an honor badge, and she takes great pride in telling everyone that her daughter will make it happen, regardless of what I want to do with my life. In contrast, my dad always says I should follow my passion, whatever it may be. "If you want to become a doctor, study medicine; if you excel in the arts, pursue that field."

My parents' differing preferences often clashed, leading to regular arguments that created tension at home. I cherish my parents dearly; however, I see my dad as more rational than my mom, who is emotional and passionate about her views. I often wonder how their marriage has lasted through so many challenges for such a long time. Dad's kind heart and ability to forgive have kept the family united.

After twenty minutes, my mom exited the house, wearing a dazzling long black dress adorned with a stylish brown Louis Vuitton belt, Cartier pearl necklaces, and earrings while carrying her recent Louis Vuitton handbag, which matched her belt. She nearly tripped after a few steps in her new Jimmy Choo high heels, which felt tight on her. She paused momentarily and steadied her composure before hobbling toward the car. She opened the car door and cautiously slid into the front seat, worried about her dress getting wrinkled. "You should buy a Tesla," she said abruptly.

"What?" Dad asked.

"Don't you feel embarrassed driving this old car?" Instead of apologizing for making us wait, she leveled an accusation.

Having been part of this family for fifteen years, I immediately sensed an upcoming argument.

"This car is only five years old!" Dad retorted. 

"In Singapore, no one drives a five-year-old car." 

"If Singapore is so great, why is everyone trying to move to Australia?" he shot back. 

"My cousin has a Tesla. She says it's an amazing car." 

"Good for her." 

"Everyone knows that Tesla is a better car than this old Mazda." 

"A Tesla is only better because your cousin has one. If they owned a BMW, you would argue about why we don't have a BMW," he shot back. 

"But they have a Tesla, not a BMW, and it's electric and environmentally friendly."   

"Thank you for confirming my point," Dad declared triumphantly.

My Dad had no problems with Tesla or any electric cars but argued that buying an electric car was still too soon. I agreed with him. There are petrol stations everywhere, but the number of public electric car chargers is limited, and it takes a long time to charge the car's battery compared to the 5 minutes it takes to fill the car's empty tank with petrol.

After a brief pause, Mom asked, "Why didn't you wear your new navy suit?" 

"What is wrong with my clothing?"

"It's too casual. You look more like a laborer than an educated person."

"It's summer, humid, and the temperature is in the high thirties. I want to enjoy my time there, not sit in a pool of sweat. And I will carry a copy of my university degrees on my phone in the future," Dad growled.

"But what will wearing jeans and a polo shirt say about us?" 

"What does it say about us?" my dad asked angrily. 

"It says we are poor." 

"I don't care what they think. But what do your expensive dress, pearl necklace, designer shoes, and bag say about you?" 

"That we're doing well." 

"No, it tells them you're showing off," Dad said. 

"You Australians lack culture." 

"But we live a life free of pretension."

"They'll think you lack manners," she rephrased.

"We have a misunderstanding about manners. Being showy often indicates low self-esteem rather than good manners," my dad replied.

I agreed with my father. In Australia, we don't judge people based on their appearances. Rich or poor, everyone wears shorts and T-shirts, making it hard to tell them apart. Yet, in Singapore, you change into your best clothes to take out the trash.

Their argument was interrupted when my father pulled into the drive-through bottle shop. A young employee approached my dad's window and said, "G'day, mate. What can I get you?"

"I'm seeking a good Chardonnay and a Shiraz. Do you have any recommendations?"

"Um…, how about 'Once and Well' Margaret River Chardonnay, which is on sale for a special price of just $29?" he suggested.

"Sounds good. I'll have a bottle," Dad said.

"And 'Way & Cat' South Australian Shiraz, also on sale for $19 per bottle," the shop employee suggested.

"I trust your judgment, mate; I'll take a bottle of that, too," Dad said.

"Sure, mate," he said, promptly disappearing into the shop.

Although my mom remained silent, her tense facial muscles revealed her disapproval.

The bottle shop worker returned quickly, carrying two bottles of wine: one white and one red. He approached my father's side window and said, "It's $48. Will you be paying by card or cash?"

"Card."

"Sure," the man replied, bringing a mobile EFTPOS machine to our car window.

My dad tapped his VISA card and took the bottles. He then handed them to me, sitting behind him. I placed them on the car seat beside me, keeping my hand on them.

As soon as we left the bottle shop, my mother started nagging. "Why did you buy cheap wine?" she asked disapprovingly.

"Not every expensive wine is good, and not every cheap wine is bad. These wines will be just fine. First, try them out, and then you can complain."

"My cousin's husband is a doctor…"

Dad interrupted her and said, "We know he's a doctor; you've reminded us a thousand times since they moved here."

"He's a famous doctor. They are members of a wine club and don't purchase cheap wines."

"He must be a hypocritical doctor!" Dad said.

"Why are you saying such awful things about him? You haven't even met him yet."

"He's a hypocrite because he tells his patients not to drink alcohol, yet he's a member of a wine club and drinks," he said viciously.

"You know, John, you're just a jealous idiot."

"I'm an idiot for marrying you," he shot back.

Before my mom could launch her counterattack, Google Maps announced that we had arrived at the address, and Dad parked the car in an available spot on the street. Mom opened her door and slowly stepped out of the car. First, she ran her fingers over her dress and smoothed its tiny, nearly invisible wrinkles. Then she meticulously checked her necklace, earrings, and bag, finally looking at her shoes. It was then that she noticed we were still in the car. "Why are you still in the car?" she asked, puzzled.

"You know, I've changed my mind. I don't want to see your family," Dad said.

"What?" she asked, even more confused. "Why?"

"Because I don't want to embarrass you. Go and have a good time with your cousin."

"Don't be silly, John."

"I'm not silly. I'm being serious."

"This is bad! They invited all of us. What should I say to them?"  

"Just be honest. Tell them that since they moved here, you have been comparing their lives with ours. Tell them you envy her husband for being a doctor while yours is an engineer," my dad snarled.

"Don't be silly, John."

"I was silly in the past, but not anymore. Enough is enough; I'm tired of your low self-confidence and jealousy of others." 

"Don't be ridiculous, John. That's not okay." 

"I don't care. Just call me to pick you up." 

"I'll call an Uber," she growled, slamming the car door with all her strength.

I'd never seen my mother in such a state of fury before. However, the cause of her anger was something she had done herself.   

"Jess, get out of the car!" she shouted. 

"I'm staying with Dad," I replied. I was also tired of her hollow boasting. I knew that half of our conversation would revolve around how well we were doing as a family, while the other half would likely focus on my academic achievements and my ambitions to become a doctor.   

Her face flushed bright red. In anger, she insisted once more that I exit the car, but I remained firmly in the car.   

"Don't forget the wine," Dad said. 

"I don't need those cheap wines," she replied, turning her back to us as she hobbled toward the house. 

My dad made a U-turn, and we drove away in silence. He usually kept calm and often avoided conflicts with my mom; however, tonight, he lost his cool. Given my mother's behavior, I had long expected this would happen; still, what he did was surprising.   

Spotting the golden arches of a McDonald's on our way, Dad asked, "How about Macca's?" 

"Sounds good," I replied.

We sat in silence, savoring our Quarter Pounder meals. We knew that later that night, we would face the storm. However, I felt proud of my dad, who ultimately stood up to my overbearing mother.