The Lees were out and about last week in the name of the Mother.
And because Mrs Lee loves her Chinese food and tradition, we ended up once again at Spring Court as with all other Lee occasions, this time being Mother's Day.
"Ah, Lei Tai!" the elderly valet bellowed at our mum as soon as she was spotted outside the Chinatown restaurant.
Oh, yes. Our mum, a retired publisher and now full-time social butterfly, is a regular at Spring Court and she's affectionately known as Lei Tai -- or Mrs Lee -- to the Cantonese staff there.
Satisfied that she's given the grand VIP treatment for all her useless children to see, the grand dame coyly waves off Valet Uncle's affection while turning to our direction just to be sure we registered this fantastic fanfare.
Younger brother Barry, also the one with the most mischief genes among us, literally slow-clapped for our mum's outstanding performance.
"Wah. Only 11am and already so packed," eldest sis S remarked.
"When you're old and still gold, that's what happens. People will still recognise you for that," replied Mrs Lee, her choice of words and tone suggesting it was a teachable moment to all three of her kids who're waiting to inherit her blood, sweat and tears -- her own reference to money.
"I love your mum," my sex bunny friend Stanley said when I relayed this over to him via text. "And going by her Spring Court principles, then I'm hot property!"
Lunch that day with Mrs Lee was a decidedly elaborate affair.
My Lee siblings and I decided that we would go all out -- and so we ordered mum's favourite popiah and half a suckling pig, followed by Buddha Jumps Over The Wall, bird's nest, abalone and a bunch of other less costly items.
Mrs Lee was suitably impressed.
Over the years, she's come to be more accepting of our generous overtures, no longer resisting our extravagant offers such as paid holidays, luxury bags and expensive treats.
And it must be so refreshing for her especially since I've graduated from buying her "Prada" at Bangkok's Pratunam wholesale market to an LV at an actual, legit boutique.
All her life, Mrs Lee dedicated her time and energy to her children.
And it wasn’t easy — not when our “heartless father” (as our mum would sometimes refer to him) left us when we were mere kids.
Technically, my mum wasn’t wrong.
Our dad Mr Lee died of a heart attack so he was in a way heartless. And he did indeed leave us.
My sis was only 7, and I 4 and younger Barry 2, when this happened.
I think among us kids, my sis was hit the hardest. She had both the intellectual awareness and emotions to handle the situation.
I distinctly remembering that I had the intellectual awareness but not the emotions.
At the wake, the adults — one of my most annoying and loud aunties — asked me “where’s your daddy?”
I remember answering her “daddy is dead.”
I knew as a 4 year old that daddy would no longer come back. That much I knew. What I didn’t have the capacity to know, which is a blessing, is the emptiness, sadness, and pain of losing a dear one, the way adults with emotions would be subjected to.
In retrospect, that loud aunty of mine ought to be cremated alive along with my father for being so cruel to a child but all is forgiven.
Youngest brother Barry, on hindsight, is perhaps the most fortunate of the lot if fortune can be counted this way. He didn’t have any pain nor memories but that in itself can be painful — Barry didn’t know our dad well enough to miss him.
But what we lacked in a dad, we found in our mum.
And it was through Mrs Lee that all three of us turned out the way we were.
Mrs Lee threw herself into work, making sure she could scale the corporate ladder to earn enough to feed her kids.
She made sure she gave us all we needed: Food, attention, swimming lessons, martial arts classes, whatever she thought could give us a leg up in life.
While she slogged at the office at her publishing firm on week days, our eldest sis appointed herself as surrogate mum, bossing us around to do our homework and to shower after school and eat our pre-cooked meals.
I remember hating her for her bossiness but whenever she slipped back into her childhood and became my sister, I forgot all about it and we were kids.
Today, S always thinks five steps ahead of any situation and has every contingency plan thought of.
She's also caring and still bossy.
Barry, being the baby of the family, grew up sheltered and protected not only by our eldest sister but also me.
He was, as a result, fearless because he knows he can venture out to do anything and have us as safety net.
As for me, I'm a middle child.
It also means I am on middle ground, having the benefit of observing the actions of the older and younger sibling, waiting to see what I should and shouldn't do to avoid punishment or effect reward.
My sharp observation skills were perhaps my strength as a child.
I watched how Mrs Lee would always laugh at herself in any situation. As kids, we were always brought to her office -- and we had a glimpse of our mum at work, from her day-to-day life to company events and D&Ds.
I found that mum was always surrounded by people who were eager to talk to her, laugh with her.
This became the premise of my character.
Be a Mrs Lee who is always cheerful, easy going and be surrounded by people who are attracted to you because you're always very pleasant.
Mum retired at an age when all three of her children were doing extremely well.
All graduates, all earning decent salaries, and most importantly, all willing to splurge and return the love plenty-fold, the way Mrs Lee had expended her love unto us.
It was one of the heartiest meals in a while for our family given that I, the black sheep of the family, am always so busy.
As we lumbered our way to the ground floor, the elder Valet Uncle lit up.
Barry the cheeky one also lit up.
"Ooooo.... somebody's smitten," he said a little too loudly for everyone to hear.
"Father's Day celebrations at Spring Court next year," Barry informed the family.
