It’s Father’s day once again. It’s strange that I never really think about this day. Fathers play an important role in our lives. They serve as a monument of protection and provision in most homes. They are the pillars in our households.
Nevertheless, let’s talk about the dwindling number of father figures in homes. Some men are emasculated in their own homes. Some fail to portray the role of a monumental superhero in their homes. Some are dealing with retrenchment, threats of foreclosure, and many unimaginable nightmares of the twenty first century.
Carrying the title of a father is second to none. You have eyes which look up to you. Eyes which behold nothing but the epitome of greatness. You have the opportunity to impact important lessons to your young ones.
Most people find themselves doing things just because their father did those things. For example, supporting a particular political party, or a sports club/ team. Mundane things like favouring a particular news channel, or subscribing to a particular newspaper or magazine. In important decisions about buying a particular car, or buying land, we mainly lean into our father’s treasured and well informed input, regardless of whether this information was gathered through word of mouth, on the streets or from a well researched base. We seek our fathers approval, and aim to please them.
It’s challenging to be a man, knowing that hard decisions are laid in front of you. Knowing that every move you make should be well calculated and beneficial to the whole family unit. Mothers keep the unit together, but I believe fathers altogether reiterate the force of that unit. That it is unshakable…We are proud to call ourselves the “so and so family”
I am, however, estranged from my father since 1993. I haven’t spoken to him in person since 2012. There has always been gaps in our communication, or rather, in our relationship. He’s no longer my superhero. In spite of this, I recall the kind of father he once was: strong, fearless and protective. The kind of father who was vested in my education, remembered every birthday, hoisted me up on his shoulders like the featherweight minikin I once was. I remember the father who never laid a hand on me in any form of punishment. I was always a daddy’s girl. Eager to please him. Learning that the shopping list I once titled as “stationary” should be spelled as “stationery.”
The father who bought me a George Orwell’s book, “Animal farm”, advanced edition. A book I couldn’t make head or tail of at the time since I was still young and I also averse to the repulsive looking pig on the cover.
I did read it though, a couple of years later. One of the best books ever written dad! You knew my passion for reading and encouraged it.
Writing this, I have no idea why I haven’t spoken to him in such a long time. Maybe I’ve fed the voices in my head and fattened them with tales of being an adult and finding my own path. Maybe someday, I’ll make sense of why he left in the first place. However, our paths are still parallel.
I’m still reeling in dismay,
I’m still nostalgic,
I’m still waiting,
I’m still weaving the road map to you,
I’m still caught in a labyrinth
The world took me in it’s arms but once again I’m relearning lessons you taught me through George Orwell:
“All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.”
I’m still learning that a phone is not a substitute for a watch for telling the time. I used to either lose or spoil all the watches my father gave me for my birthday, and really thought that a watch was a fickle little thing. Somehow, every month, my phone acts up and I realize for the umpteenth time that I need to buy a watch.
“Watches are so named as a reminder- if you don’t watch carefully what you do with your time, it will slip away from you” Drew Sirtors
My father always bought me a gift on Christmas. The first man to give me a rose for Valentine’s day, (it’s funny how I’ve never received one since then!)
“By plucking her petals,you do not gather the beauty of a flower” Rabindranath Gatore
He always gave me pianos in every birthday, the older I grew the bigger the piano.
“The piano keys are black and white but they sound like a million colours in your mind.” Maria Cristina Mena
Daddy lessons. Thank you dad! ☺