LESSONS FROM MY FATHER

Father once told me a story, about a young boy and the boy’s father. You see, my father seemed to have this impetus to fill the void the absence of a grandmother was bound to create, especially in our knowledge of African folktales. He told many stories but this little boy’s own stood out because father didn’t tell me the morale of the story. He only told it and left me to decipher the meaning.

The little boy went to the farm with his father. It was a long walk away from home and for some reason they were the only ones around there. The father asked the boy to climb a tree to pluck fruits and he obeyed. When he was about to get down, his father told him to jump. Logically the little boy was afraid but his father promised to catch him and prevent a fall. After much persuasion and re-assurance the boy stepped out on faith and jumped. Alas his father didn’t even attempt to catch him. Boy down. That was his first lesson in the school of life.

He was taught that no one will look out for him if he doesn’t look out for himself. His father taught him to follow that deep seated voice in the core of his mind despite who says otherwise. He also learnt that life is not bitchy, its only a reflection of the people who inhabit it. Years later, when I found myself in the boy’s shoes, I wrote this;

Dangling tenaciously from a long pole

Crashing heavily upon the heathen earth

Searching warily in a mighty rush

Groping blindly for a crushing faith

And one who will hearken to my humanly cry

I have only told you what I learnt from the boy’s father. My own father taught me that until I walk a mile in the other person’s shoes, I cannot understand what they are feeling. He taught me that talk is cheap, experience is always the paramount teacher.