Fathers

One sunny afternoon when I was barely eight years old, my father made his way into the compound and promptly informed us that we had less than ten minutes to get ready for a trip. He remained tight lipped and refused to disclose the destination. The ticking of the clock exerted pressure on us and the creative ones opted to wash their legs, face and hands lest they missed the once in a fortnight opportunity to head out. They bothered not to wash anything in between as it was deemed to be as clean as a whistle despite us having spent a better part of the day rolling in mud. I followed suit and got ready with two minutes to spare. Don’t ask how.

As the journey unfolded we were filled with joy when it became clear that we were heading out to our grandfather’s place. The trip barely lasted more than an hour and within no time we arrived, greeted him and dashed off to climb the fruit tree next to the house. Aside from seeing and cracking jokes with him, we always looked forward to climbing the tree and partaking of its fruit even though more often than not we put ourselves in danger of falling and cracking a rib or two. No matter how witty you were, he would always have the last word. We once made fun of how he spoke Swahili. He let us have our way and once the dust settled, he threw the ball back on our court and said our oral communication in mother tongue was as unpolished as dirty shoes. There was definitely no comeback.

The interaction between my father and his father will forever be etched in my mind more so on this particular day. One would be mistaken to conclude that they were brothers based on how they engaged one another in animated conversation filled with rib cracking jokes and anecdotes. Silence featured not in their engagement and they seemed to be working in tandem. Shortly thereafter, they went out to grab one or two for the road. When they came back it was more fun and laughter prior to the evening wrap up. Legend has it that my father had my grandfather’s ear and they consulted one another periodically. Quite an interesting set of dynamics at play.

At the onset of my formal learning process, I was not fond of school owing to the fact that I detested waking up early. Therefore, as naturally expected closing days filled my heart with unmeasurable joy. However, the only thing that got in the way was the issue of academic performance. My holiday officially began once I squared out and tabled my report before my father. His pleasure or lack thereof with my performance would determine the trajectory of the holiday. He is a forward planner and so to make his work easy everyone had to get their own stick. Stick on one hand and the report form on the other. For avoidance of doubt his own interpretation was key. You can lead the class but still get in hot soup if the math grade is sub-par. It was thus common place to wait with bated breath as he dug in and you would heave a sigh of relief when he uttered the words congratulations.

Back in the day, the black and white television sets did not have a remote control. In as much as there was only one channel, some manual interventions were required. On numerous occasions my dad called me from far flung corners of the house to adjust the volume. When he bought a colored television set that came with a remote control I was ecstatic and thought that I was off the hook. Little did I know that the yoke of responsibility was still on my neck. He tasked me with the responsibility of ensuring that the remote control was within his reach at any given time, was in good working condition and if a battery change was required I make the necessary arrangements beforehand.

In as much as I craved some latitude and leeway to do as I pleased, over time I have come to appreciate the iron fist. I pulled up my socks in school, loved math and it matters not whether it was through own will or I was nudged by the fear of the cane. I learnt to be organized and gather all that is required before embarking on a task. Strike while the iron is hot. If someone warrants a beating for poor performance, the cane in hand makes it all possible. I learnt a thing or two on forward planning. A coin has two sides and the same applies to outcomes. Therefore, it’s worth the effort to prepare for both outcomes and not be caught flat footed. Last but not least, I got a lesson on responsibility. Handling the remote was no mean feat at my age. I could go on and on but the bottom line is that I was shaped by my father in more ways than one and for that I remain indebted to him.

Robert Heinlein once said “A generation which ignores history has no past and no future.” Armed with hindsight knowledge of my grandfather and father’s interaction, I can compare notes of my interaction with my father and determine which trajectory my own fatherhood journey will take with my children. As at now, I’m inclined towards borrowing a leaf from both interactions and being flexible since we cannot direct the wind but we can adjust the sails. More often than not I tell them that we are free to crack jokes as long as we are in good books. If they do the right thing at all times then they have nothing to fear. In as far as responsibility is concerned, my older son has a task similar to mine. Without going into much details, it’s anyone’s guess who assigned him that role. With that said happy father’s day to all the gentlemen whom that title is bestowed upon.