|
|
Let me, first of all, wish all male netter a blessed
Father's Day (...by faith, for the not- yet). Please indulge me these few minutes
as I reflect on how wonderful my father is. Many of us (Nigerians, in particular;
and Africans in general) do not verbally express our love for our parents; and
I know this is, for the most part, a cultural thing. But I resolved to change,
to telling both my parents how much I appreciate all they've done. For who knows
when the Lord will take them (or any one of us for that matter)??
My father taught me that both quality and quantity
of time with your children leave a lasting impression. I was blessed to have
grown up with a caring father, one who was not ashamed to show his affection
for his children. Despite the fact that he was a highly-placed civil servant,
he was, most definitely, not an absentee-father. Whenever he wasn't at a meeting
or out of town/country, he was always home with us. He did "lesson" for us,
daily, overseeing the doing of our homework. After that, he would either read
our comics to/with us or watch TV with us. He was always there. Our weekend
schedule included my father taking us to Kingsway to get our regular supply
of comics (Jack and Jill et al.) and thereafter, sometimes, take us to the swimming
pool at Onikan, Lagos. He never swam (and neither did my siblings and I really;
it was more like splashing around); but in between conversations with his friends,
he frequently walked over to the children's pool area - just to make sure we
were okay. We always went to Holy Cross Cathedral as a family, always to the
Yoruba mass, which my Daddy dubbed Children's Mass. I really don't know why
for a fact; but I think he probably figured (and rightly too) that Yoruba would
be easier for his children than Latin. What I do remember about those masses
was that my father was always the only adult who sat in the back with all the
children (I do believe that is the area to which we had been relegated). Even
my mother, and other adults in attendance, sat in front, closer to the priest.
After our family lunch every Sunday, he would go over the scripture verses with
us, asking questions to further enhance our understanding of the church service.
My father always played all our childish games with us: Ludo, Snakes and Ladder,
Boju-Boju.
My father imparted that telling the truth was always
better than right or wrong. He was a man of integrity. A man of his word. An
honest man. Even though he was one of the so-called "Super Perm-Secs", I can
confidently say that not a kobo of Nigeria's money was pilfered by him. I could
stake my
|
|
The Political & Spiritual Purpose of the
Holy Land
|
|
|
life on that too. He was always saying, "Ti gbo gbo wa ba ko'wo je,
ilu a baje" ( if we all steal money, the country would go bad). How prophetic!
His record is clean any day. Check it out.
My father loves people, and he shows it. This,
I must confess, is an attribute I'm still trying to catch up with. The love
M.A. had for his children overflowed to an outpouring of affection for our friends.
Weekends, our house was a beehive of activities. All the neighborhood children
gathered to watch television, and chitchat with my daddy. It was a known fact
that children around Olatunde Close would run and call, "Daddy, Daddy" as soon
as they heard the ice-cream truck! And...it made no difference whether his own
children were home or not. Every Friday, from about the time I was eight years
old, a blind female beggar came to our house, where she and her two children
were fed. This went on for years. Sometimes, the children would come alone,
eat, and take their mother's portion home. My father always spent time with
them. We also had one or two regular families who ate with us every Sunday.
|
|
|
that free. All our domestic helps have always sat down
in the living room to watch TV with us, and I never once saw my father
treat them any less than he treated us, his children.
My father is now 83 years old, and has recently
published his fourth book! He is actively trying to bring the medical and well-being
of senior citizens in Nigeria to a national attention.
Brevity has never been a word to describe me. But,
in waxing lyrical about my father, I am going to be brief because there is just
too much to say. But the bottom line is: I am proud of my father, and not because
of his achievements. I am proud to be his daughter. It was easy for me to come
to the Lord a few years ago, all because of my father. Just like the Bible says
of Father God, that we love Him because "He first loved us," that's the way
I feel about my earthly father. He is the only one I know on this earth who
loves me regardless of what I do/don't do If I believed in reincarnation (and
I don't) I would still want M. A. Tokunboh as my father. I love my daddy.
So, please, let us learn to express our love and
appreciation to and for our parents.
|