The Rough Sides to Love — A Father’s Day Edition

Dads are special — but they are also not perfect

I knew that I wanted to write about my father today, but I didn’t know whether I wanted to write about the negative sides or not. Everyone I know have one amazing story or the other about their dad, and I’ve been at a loss of some sorts on what to say.

But I have decided to write about both sides of my father, the good, the bad — and maybe even the ugly, because I have spent today pondering on this a whole lot, and I know there are some lessons for everyone to learn.

It’s not like my dad is a horrible human being. As far as I’ve known, he has always raised money for our upkeep and sent us to the best schools possible. But also, as far as I’ve known, that is also just it. Raising money for our education and upkeep. That’s where it ends, most of the time.

When I was younger, my dad was never around. I could count on my fingers the days I saw him in a year. He would always travel to Amaigbo, our hometown, for meetings involving the development of the community. While he was there, he would donate large sums of money to the church, take destitutes off the street, and raise money for the town’s microfinance bank. He was so in love with his dear Amaigbo, that at a point I felt he loved the people there more than he loved his family. Mum always begged him to reduce his travels, but he never agreed until diabetes and bankruptcy happened. But that’s a story for another day.

Another thing I’d say is that my dad has not been the most light headed person. His anger literally burns with the fiery intensity of a thousand suns. Mum has always been the victim of his rage for more times than I could count, and they have long arguments that could venture into the night. He can also lash out at me or my brother as well. And trust me, when he is angry, he can almost kill. Thank God he hasn’t. And thank God he can’t, not with his sickness.

But despite all these, I guess I still have some good things to say about my dad. I remember the night he had the stroke that later led to his diabetes, twelve years ago. He was in Amaigbo, doing another of his charity runs, when my mum got a call from one of his siblings saying that something really terrible had happened to my father. He would only come back to Lagos for treatment, if she granted him his request — that he speak to his daughter, Chiamaka. Even while he was sick, and almost at the point of death, he still thought of me.

Or even more recently, the day I left for NYSC (National Youth Service Corps) orientation camp in Kwara State. The night before was hell, because there was so much back and forth between my parents and I. They didn’t want to let me go due to the insecurity threats in the nation, but I knew it was something that had to be done, even though I didn’t want to go to the North. The night ended on an angry note, and all of us went to bed because it was already late, and they knew they couldn’t change my mind about it.

But the next day, it was as though a reset button had been hit in their brains. My mom and dad both woke up early in the morning to pray for me, and even gave me some extra cash to hold in the hand! My dad in particular, insisted that he would help me carry my luggage all the way from my house to the estate gate, which is definitely a lot of 'kilometers' as popular Afro dancehall crooner, Burna Boy would say. He then gave me a peck on the head and hugged me as tight as he could. I entered the taxi blushing, for I couldn’t remember when last I received a hug from my father.

But what exactly is the point of this article, you may ask?

Nobody is perfect.

We may have fathers that are sick, or fathers that don’t feel like fathers most times, like mine. But as much as they are fathers, they are also human beings first, and all humans are works in progress. You are an amazing, beautiful being because God created you to being one, and that could not have been done without the help of your father. Besides, adding fire to fire only results in more flames.

For the dads who have departed this earth, there is a season, a purpose for everything under the earth. Their time on earth came to an end, but now, they have a new body, a new figure in the form of the spirit being. Sometimes, I feel people whose dads have departed are luckier, because their dads can watch over them 24/7, in so many other ways that the physical being can’t.

And for the fathers who chose, well, not to be fathers, I know wishing them to damnation seems like a very pleasant option, but it isn’t. They are not worth it. Call me an optimist, but I believe they can still come back to repair the damage they have done. As long as there is life, there would always be hope.

So,even though it’s nightfall in Nigerian time, and a bunch of people would say this post came late but who cares? Definitely not me. Happy Father’s Day everyone! 🎉