THOSE WERE THE DAYS It was probably the best day of my life. I have had some gloriously wonderful times in my life and many they are but this one has to stand out among the greats if not as the greatest. What makes this event more stunning was the fact that there was nothing to suggest it would end up this way given the way it started. My father belonged to that rustic old school type who believed that once you woke up it was time to toil. The only thing that could save you from an instantly conjured up task such as digging yet another six foot deep rubbish pit in the garden, or, an errand to the big market five kilos away just to check if the first crop of masawu (indigenous fruit) had arrived, was to bury your head between the pages of a book. We became so good at this plan B (reading a book under protest) that we not only learnt to stay with a book at arms length whenever in his line of sight (or “firing line” as we learnt to call his presence) but to also be able to say something about what we were reading in case he decided on an instant viva to test your understanding. Such was the bother of maintaining this interview-preparedness that the easiest option became just to go ahead and read the book anyway! I must congratulate my dad for this foolproof method and had almost adopted it for trial on my own children when someone started talking about childrens’ rights and their right to be heard! What right entails children to say a firm “no” to everything you assign them to do all in the name of being “heard”? Is there no right for parents to be shielded from hearing their children say “no” everytime they tell them to do something? Especially reading? My father’s strategy was so successful because it only created two products, namely a bookworm or a workaholic and who has seen either one fail to achieve something in life? This rigid policy of his did not make him an instant celebrity with us especially in childhood but as we grew up and became parents ourselves we came to realise what a great philosophy it was. It was because of my daddy’s no nonsense policies and also because of a childhood dislike for manual labour that I grudgingly took to book reading like a duck takes to water. I am very happy that my dad made a bookworm out of me and up to now I am very quick to nosedive into a book. Books have been known to save me the blushes especially in public places when I meet the stare of strangers, especially of opposite gender. I just bury myself into the book and then take occasional peeks without fear of direct eye contact. I am a naturally shy person and regularly blush beneath my skin surface. However, there was one book incident that flashes to mind! I was in a rare moment of “relaxation” and had somehow forgotten to keep a book in sight when I heard my daddy’s voice just outside through the open doorway! I thought of diving under the sofa but a quick estimate told me I had to shed off half my “thickness” to achieve that. The beds of our time would have easily provided such cover but our boys bedroom was too far away and did not provide such luxuries as beds anyway, and, meanwhile, the “voice” was getting perilously close! Just as his silhouette was appearing in the doorway I spotted my mum’s church hymn book on the sofa and in one lightning motion swooped on it, opened it and began to “read” it in the same instant. When he entered I was on time to observe that I was holding the book upside down and it was too late to make corrections! When he called out my name I nearly jumped out of my skin and told myself that the “interview” was imminent. Worse still, the book only had a plastic cover and so anyone could tell from the big bold cover title that it was wrong way up. I closed my eyes and froze in terror as I told myself “this has to be it” The smile I had seen on daddy’s face worsened my terror as I thought that he must have found out my “trick” (attempted cheating was punishable by both severe beating and banishment from that month’s “chicken night”) I just closed my eyes and prayed for what I could not see the Lord providing an instant answer for……….wings! “You have done me proud, son, congratulations!” I heard him say, as he scooped me in his arms and planted a big kiss on my forehead. I still refused to open my eyes for fear he could be teasing me on my latest attempt to cheat on him but when he shouted for the whole family to come and join in I allowed one eye to open and report back to me. He went on to break the good news of how I had passed my Not-So-Ordinary Levels with straight A’s and had been allocated a sixth form place with a scholarship (Not a mean feat in my schooldays). The rest is history but the about turn I made from a state of fear and paralysis to one of uncontrollable ecstacy made for the best day in my life. Among the privileges I was allowed to enjoy for the next few weeks was permission to be in my daddy’s presence without a book for then I was considered a “mini-academic” who did not need pushing to read. I was also allowed ( by myself on this one) the privilege of walking with my head tilted sideways to display an “overflow” of knowledge as men of letters used to do then. At times, I would still grab a book to read just to show solidarity with my brothers and sisters and for want of something better to do. Those were the days.
Posted on: Tue, 15 Oct 2013 06:23:41 +0000
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