DAD STORIES: My father made my childhood memorable

A young Michael Kimanzi and his father John Mwendwa in 1978. PHOTO | COURTESY

What you need to know:

  • How can I forget the moments when you would sit me on your lap and with the dexterity of a seasoned safari rally driver, steer your old Chevy contraption to the nearest petrol station.
  • Do you remember the moments when you would hug me in a tight embrace as you waltzed to the bewitching baritone of Charley Pride on your Sanyo stereo?
  • Follow #DadStoriesKE for more stories like these or visit this Father's Day 2018 link.

My dearest father,

Every time I think of you and the time we have spent together, I get sentimental.

While some people cringe at the very thought of their fathers and the bitter aftertaste the memories induce, thoughts of you flood my mind with fond memories. Sometimes, I wish I could go back in time to experience it again.

To me, the word father will always be synonymous with the good old days. The era of innocence, Vitimbi, Maziwa ya Nyayo and He-Man the cartoon.

DANCING WITH MY FATHER

I remember sitting with you at dusk in the half-lit living room listening to ‘Take a Message to Mary,’ by Everly Brothers. That was a constant in your favourite radio show- the VOK Sundowner programme.

How can I forget the moments when you would sit me on your lap and with the dexterity of a seasoned safari rally driver, steer your old Chevy contraption to the nearest petrol station. Although all I did was cling on to the steering wheel for dear life, you made me feel like I could rival Shekhar Mehta, the famous rally driver, any day.

Do you remember the moments when you would hug me in a tight embrace as you waltzed to the bewitching baritone of Charley Pride on your Sanyo stereo? Eager to impress you, I would join in the sing-along all the while feigning a deep voice as it crooned the Crystal Chandelier ballad. Sometimes it was the mesmeric voice of Baraka Mushe ushering in the dark African night.

While a truly worldly man per excellence, you had the sense to appreciate that the cosmos was not a phenomenon of chance, but that there must be a master designer pulling the strings somewhere beyond the blue skies. As a result, you embraced religion and taught us that indeed knowledge of the divine was the epitome of wisdom.

Though not with the same fervour displayed by mother, you prayed with us and taught us the way, which according to you was to honour God, love fellow man and tolerate those who did not share in our faith. I remember your favourite phrase; "There is a time to play and a time to pray". That was literally the soundtrack of my childhood.

DISCIPLINARIAN

When it came to matters discipline, you approached it with the seriousness it deserved. You would never stomach an ill-behaved child under your roof. Do you remember what you used to call those special disciplinary moments which took place between you and the culprit behind the locked doors of your bedroom? You called them ‘intense moments of belt therapy’.

“The rod of correction drives away folly from the back of a foolish child, so says the good book,” you would remind the culprit as you prepared to administer the dreaded therapy.

You often reminded us that laxity in disciplining us would be the greatest disservice to us, your beloved children. You firmly believed that our future success was delicately shaped within the confines of the discipline room with choice tools such as a leather belt or a skilfully selected cane. Of course, I did everything possible to avoid such encounters, but the raging hormones in later years made it difficult for me to miss out on these belt therapies.

I am now a father, confronted with the challenges of raising 21st century children. Truth be told father, since you moved in with us due to ill health, I have been feeling under pressure. It has been particularly hard to miss the patronising look in your eyes every time my children, Sifa and Amani, question everything I say. They want to know why they cannot play games on the tablet when they have finished their school assignments. Or why mum forbids them from watching this or that cartoon.

I see your disapproval. Yet, when you succumb to their demands, you keep quipping that it’s your right to spoil your grandchildren.

Father, I know you wonder why I cannot, as a father should, put my foot down and draw a line. You did that with us and we still loved you to bits. However, you need to understand that times have really changed.

 

Happy Father’s Day day John Mwendwa.

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Follow #DadStoriesKE for more stories like these or visit this Father's Day 2018 link.

What would you like your dad to know this Father’s Day? Can you say it in 800 words? Email: [email protected]