I would never have thought in my wildest dream that I would be paying tribute to my dad this early in my adulthood. But life, when it happens, does not give a prior notice. Like the several lessons that my dad taught me in life during his fruitful lifetime, his death teaches yet another invaluable moral.
Capturing my late dad’s truest essence in words is one herculean task. I wish I were doing this in a full length memoir. Only last month I was obsessed with the thought of writing about growing up the son of a primary school teacher who gave his all to the one vocation he loved: teaching. Dad was not only a teacher by training, he lived his life teaching everyone who crossed his path: from his infectious wits, to his irresistible jokes and wisecracks down to his never ending reminisces about his life experiences and acquaintances with everyone that was fortunate to meet him. My dad taught all.
As a child that was given to pranks, I never far away from trouble whilst growing up I always wished that he would flog me than sit me through hours of lectures about how to navigate life and grow up to provide leadership for my two sisters. He taught me to love books and reading. He filled the house with books; newspapers and magazines even though they were not always current editions; they were always available for me to read to gain an appreciation of what was happening around me. He shielded me and my sisters from the corrupting influences associated growing up in Lagos skid rows. It is to his credit that we gained a refinement that was somewhat alien to where we grew up.
He taught me to take a keen interest in my immediate community and not glumly sit as an arm chair critic. I would listen to him discuss union activities with his fellow comrades and hear them strategize on how to protect the threatened interests of their colleagues. He didn’t shriek from discussing the finer details with me even though it would take me years later to understand what he was passing across. I had heard it in passing from his friends and relations not until I stumbled on a picture of my dad when he was 19 did I realize that I was his carbon copy. I could have sworn that I was the person in the picture.
Family and friends are to be cherished, he was not once to pay a lip service to that ideal. He lived it. It wasn’t important if his concern and care for people were not reciprocated. When I became a young adult, the altruistic interest my dad had in people was indelibly impressed on me when he took turns to pay repeated visit to friends, associates and relatives some of whom never knew his abode. His life commends to one Plato’s allegory of the metals. He was not lead, nor silver but pure, unalloyed gold. What he lacked in material fortunes, he made up for it in humanity. He was human bearing his fallibility with grace not malice. Most importantly, he knew God and was never tired of seeking his face to see him through life’s treacherous paths.
Dad never envied others, he hoped for the best. He sought the best for his family within the limit of his modest earnings. He would give even to those that were materially more endowed than he was. He didn’t find any contradictions in giving. My dad made me laugh, even when things were not looking up as expected he didn’t miss an opportunity to make people around him happy. He made us happy and always sought ways to make our lives more comfortable. He appreciated every little gesture and didn’t consider anything condescending for his family.
With hindsight, his last phone call was yet another lesson. It was about my youngest sister and the need to ensure her comfort in school. Sadly, he left no clues that it was going to be his last moral to me. I am grieved that he didn’t even say good bye. Yet, I am consoled by the good life that he lived.
Dad, your lessons and ideals are not lost on me. I will ensure that I live them; and put them to good use and make you proud.
When the world asks me why I live the way I live I will tell them I was a teacher’s son.
Adieu Aderemi Eyinade
No comments:
Post a Comment