My wordsmith father’s love guided me when I battled addiction

Wordsmith. That's the only word that I can think of which captures the essence of my father. Always one with a flair for spicing his quotes with rarely used words and phrases, my father has long wowed audiences with his command of the English language.

It was my dad who taught me the meaning of the word 'yearn' when he spoke during my baptism ceremony at my boarding primary school.

“Many pupils have been yearning for an opportunity to study in this great institution,” he said, prompting me to later look up the word in the dictionary and enrich my fledgling vocabulary in the process.

My disciplinarian dad would not hesitate to use the cane whenever I stepped out of line, but his impromptu English lessons during such punishments excited me.

MADE ENGLISH SOUND EXOTIC AND INTERESTING

He had a way of making the language sound exotic and interesting, even when upbraiding me for various misdemeanours.

“Boy, you’re supposed to be your sibling’s beacon and example. Do not excel in mediocrity!” he would growl as I looked down, humbled by the lecture yet thrilled at the existence of such new words in the language that my primary school mind was just beginning to love.

He has always held pride of place as the family’s walking dictionary, and this was his nickname at Cardinal Otunga High School where he taught English Literature, History and government.

AVID READER

Dad was and still remains an avid Daily Nation reader, and I can remember using the paper to improve my spelling and pronunciation of words by using him and Mum as my sounding board.

Thank God they always had time to indulge my appetite for correct English, whose results they would later see in excellent scores whenever I sat for exams or wrote compositions in class assignments.

Growing up comes with its pains, and the onset of adolescence along and its aftermath presented me with many challenges of peer pressure and corresponding bad habits.

“Be serious with your life, young man. Do not be a hedonist, always looking for pleasure instead of securing your future,” he would say, fixing me with a steely gaze.

That was his simple take on my alcohol-loving., club-hopping lifestyle in those heady days of life after high school.

My father did not approve of my decision to become a secular music artiste, and even as a song I did called “Tunapepea” rocked the airwaves, saying it would reduce me to the level of “those fellows who are allergic to books and never did well in exams”.

EXASPERATED

An exasperated Dad almost gave up when I descended into full-blown alcoholism, drug abuse and dabbled with Rastafarianism, quitting my job and growing dreadlocks at the height of my rebellious phase.

“Despite the shame and embarrassment you have caused this family, I pray for you every day. Be honest with yourself and drop your lofty ideas and flights of fancy regarding your destiny,” he told me on a rare occasion that marked a lull in our constant quarrels.

At that time, we hardly got along, and I regarded him as the greatest killjoy that ever lived because of his insistence on my going to college at the expense of the clubbing, substance addiction, outrageous fashion sense and groupies that were the highlight of my short-lived music career.

We only made peace when I finally came to a crossroads of choosing between my life and a pleasurable path that was leading me to an early grave and quit the club circuit after surrendering my life to Christ.

REMAINED SUSPICIOUS

My new-found church-loving lifestyle did not find favour with him at first, and he remained suspicious of my honesty for a long time after that, but I did manage to placate him by going back to university and study for a media degree.

I will never forget my parents hugging me with tears in their eyes on my graduation day. It was truly a watershed moment that marked my remarkable turnaround from hopeless addict to budding academic.

This time, there were no bombastic words to crown the occasion.

“You have made us proud, son,” he simply said.

At the height of my struggle to find employment, I remembered the stress I had put him through, connected it with our traditions that say a father’s curse can haunt a stubborn son and went to seek forgiveness from my father.

“Dad, did you by any chance curse me with misery and joblessness when I was such a bad son to you?” I asked him.

“No, it has never crossed my mind to do that to you. You are my son…why would I curse you? I have always loved you and prayed for your success, Aggrey.

Don’t worry, you’ll get a job soon,” he said. Then my tears flowed as he held me.

My first article in the paper, a letter to the editor, was a special moment for us in the family, with Dad joking that we had finally moved from being consumers of the paper to contributors.

A few months later, I did start working as a correspondent, testimony to his prayers and faith in me.

A consummate music lover, his joy was contagious as he crowned his speech on my wedding day by breaking into a little jig to celebrate the occasion.

Nation colleagues who attended the event would later joke about my English being light years behind that of my Dad, who used several difficult words in his brief speech. I nodded and smiled knowingly, knowing they were absolutely correct.

Here’s to you, Dad. I am everything I have become thanks to your patience, courage, love and wisdom. You’re my hero this Father’s Day. I will always love you.