DAD STORIES: My father, my teacher

Phone conversations with my father are often long. Sometimes, we talk about very heavy stuff, like the lofty things that I want to achieve, but most times, we just chit-chat about one comedy show or another. I can’t pick up a call from my dad if I am not sure I have at least ten minutes to talk.

And his silences are very elaborate – I can tell so much from my dad’s silences. Like when I tell him I want to go for a sleepover at a friend’s house and he keeps quiet or when I tell him that something has annoyed me so much and he just keeps quiet and after a while says, “Are you sure?”

And he sees many things that I can’t see.

When I was 16, fresh from high school and still quite gullible, I met a certain lady in church. She was a member of the church choir. We became friends and I did not think twice before inviting her home for lunch that day.

A minute after my dad saw this girl, I could see disquiet on his face.

NOT GOOD INFLUENCE

He called me to his room.

“Avoid that girl, she does not look like good influence,” he said in that tone he has that leaves no room for negotiations. . I was angry at him for judging her too quickly, too harshly.  But I obeyed him.

Two days later, my new friend texted saying we should travel out of town for a party but insisted that it was a secret , that no one at home should know I was travelling.

I did not travel with her, because I did not understand why it was supposed to be a secret. I told my dad about it and he just smiled and told me to never judge a book by its cover, to be very keen when interacting with people, to always remember where I stand in life and never forget who I was.

Over the last Christmas holiday, I invited a new friend home. When my father walked into the house, I greeted him and I was just about to introduce him when he cut me short:

“I am Daisy’s best friend,” he told my friend. My friend was confused. He then went on to tell her to feel at home. Yes, my dad and I are very close, I just didn’t know an alternative word for dad but when he said “best friend”, it made sense.

It is very difficult to pin down specific memories with my dad because there is just a way that he makes memories for me in everything that we do together – and there is always a lesson.

There is this one time I was going to school. I was at the bus stop with him and when I saw a bus approaching, I hurriedly walked towards it. He called me back.

NEVER RUN AFTER A BUS

“Never run after a bus. There will be many more,” he said with his usual jest. The unintended consequence of this lesson has been that I take my time in everything that I do. When I feel worried, I remind myself that there will be other opportunities.

The other lesson my dad imparted in a very soft yet far-reaching way has been that of honesty. When my high school was reopening for the final term, he gave me his ATM card. He told me to go and shop for everything that I needed for the term.

I bought the usual items on my shopping list. I have always been a girl with very basic needs.

When I got back home, he gave me pocket money and bus fare and I left for school. He did not talk about this until a year had passed.

“Always be honest in life, the way you were with my ATM card and do not let little things excite you,” he said.

And like all his lessons that are always delivered gently, this one too has never left me.

I can’t remember my father ever raising his voice at me; we always have conversations and because of this, I am not afraid to speak out. It does not matter where I am.

My dad also instilled in me a love for reading that runs deep.

One day when I was about 12, my dad came in when I was collecting the chaff from the swept house. There was a newspaper page in the dirt.

READ IT BEFORE THROWING IT AWAY

He stopped me.

“Have you read that?” he was referring to the newspaper. I said no. He told me to read it before throwing it away.

I cannot count the number of times my dad sits in the kitchen with me when I am cooking and we have scholarly conversations and discuss newspaper articles that we feel strongly about. We never finish talking about Wole Soyinka. And we have somehow accepted that it is okay to “steal” books from each other.

On this Father’s Day, I choose to celebrate my teacher, best friend and fellow book-lover.

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