A dad is a peculiar family figure. His physical presence counts for so much even without words. He may be affectionate with words or just act the part, he may be none of the two, yet most mommies like that ‘dad is around’.
A father to me as a growing child had certain peculiar characteristics according to my available knowledge. For instance, Daddy eats bigger meats portions. Looking into soup bowls in every home, the rowdier bowl was always for the daddy. His plate would have fish and meat and maybe ponmo, while yours is just one straight looking fish. Your eyes never strays far from dad’s bowl, the harder you gaze, the prettier your chances of getting to eat from his portion.
Daddy clears his throat by the door. Or was that only peculiar to my dad? He would clear his throat by the door before coming in, maybe it’s his personal siren to announce his presence. Most dads clear their throat when they are about to intervene in the mother-child tussle. He clears his throat then goes ‘TOLU!!! What’s going on there?…the little Tolu has no choice but to calm down and comply with mom’s directives while softly saying ‘nothing sir’ under the stare of a smiling mom who just triumphed.
Daddy fixes everything; from a leaking pipe to a broken mirror. Broken toys bring out the genius in dads and the little ones jump for joy. Ah! Daddy fixes antenna. Before the advent of cable TV, the antenna may only respond to dad’s magical touch, at least ours did that. Dad is a fixer, even of erring children…don’t ask me the procedures for that.
Daddy always has money even when he had to borrow from mummy (but you never knew). He has to cover tracks and provide for his children, all bills have to be paid. His pride is in wading the notes and settling bills.
Daddy buys you junks mummy would never approve. When mummy travels or stay back at work, dads don’t cook. They provide every other thing mummy has termed junk. Ice-cream, meat-pie, biscuits, candies, chocolates and if the child can manipulate him properly, chewing gum may be part of the goodies. I think it’s because daddies can’t cook though.
Daddy allows you make funny sounds on his tummy, plait his hair, pluck out grays. This is my favourite part, while mummy is always tired to play silly games, daddy is your go-to guy. You are allowed to plait his hair, drum on his tummy, ride on his back and ‘chop knuckles’.
To the untrue side now; Daddy is a saint! Daddy had always been a saint, he was a good child while growing up. Daddy always had good grade. ‘That one na lie’. When daddies share their stories of academic prowess, you wonder ‘so whose dad came 7th in class?’…because every dad I had met were always in the first 5th position if they were not class champions when they were students. Most daddies passed their A-Levels for which they studied at home. Not one dad had to re-seat for an examination in university. I guess the boys who did then never became daddies.
Dear daddies, stop intimidating us with your story of academic prowess. When as adults in your post graduate schools, you throw tantrums like a troubled toddler in class, you cheat in examination halls or pay your way through, how did you fare as a teenager? It’s okay if you have to throw tantrums, you may have missed out on fun as a child, just remember not to go home and intimidate the little ones. They need not know that you are a cheat because it’s an unworthy emulation, but stay out of harassing us with your academic mights because….erm….erm..erm…there is God o!
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