As a child, in particular primary four, I was expected to wash the dishes. I then had to arrange them. While arranging the dishes, I accidentally broke four small plates (not as large as the flat plates). The large, painted cups with covers from before stainless-steel inventions are probably familiar to you. These cups were usually kept with water at the center of a dinner table. The lid and cup were also slightly chipped and lost my grip.
I knew my mother well enough to start to panic.
My mother returned home to find that some of the paint had been removed by the fall. “Ha!” She yelled, “Ha!”
I fled for my life as she began to chase me. As I ran to the door of the neighbor’s living area, she hurled the cup at my face and struck me in the spine. I fell to the ground and then collapsed.
My dad walked out of our apartment and found me lying on the ground, half my body in the living room of a neighbor, the other half outside. Dad and my neighbors ran to me. I opened my eyes a few minutes later.
Because Dad insisted that my mom move out of his home to try to kill his first fruit, it nearly ended my mom’s marriage.
The ferocious pleading began. My maternal granny even came down to support her when Dad told her she needed to go to her parents. My father continued to tell anyone who would listen that her siblings were joining our neighbors in pleading for her.
After all the details were completed, dad reluctantly agreed to allow her to stay. However, he stated that if anything happens in the future, I would not hesitate to accuse her of attempted murder and that his daughter could not have fertility problems as she would use the same spine to have pregnancies.
Mama began to pray and fast assiduously while dad watched me walk around the house, inspecting my gait. To take me to the doctor, Mum had to make do with her little civil service salary.
Because it was such a complicated procedure, I felt a lot of sympathy for the woman. Because she was afraid of losing the marriage and facing legal trouble, she had to save money. Even after an X-ray showed that everything was in order, my dad wasn’t on board.
Dad would often ask me “Are you certain it’s not that back that’s hurting?” When I was sick, Dad would ask me “Let’s see if you have any discomforts there.”
Each time I would tell my father, “Dad it’s just malaria.”
Now, I was married and had my first child. Soon after, I started to experience all the usual postpartum symptoms. Some of these would sometimes affect my back. When my father called, I would always reply, “No Dad. It’s normal to have back problems throughout and after pregnancy.”
Please, spare me all the explanations.
Even though I am now a father, my dad feels very hurt decades later.
Parents, please be very careful and cautious with your rage. Since a fit or rage can lead to a host of problems, I am very careful with my children as well as my housekeepers.
