I remember a time in early childhood when I was playing with one of my brothers. I use the word “play” very loosely because I can’t quite fathom how we could have devised such a silly “game”.
Or what to do call it when children foolishly throw stone projectiles at each other? “Game” is not the first word that would usually come to mind.
Anyway, on this early evening, that was what we found ourselves doing. I remember so vividly watching one of those projectiles flying through the air at a speed and trajectory I was profoundly impressed with.
I was tempted to burst into clapping until I realised where it was dangerously heading to. Or should I say what it was heading towards.
Ah! Daddy’s car! The back windscreen to be precise. Before either of us could exclaim, the screen shattered.
Like a flash, we ran inside and headed straight for bed. No dinner. No good nights. Just straight to bed. That had to be our best bet.
Be fast asleep before daddy gets back from his trip out of town. Surely, he wouldn’t wake us up just to give us a caning? Or would he?
At that very moment, we couldn’t think of a better plan. It wasn’t as if we had too much time to debate it anyway. The next day, we were eager to know what daddy’s initial reaction had been.
Apparently, when he arrived that evening, he was surprised to hear we had gone to bed. Already? It was strange not to have the children excitedly welcome him home, having been away for a few days.
Something was up. It wasn’t long before he discovered what. Little did daddy know that when he popped his head round the door of our bedroom that fateful evening, to see if we were asleep, we couldn’t have been more awake, even if our lives depended on it. And take my word for it, that night, it felt like it did.
How we eventually fell asleep that night, only God knows. The interesting thing is that contrary to our expectations, the old man’s general demeanour the next day betrayed no signs of the barely controllable rage we had expected.
No sign he was struggling to suppress a “volcano” which could erupt at any moment.
We couldn’t understand it. All we got was a brief talking to about the risks of hurling stones; especially at each other. As if we didn’t know that already. Still, we were extremely grateful for this most unexpected let off.
We later heard that when daddy was informed of what happened that evening, instead of blowing his top, as anyone would have thought he would, his countenance suddenly took on one of sadness.
The reason was soon revealed. He felt deep empathy for his children who quite uncharacteristically missed the opportunity of welcoming him back home because of fear.
It was something he always looked forward to, just as we did. As far as he was concerned, coupled with the fear we had inadvertently subjected ourselves to, we had served enough punishment already.
That was a lesson that stayed with me from that age of seven or so, till I became a parent myself. Especially when I compare it to my own reaction to a hurt, I suffered shortly before that. I felt bad.
It can’t have been more than a week or two before that, when my younger brother, Segun, decided to find out how much pain a stick he held in his hand could inflict.
And for some reason, he found me to be just the Guinea pig he was looking for. All of a sudden, “Wham”!! A sudden pain surged through my whole body. You know the type. The type of pain that intensifies with each passing second. But where did it come from?
As I turned, I saw Segun scampering away shouting, “sorry, sorry, sorry”. I was having none of it. “Sorry” after you’ve done the deed? Lai lai. As he panicked, he made one fatal mistake.
He dropped the stick as he ran for safety and that was my cue. It didn’t take me long to catch up with him and despite the cacophony of protestations and urgent pleadings on his behalf by our mum and our egbons present, I landed a perfect stroke across his body. It was masterful. And just as quickly, it was all over.
He instantly burst into tears, screaming like I had never heard him do before. Did I now feel satisfied? Maybe not as much as I had thought I would. But still, he needed to be taught a lesson. Or so I thought.
I like to believe I’m doing a little better on the forgiveness front now but I guess family and friends will be in a better position to confirm or refute that claim.
Till this day, one of my older brothers who was present that day only needs to say, “sorry, sorry, sorry” and we both burst into hysterics as the events of that day come flooding back.
Fear of an authority figure can often deter one from taking certain actions, which, don’t get me wrong, can be a good thing, many a time.
But it just doesn’t compare to when you have the utmost respect for them instead. A leader or a parent should aim to be respected rather than feared.
Where fear is the only motivating factor to do the right thing, there will inevitably come a day when that myth will burst and as it does, fear will automatically dissipate and almost as swiftly disappear.
But a humble, compassionate and yet principled leader will continue to inspire respect in spite of his or her frailties. Or as the popular term goes, even with “warts and all”. Truth is, no reasonable person will expect you to be perfect.
Think about it, the greatest heroes in life are not the infallible ones, but the ones who in spite of their past or visible shortcomings, remain undeterred and soldier on.
They are the ones who have always inspired us and they are the ones who will continue to give us hope.
The compassion daddy demonstrated after that incident taught me a valuable lesson. We went scot free as we were forgiven for something, we deserved severe punishment for, and yet we were never tempted to do such a thing again.
A beating couldn’t have been more efficacious. Why? Because the new level of respect we developed for daddy meant the last thing we would ever want to do, would be to disappoint him.
We were not simply told about this incident and neither were we just shown it. It was our very real and tangible experience; therefore, we know precisely how it made us feel. Nothing can be more poignant.
Changing the nation…one child at a time.
