We had an amazing
Dad. Sure, all kids think so about their fathers, but as we got older we
realized that in our dad’s case, it wasn’t the usual childish thought. He was a
brilliant doctor and a wonderful gentleman who was blessed with a brain that loved,
soaked up & retained knowledge with amazing clarity, was as generous as a
breached dam, had a great sense of humor, an astounding sense of love &
concern for his family and an innate ability to cheer and inspire. He really
was amazing. Which is why a few days after his death when a friend of his while
commiserating with the family said he “was confident we would fill our father’s
shoes with ease”, I let out an almost audible gasp. If not for the
circumstances under which the statement was made, I am sure he would have inquired as to the quizzical look I had on my face in response to his
statement. “Did this man really know my father?” I thought to myself. If he
knew the uphill task I was up against, he would probably have chosen his words
carefully.
My earliest and
most prominent memory of my father was how he valued and respected everyone
regardless of age or social standing. I recall how he would scold us for being
rude to his driver or batman (soldier assigned to a commissioned army officer
as a personal servant) and make us apologize for our behavior. Daddy didn’t
tolerate such behavior from us or anyone. An insult to the honor of anyone
working under him was considered an insult to his honor as well. He treated all who
worked with him as family. When his driver came to work in the morning, he
would insist he have breakfast before they set out for the day. While at work, he
made sure his driver had whatever he was having for lunch. During Christmas,
Daddy made sure his staff got a bonus for Christmas,
regardless of what their religious beliefs were. It was the same during both
the Eid el Fitr and Eid el Kabir celebrations; everyone got a brand new fabric
and had a stake in the slaughtered ram.
Before the
existence of Google and Wikipedia, we could count on Daddy to provide us with
accurate historical data of concepts, events, inventions and people. He would
reel out information with so much clarity you would think he witnessed some of
history’s momentous events. He had an astounding memory and an astute knowledge
of…almost everything. The shelves of his book cases were packed with books of
various disciplines and areas of knowledge, some of which we felt he had no
business reading about at the time. I mean, what on earth was a medical doctor doing
with a book on quantum physics or engineering? My cousin Abba, who happens to
be a history buff, would come to the house early on Saturday mornings just to
sit and discuss the history of the Greek, Ottoman and Roman empires with Daddy.
Daddy would speak for hours reeling out dates, people, places and events while
Abba sat and listened with a mesmerized expression on his face.
If the old saying
“like a kid in a candy store” is used to describe an adult, Daddy would
best fit this description. Whenever he was in a bookshop he literally lost his
mind. His favorite bookstore was the Glendora Bookstore in Falomo, Ikoyi, Lagos.
While he was there he would shop till his wallet was empty. He was crazy about
books. On several occasions he would return home with plastic bags filled with
books. He would lie in bed and spread them all around him, leafing through each
one to read the preface or prologue with a satisfied smile on his face.
Sometimes so many books were strewn all over his bed the only space available
was just enough for him to lie in. At the time I thought it was an obsessive and
weird thing to do. Now I know better, having inherited the same obsession. Damage
his laptop, he wouldn’t mind. Fiddle with and distort the settings of his
satellite radio, he wouldn’t care so much. Fold a page in his book, toss it
carelessly on a chair or spill some juice on it, and the Chernobyl nuclear
reactor meltdown would be a puff of smoke compared to his fury.
Whether it was his inspiration
or my persistence, I can’t say for sure, but at an age where my mates had their
heads buried in Enid Blyton books, Daddy introduced me to Frederick Forsythe,
John Le Carre, Sidney Sheldon and Robert Ludlum. He would give me a notepad, tell
me to write down all the words, the meanings of which eluded me and look them
up later in a dictionary as well as learn how to use them in a sentence. Perhaps
it was by accident or by design; he nurtured my interest and talent for
writing. When we came home for the holidays and we sat around doing nothing
while complaining we were bored, Daddy would say “how can you be bored in a
house full of books?” He would assign books to each of us, ask us to read them
and “extract the major themes the author was referring to.” Once he gave me a
really boring novel, the theme(s) of which I couldn’t extract. I hid the book
under my bed and decided to somehow wriggle my way out of reading it. That was one
of the most stressful weeks of my life. I managed to extract one important
lesson from that experience; it is futile to avoid bumping into your father
when you live in the same house.
Daddy loved his job
and his concern for his patients was genuine. He had the habit of calling some
of his more recalcitrant patients to make sure they were taking their
medication as prescribed. I still have vivid memories of how he would scold
them telling them to take their medication and cut down on their sugar
consumption. This always made us laugh. A doctor who takes six cubes of sugar
in a small teacup and ate chocolates like it was going out of fashion
admonishing his patients to cut down on same. That was just hilarious.
Daddy and I had a
special relationship. I wasn’t just his son, I was also his confidante. He sought
and valued my opinion way before I was anywhere near adulthood. From minor innocuous
decisions like “do you think this tie is compatible with this shirt?” to major
decisions like “is this in your opinion a worthwhile investment?” He never felt
ashamed of telling people he valued my judgment. It is usual for older
individuals to view teenagers as immature and incapable of understanding how
things work, therefore regarding their judgment and opinions irrelevant. The
fact that Daddy felt confident in my ability to make informed decisions was one of the best feelings I have ever had and
for this my gratitude to him is without limits.
We learnt more about
equity, fairness and justice from him than we could have learned sitting in a
classroom. Whenever we misbehaved or failed to do as well as expected in
school, before he levied any punishment or sanctions, he would ask if we had
any objections or anything to say in our defense. Of course, this did not
prevent the punishment from taking effect but it did provide a semblance of
fair hearing and transparency.
Most kids have an
unshakeable belief that parents are infallible and can do no wrong. Daddy
enabled us acquire a good understanding of human nature by tossing that
childish belief out of our heads. He always encouraged us to speak up when we
felt he had done something wrong. He used to say “your mother and I are human.
We can make mistakes just like you and everyone else. When we do wrong, bring
it to our attention.” To be honest though, in my quest to speak up about
wrongdoing there were times I was a bit forceful and almost tipped the balance
of the father and son scale. Thank God for his calm and understanding demeanor,
we always found a way of sorting out our differences.
Daddy had an innate
ability to inspire. His approach was not to remind you of your failures but to
remind you of what you were capable of achieving. While in school I was a bit
average in terms of performance. I didn’t do badly but when you come from a
family made up mostly of overachievers, being average is considered more or
less an underachievement. Daddy always
told me he was proud of me and he had no doubt I was destined for great things.
That simple action of inspiring me and telling me how proud he was did a lot
more in aiding me to do better than scolding me would have. That was our Daddy;
he always saw the good in people.
The most
devastating thing about death in my opinion is the fact that it takes away your
loved one and leaves you with memories of the times you spent together. It also
deprives you of all the things you could have done or what the person could
have witnessed had they lived. There are a lot of things I wanted to tell Daddy
as well as things I wanted him to witness; my graduation from school, being
called to the bar, receiving a verbal thrashing from a judge at my first
court appearance, getting married, playing with his granddaughters and ruining their teeth with chocolates. Alas, it was not to be.
Daddy, you’ve been
gone ten years but it still feels like yesterday. We still live up to the
standards you instilled in us. Filling your shoes is no easy task but we shall
spend the rest of our lives trying to do so. We miss you.
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