In the Greek mythology, a demigod was a term used to describe an individual who had special capabilities that were far beyond human strength like the famous Alexandra the great or Julius Caesar. These people had extraordinary powers. As a result, they were revered and worshiped. Just like our fathers were worshiped.
Fathers were a symbol of authority in their homes. Like lions, when they arrived, they roared and everyone was expected to obey. My dad had this particular knock that when we heard, we would rush like lightning to the door just to meet him. He would, on one hand, be carrying meat wrapped in old newspapers, or milk and on the other hand he had either a sweet or a bar of chocolates to give us. He would then sit on his designated leather seat and we would compete to remove the shoes on his feet as there was always a reward for doing so. After his ritual cup of tea, in his special mug by the way, he would ask one of us to tune the great wall TV until we found the correct channel for him to watch the news. By this time my mum would be in the kitchen preparing supper and once in a while she would call one of us to assist her cut onions especially. She hated and still hates cutting onions and all the other ingredients for the stew. Perfect setting. I thank God that my dad wasn’t and still isn’t Hitler, that famous dictator who made sure that the world know that was there. He was and still is approachable only that as we grew older, things changed in the house. We no longer rush to meet him. We just sit and chat as adults and am glad we have these moments.
If you had such moments, thank God, if you didn’t, create one. It’s still not too late to do so.
My worry is that the description above is slowly fading away like melting ice. There is a generation that will never comprehend what the love of a father is. The generation that probably my Jabali Abishai will be born into is a scary one. I don’t even know whether he will have a daddy or he will grow up with his uncle and his grandpa training him to be a man. I don’t know whether his father will decide to work like an ant trying to make ends meet, desiring for us to live a comfy life at the expense of spending time with him. I don’t know whether his daddy will beat his mummy each time she made a mistake, or just to prove that he was a man. Whether he will talk rudely or belittle her just because she is a woman. And he had to spend all his life trying to protect his mummy from his daddy. And vow never to do that to any woman. I don’t know whether he will keep this vow. Or the demons of his father will haunt him and he’ll find himself unwillingly doing this to women.
I don’t know whether his daddy saw his father bring women in the house. Young college charlatans masquerading as models. I don’t know whether he had to see him sleep with these women in the matrimonial bed, and slowly this became his norm, his yard of what marriage and women are. Objects. Tools to be used and thrown away like a tissue paper. And what happens to our girls who are raised by such fathers?Abishai’s sister will suffer. She will think that she is useless, a tool for men to use at their own pleasure. That she has no power to say no and that she has no vision to follow, no drive in life. She will hate men. She will call them dogs. Yet men are not evil, its just that some grew as weeds.
I don’t know whether his father’s daddy died when he was a baby or a grown person. I don’t know whether his daddy’s daddy ran away. Left them stranded with their mum. And he had to look out for his family, forced to be a man, yet a boy at a tender age. I don’t know whether his father was raised by a proper daddy who took care of him , who taught him to be a man. Or he grew up like a weed, with no man to prune him consequently developing a don’t care attitude, a you can’t tell me anything mindset. Such men are insensitive, they never listen to counsel and as a result they pass on their hard nature to children who later on become citizens and this makes up the society.
Such thoughts scare me. We need a revival, a change of mind, a new breed of men who understand their role as heads in their home. Those who are willing to take charge for their mistakes and not leave a woman to raise a child alone. In fact, me thinks that it is wrong for that these children with no fathers are called bastards. They have no fault. It is the men that gave the seed that should be called so. They are called dead demi gods as they understand not the power they possess. They live beneath their calling. Their actions constantly raise eyebrows. They are a tragedy awaiting for the right time to happen.