Dear Son 002: Putting A Zed After The Why

So, I asked myself why I stated the ‘Dear Son’ series. People write to their mother, wife, husband and or wife. But No! I’m writing to my son; when I don’t have any. When I’m not sure I even want one or would want one. Could this be universal? Could this be a message that I may not live long enough to be with you? Could it be…
I’m trying to imagine how you’d be before, while and after reading this. Would it even make sense to you? Would it be after I had wronged you? Or just after my death? What would be your perception of me at this point in your life; good, bad, very bad? Would you ever call me the best dad in the world? Would there be glints in your eyes when you do so? Would it just be some things said because every other person is saying it. Or would you hate me too much to even apply such pretense?
I often tell people, ‘This is why you should learn to always expect the unexpected: when you expect such, you can never get disappointed. I mean, even if you end up getting the expected, it would be the expected you unexpected which makes it the unexpected you expected.’ Yeah? Yeah!
For years I prayed my dad calls. Not coz I miss him. Not that I don’t. But I always wished he would call. Why I wanted to hear his voice, I couldn’t and can’t still say. I would say if I know. I mean, what about his cranky voice could save me? Yet, I missed it. The moments he shouted at me. The days I heard him lip-syncing to Tubaba. Your grandpa has such horrible voice that could literary turn a dream set in a place better than DisneyLand to a nightmare. He sang like he was crying. And we used to laugh each time we hear him sing. You think that’s the funniest thing about him? Wait till you watch him dance. Oh! Lord!
He called a couple of weeks ago. That was my best day so far, this year. This is the happiest year of my life since my parents’ separation. I thought about him the rest of the day. I couldn’t read, couldn’t watch movies. I was just all smiles. I was just thinking about him. And I tried my best to focus on the good times. I wish I had succeeded. And even when I failed, I wish I couldn’t judge him. But my life was literally ruined when he left. How could I not judge him? How, son? How!?
I spoke to him two times more. And then…
I stopped!
Don’t ask me the reason; I can’t even answer myself that. Now, even when he calls, I just listen to the dumb ring tone and smile. His calls made me understand what Lil Wayne meant when he said ‘… Just to keep from crying, I smile’
I promised to go visit him. I wish to visit him. I don’t know why. Could it be just to have the father and son moment I’ve always dreamt of? Could it be to see if there’s a way to set things up straight? Could it be to see if he misses us like we miss him? The tone of his voice said he did. Could it be to see how he has slimmed down and mock him? Can I even stand him again? I mean; yeah, I may not call him the best father in the world. God know I’m not the best son he had; talk more, the best son in the world. Could it be to see if we could have those moments we never had? Could it be to… I cried the last time I thought this long about him. And every other time that was the last before that last. I’m the kind of guy that has never lost his appetite coz of a lady; even in the depth of my teenage days. And I’m not even bragging about that. But I can’t count the number of times food tasted like shit to me just at a flash of thoughts about him.
I can’t say I love him; not that I don’t. I can’t say I hate him, not that I don’t wish I could. He’s my father for heavens’ sake. He’s the first image I had of a man. He was the man who I couldn’t hide any boil on my face from coz he was very sensitive, he would see it at a point. He was the man who while I was sixteen, asked me to kneel down in front of his shop; close to a curb in a very busy road in Awka. He was the man who sent me to a Federal school for my secondary school education even when some people of his financial class would rather drink the money away and have their kids hawk. He was the one who said he would stop paying my school fees when I refused to kneel down or cut the hair style he wanted me to. He was the one who shook my hands each time I made great academic progress. He was the man who chased my mom away from our flat. He was the one who taught me that the second position was not an option; in a tough way though. He was the man who accused my mom of certain things; not minding she manned up for him when he ran out of his burning house. He was the one who taught me every moral that inspires whatever good thing you see me do. He was the dad who never told me he loved me but our former house-boy who had issues with him told me our father’s business failed because he loved us too much to accept we had to support the family financially. He is my father! What else defines him more than that? I got my brain from him. The tenacity, the trust in my thoughts, the dogged curiosity, contentment… The list could go on.
Son, I never hoped to bore you. I’m afraid I may not be half the man he was; is rather. I want him to see you. I want you to visit him. I want him to call you son and I want you to tell him you love him; even if I never mature enough to tell him so myself. I’m afraid I may never get to be there for you when you need me. I’m afraid I may not get to see you. I’m afraid I may never get to know you in different levels. I mean, am I a great son? 
Listen, it’s not that I wouldn’t like to. It’s not that I won’t try. My father tried, maybe not his best. Maybe just the best he knew or could try. Who even tries his best? Who even knows his best? So, how can you try what you don’t know?
This is in case I never get to deserve the’The Best Dad In The World’ award. This is incase I lose sight on the greatest responsibility nature would grant me someday. This is incase the world swallows you before I get the chance to call you a Prince and teach you all I know about growing from that to a King. This is incase it doesn’t work between me and your mom and your best choice is to go with her. This is incase I end up what I’ve always been; an arsehole. This is not to say I won’t try. This is for you to show me my own writing and hold me by it. This is my love letter to you. This is to say, although I’ve not seen you, I think of you. Your father is a fine boy, but he trusts you’d be far incomparable to whatever he thinks is worth bragging about. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, son.
Now, before I spoil this more with boring long words and or excess writing…


The Difference

In Things Fall Apart, Wole Soyinka wrote ‘The difference between yam and cassava is not a difference in betterment but just a differentiational difference’

Hey! Calm down… Please take some chill pills before you think of attacking me. And while the pills dissolve in your system, let me first of all hit you above the belt….
If it never occurred to you that there’s no word like differentiational, then you need to get back to the dumb four walls you wasted your primary school days and demand for your balance; your teachers didn’t do their job.

If you ever asked yourself ‘Is Soyinka the author of Things Fall Apart?’. You need to be flown to Mercury so you’d melt. If religious fanatics could burn people for not believing in God, literature lovers should do worse to every literary-ignoramus.

And if you ever thought that kind of crap is anywhere in the pages of Things Fall Apart… Well… I bet you know you need to hide yourself in some grave below the surface of the earth. I don’t mean hell but you could do yourself the favour of burning yourself with fire when you get there.

But then… I guess you get the thought behind the statement. If you don’t… I don’t want to take your name to Amadioha but I sure would advice you to stop reading my blog… Ebuka! Please, don’t mind me, that was just a slip of thought. But come on, how could you not mind me while still reading my blog?

Of recent I’ve been making some observations on comparison. We have eight continents, right? Or is it seven? Come on, why is China not a continent? I mean, she’s more populated than some continents… I hope I’m right. How many languages do we have? Even Google can’t supply you a perfect answer to that as some languages in some thick bushes are not counted in the list. Then we have tribes, genders, ages, hair colors, skin textures, heights, temperaments, religions and… I hope you don’t expect me to fill up the list.

But here is my point… Do I really have a point? Ebuka! Can you fuck the point talk and focus on the point you’re making? That’s… What’s the word for fucking points? Pointxualism or pointxualisation? Whatever…

I think the differences in the groups; either the natural ones or the ones we create for ourselves tend to push most of us into making comparisons. Due to humans natural jingoism, most of us needs to remind ourselves that being in the group we find ourselves makes us either superior or inferior to the person in the next group.

My question is, ‘Is comparison necessary?’. Has it in any way made life better for any one? Should every black man go get a machete and kill anybody with a different skin color? Should every white man get a bomb and blast people from other races. Or should Asians clear the earth of non-Asians with their tikwando?
Let’s say the black man wins. I am a black man, murtherfucker, I should win in my imaginary war. Go kill yourself and reduce the world population if you ain’t cool with that.

But, let’s say that happens. Very soon, we would discover that among us are too many tribes. That I believe would lead to another mode of varnishing. What next, the remaining tribe would discover it was really made up of different clans. Then the fight continues until only one clan remains. Do you think the fight would end here? Definitely not. Families make up clans. Now, the families have to fight with each other. Let’s say a family of six wins. How long do you think they would last before each individual discovers the difference between him/herself and every other person. And then… Don’t tell me you don’t know what would happen. Come on, another fight would take place. And that would lead us to the situation where there would be only one man on earth; definitely me.
So, what then would happen to me? Definitely a happy ever after, right? In my dreams. Someday, my hand would wake up and decide to kill every part of my body as they are all different from it. Then we would have only the hand. And later the arm would fight with the fingers and the fingers would win and… Bet me, the fight would never end… Bet me, the fight better not start….
But something else could happen to the world. We could learn to see difference as just difference, as the difference in the colors that make up the rainbow; the difference that only helps in making it more colorful.

So, we could stop bothering ourselves over the question ‘Who is the better film-maker among James Cameron, Steven Spielberg, Alfred Hitchcock and Martin Scorsese or if Christianity is better than Islamism. If Koreans are more heartless than Russians? Racist! Be candid, are you not one? Be candid; you’re not. Of course you are. And when we look at the mirror, we could start thinking of how to look the best way we can instead of killing ourselves over looking hotter than our friends or foes.

At the end of the day, comparing ourselves to others would limit us from reaching the greatest goal in life; being the best we could be. Coz that moment we compare ourself to the next person, we’ve only valued ourselves from their height; a height we can’t reach; a height not worth our reach…

So, why the fuck!…

Oh! You wanted this to be longer. Well, I’m exhausted right now.

One more thing…

Dear Son… 001

The Ultimate Ekpere
If I were you, guess what I would be doing right now; praying I don’t end up being my son.
Don’t laugh. I’m serious, don’t laugh. I’m your father, I’m being serious here.
This is why you really need that prayer. I’m never going to be a regular dad. You know those kind of fathers you see in movies? Or the kind you read of in great novels? Or the ones you hear of or see when you look at our relatives? I’m going to be far away from those. The fact is, I’m not sure I want to have you. Another fact is, I’m not even sure I’m going to be there to watch you grow. I’m a lousy human being. And I pray I never get stupid enough to meet your mom. Wipe off the ‘stupid’. Replace it with ‘mad’.
I’m lousy. I’m not going to be the kind of dad who would advice you not to take beer. I’m the kind who would want to offer you your first bottle. If it’s in Nigeria, I would make sure it’s Heineken or some beer I produce if I end up making my palm-wine investment. And I would make sure I watch it go down your throat. I would make sure your mom won’t be around to tell you it’s enough when you go past a bottle. I love freedom, I would let you take as many as you want. Unless of course you get high enough to insult me or talk shits. Well, I’ll figure out what to do if that happens. For now, I’m only interested in the toast.
I want to be the first to buy you CD. I’m sure there must be a fancier word for condom by the time you are old enough to use one. When I say old, I mean, the first time I catch you looking lustfully at a lady, be it your mother or auntie. Well, if it happens to be either of them, I would definitely ask her whose son you are.
I don’t want to only give you condom when you’re ready to use it. I would also gilt the gift with lots of pep talks on how to nail it perfectly. Sex is heavenly, I don’t know why some holy books opine we should shun it and still promise us heaven. I mean, what could be lovelier? Masturbation? Shit! I hope I never catch you jerking off to nude models in x magazines or some porn. It’s nasty enough they show that in movies. Fuck!
Another thing though, never get yourself sex starved enough to need a prostitute. I would rather have a PUA son than a Bill Gate who spends his money on prostitutes. A man should have enough sugar on his lips to get the girl he wants. If I need to cancel all my engagements to teach you, I would. Look at me, what am I feeling like now; a Venusian artist? Thank you Style and Mystery. Don’t ask me who those are. Ask your best pal, Google.
But remember son, candy is very sweet, yet it can ruin your teeth and or fuck you belly. I think I’ve tasted enough beer and pussies to know they are not as sleek as painted in movies. 
Sometimes after drinking, you end up trying to calculate your steps; walking like a jack-ass in the process. Sometimes, you’re rewarded with throw-ups, nausea, head-ache and the grand father of them all; hang-over. And if your past wants to punish you, you may end up dialing a number you should have erased off your phone a long time ago. You really don’t want me to tell you how that usually ends.
And the other one… 
Yeah, you watch her moan. Yeah, you feel your way to heaven when your banana (by the way, whoever generated that metaphor must be a genius) flows in and out of her narrow path. Yeah, you feel way past the skies when the sperm turn your prick into some nodding lizard after which the white soapy shit makes a blast or settle down at the tail end of the cd. Yeah, it’s a good feeling watching her smile. Yeah, you could call yourself a king when she pecks you after the blissful deed. What feeling surpasses nailing a girl aside the feeling of nailing the nailing right. Yet, an honest man would give you the list of what he’s lost either in the pursuit or as the result of a precious lay.
Tonight, I did something I’m not proud of. I would tell you if you care to know. And I hope you’d keep my secret. I would keep yours. I bet you’re smart enough not to trust a writer on that. Here is the lesson I learnt today, never lie to a lady about your feelings for her. If you don’t love her, tell her outright that you only want to bang her pussy. I think your school teacher is an idiot if he calls that vagina. A boring one for that matter. A lie you tell today would need another lie to stand tomorrow’s wave. You know how scientists say it, ‘Technology feeds off technology’. Well, lie posses similar attribute. Be candid, son. I know I’m a bad-ass liar. Well, it’s part of my profession. And unless you want to end up like me, please avoid that cunny bastard. You’d be respected for being honest. Bet me, I’ve fucked up enough to know how bitchy karma is.
On the other hand, son, when you’re left at that point when lie is the only way out of a mess. First of all, be sure it’s the only way out. On discovering that, please don’t be an arsehole; lie… And the lie better be as great as what your father gives.
One more thing…
… I’m cudgeling my brain right now… I think I’ve forgotten the last bit of the advice. Hey! Did I see you shake your head in pity? Or did you just roll your eyes at me? Bet me, you would forget if you’ve ever taken what I’ve taken today.
Right now son, I only want you to remember the great prayer. I forgot to say it before I was born. Please, watch out for your father. And when he asks you never to follow his footsteps…