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…


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