WHY I HATED DADDY - PART 2

-
Daddy had just rushed back outside to place the cherry on the cake, that is to say, relieve his hand of severe punishment and hand over power to a more competent wooden rod. A million rivers could overflow their banks by the amount of tears Kevin had shed, his shirt now drenched in them. “If you play football ten times, I’ll whip you a ten times. Why are you so stubborn, eh? Do you want to break your legs?” daddy shouted. These tantrums were accompanied by the occasional stroke of the rod that was sparsely spared. After all, he wasn’t a spoilt child by any stretch of a mile; he just went with the flow of his innermost instincts and disregarded the eminent consequences of his actions. Brilliant at school and but with an incredible affinity for football, he engraved his name in stone whenever it came to disobeying his parents, simply for the love of the game.


He continued to face this beat-less music from his lifetime coach, receiving each whip with much gusto comparable to that of Asamoah Gyan, after he struck the bar from the penalty during the recent African world cup. Kevin begged at least thousand times, well, counting them was the least of his worries at that moment, but this is no exaggeration. In the midst of these exchanges, his aunty, Auntie Hagar, came out from nowhere as if sent from heaven to rescue him. And rescue him she did.
Recognizing the current situation, which trickled in by her intuition, she separated the past and the future in that very moment. She instantly earned a call-up into the “kneeling and begging” squad, doing her very best to save him from further ludicrous lashes. This intriguing game ended abruptly as daddy finally felt he made himself clear enough. Kevin took an early shower, considering the fact that he often bathe only once a day.


Kevin Ashley is a very close friend of mine, so close that the pain incurred from his experience, like Ghana’s first world cup appearance, is mutually imprinted on both of our minds. Narrating this crude childhood ordeal felt like kissing my image on the side of the other. Discipline has many forms and shapes, but in my opinion, the brutality-based form of discipline is hugely overrated and overly emphasized. This slice of the punishment cake suffered him not only emotional scars, but also dented his social skills. For a long time he struggled to maintain friendship of any sort, save that between he and his mother. The good news is that he has succeeded in overcoming this demon of a memory,  invoked by the incantations of time and chance. 





Written by : Kojo Essuman Ackah
(C) Copyright ~ 2011 All Rights Reserved

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

VISTA VIGIL

-
Sitting at the balcony of my second floor room makes life look so still: firmly frozen in time and space. The weather is callously cold, unless of course I’ve decided to reduce my body temperature with the unknown potential of my brain: mind over matter. But on second thought, I could actually make an attempt, If I was been scorched on the sand dunes of the Kalahari Desert that is. However, the motivation to write tonight is not to bore you with the temperature changes currently taking centre stage due to global warming or seasonal changes, but to describe what a sight a silent night can conjure. Though this cold breeze finds it appropriate to distract my work, I’m not perturbed whatsoever. I mean the scenery is simply magnificent. I can count the many street lights looking like matchsticks set alight and buried in the ground. The only problem here is that these illuminated rods are of different colours, certainly not consistent with that of a brightly burning matchstick, more so beca
Read more

WHITE HOUSE

-
My mind has remained blank for the past six odd hours, mainly due to the lonely period of respite, void of any form of useful brain activity. The first point of call for most early risers will usually be their sinks, clearing any debris accumulated in their buccal cavities. But for me, the white house on which most human beings ‘roost’ to lay brown eggs which seldom hatch (leaving room for the not so privileged folk), is my preferred haven for starting the day. Resting on this ancient plumbing fixture is one of life’s many pleasures easily forgotten about due to the nasty nature of the end result – faecal matter. There is no denying the fact that this world would most definitely be drenched in stench if we were not privileged to have been blessed with this invention. A lot of noise is often made about the Wright and Warner brothers for revolutionizing the transportation and television (or cartoon) industries. Not forgetting the well-respected World Wide Web (www), its development bein
Read more

GARISSA ATTACK

-
Image
It sounds like a variation from a chess opening, which for chess proponents is almost commonplace. But ever since the gruesome murder of those students in Kenya, the character of the systems of this world have hit me harder than a batter’s swing at a baseball from the pitcher’s mound. From the lack of adequate worldwide condemnation of the attack, to the absence of home-grown solidarity.  It seems as though it never happened. At times, feelings of despair reveal themselves when such events occur. In as much as several reasons may be purported as causes for such, lets sift through the many layers. Beneath these are hidden things that only the word of God can reveal. Revelation, that’s the spiritual ore within which the gold of insight thrives. We see in part, but Papa see all parts. My prayers are not with “so-and-so” as the cliche goes, but rather, my fervent prayers are going up for the bereaved families, their loved ones and the Body of Christ. As a believer, I firmly un
Read more