dishusbandmata

Growing up for me was blissful. I had a father who would listen,  empower  and reinforce to me the fact that God fearfully and wonderfully created me. Daddy told me daily how I could be anything I wanted to be. You see, my daddy was 30 years older than my mother. He was better educated in “terms of certificates” than her and he was a greatly travelled gentleman. My mother on the flip side, was only a standard six certificate  holder, from  a more humble background but “a very intelligent woman” without the glory of “many paper certificates”.   By virtue of the gap in their background, my mother’s mantra was to beat the discipline physically, by “fire by force” into one’s body. My father would discuss with you and explain very calmly, ensuring that you understood what and why you need to make recommended changes. The two had modus operandi that were the opposite to each other.   I look back and cannot remember the one time my father hit me or ever shouted at me. However, my mo

As a child, I really didn’t look forward to being a teenager.   When I finally turned thirteen, I told myself over and over that I wasn’t as smart as I thought.   This was because I had heard about and seen so many naughty teenagers and I really didn’t want to be like them.   Most of them did things their parents would never dream they were doing, but I really wanted to have an open relationship with my mom particularly.   It was really cool to be sent off to boarding school, where I was technically ‘safe’ from certain issues. There were all kinds of girls in this ‘safe zone’ and without televisions, radios or the invention of mobile phones, all we had were a few novels and our personal   stories to keep us entertained.   Some girls told of how open they were with their parents, while others took pride in how eluded their parents were to their true identities.   All these variations of the female specie helped me to decide the kind of relationship I wanted with my Mom, especially wh

One of the benefits of becoming older   is that we begin to acknowledge the sacrifices our parents made; putting food on the table, shelter over our heads , giving us education as they could afford and then the part we come to appreciate later, disciplining us. While I was growing up, my mother was greatly feared by myself. Being a strong disciplinarian, she did not spare the rod at all but I would not say I was beaten unnecessarily. Most times, when I got a beating, it was well deserved. One of the beatings that still remains eternally tattooed in my memory was the one I got the first time I stole. It was just one naira(Nigerian currency) and then it was a note. I had had the temptation for so long. You see growing up, myself and my siblings went to a private school and were chauffeur driven to and fro school. We had breakfast at home and during the break, we had cold drinks (samco-orange/chocolate ) with some biscuits given and after school closed by 1pm, our parents’ driver