My children call my father Daddy.
Because of the circumstances under which they have been raised, he has been a constant in their lives in so many ways.
Together with the woman they call Mummy. My mother.
You cannot question the love and affection Daddy has for his grandkids.
He has a special name for each one of them. Paulus, Maffiyu, Bibbu, Chaya, Tendomecious, Beyya, Nana, Pilipu, Kabunga.
Apart from a single incident, Daddy has never ever raised a hand to strike any of his grandkids.
Children who have shared a bed with him and Mummy. Kids he has bathed, fed, carried to and from school, cuddled, nuzzled.
Helped with their homework, watched cartoons with them, laughed at their jokes, repeated their stories, sat for hours with them in hospital and held their hands as they cried through injections.
He does not spoil them.
And they love him back.
They respect him, they tell him their stories, they laugh and joke with him, and when they go to visit him, they can talk for hours.
The love between them is impalpable.
Not one of threats, endless beatings, threats, punishments, long letters, abuse and shows of power.
No comments:
Post a Comment