Hi dad,
It’s our yearly date yet again. It’s
now seven years since we started having this meet ups. Well, a lot has changed.
I can’t begin to tell you about all the great things that have been happening.
For starters, I turned 22 and it feels amazing. I am now in fourth year to be
graduating end year. As you can see, I now run a blog. I am sure this is
probably the best news you’ll hear today. Just like you always pushed me, I am
taking writing very seriously.
Just before you think I am talking
too much about myself, Vanessa and Victor are all grown up. They turn 13 on
20th August. Mum and I are doing a tremendous job in bringing them up. Victor
is crossing the threshold into puberty and I wish you were here to guide him
through all the men stuff. Hehe. Generally though, he’s all toughened up. He
drives now and can easily change a tyre. Surprisingly, nobody taught him any of
these things. We are all surprised at his growth and before you start to worry;
he’s doing a great job being the man of the house.
Vanessa is a young lady now. You
won’t believe how responsible she has turned out. She has that look in her
eyes, that you always had. She’s just like you. Calm and collected. As young as
she is, she keeps us in check. Indeed, a charmer and still aspires to become a model.
I always save the best for last ,
YOUR QUEEN. She misses you fondly. Recently, she got this perfect framing of
your photo that none of us are allowed to touch. The best gift you probably
gave her is us. Your absence leaves a void but she’s doing just fine. Through
us she has a piece of you, something to remind her of all you were and still
are to her. It would be fair to say, she’s on top of things. You were the
luckiest man to marry such a strong lady. She works so hard but makes it look
so easy.
How would I forget to mention how
beautiful she looks at 46. She isn't changed one bit.
You might have to keep this age thing
a secret though. She believes she’s 30.
Loving Daughter,
Njeri
This is the conversation I have with
my dad every year. A monologue you may think but once you love someone they are
never truly far from you. Our love is his tether to the world. His presence is
in the rustling of leaves outside my window, I may not see him or feel him as I
would want but he can hear me so I’d be a fool not to update him on the
progress of his investment.
Today is my dad’s anniversary.
Exactly the same day, circa seven years ago, he rose to glory. Our family
doesn’t hold a memorial service .We text each other and reminisce on the good
old memories. Sometimes we find ourself crying but most times we're happy. It’s
wise to keep things subtle to avoid bringing unnecessary memories to my
siblings. Rule No.1 of parenting.
The last time I saw my dad is easily
my most memorable moment. I remember it was on a Friday. He woke up unusually
early and seemed extraordinarily happy about something. As was his norm, he
tuned into classic 105 to listen to Maina Kageni. He indeed was a sucker for
old school music, one of the many things that I see in myself. I still hold on
to the music CDs he left behind from his humongous collection.
Unlike other traditional men in
society, dad preferred to iron his shirts and polish his shoes. He did it so
perfectly, you'd automatically know why he liked it that way. Even better was
if everyone else around the house was busy with other chores. He would whip up
his own breakfast and never fuss about it. Exactly how many men are like this
today?
At this time, mum and I were in the
kitchen. She had just gotten her leave a few days ago and was really treating
the family with her recipes. On such a day, the house help would be busy doing
other chores. My siblings were 6 then, so they were still asleep.
When my old man was done getting
ready he came down to the kitchen and insisted to have his cup of tea while
standing. He was in a hurry to set off to his business. Ironically though, he
still had the time to remind us that ‘anaenda kutafuta unga’(his exact words)
and to look at mum and I to remind us how extremely short we were but still
looked amazing anyway. That's when I realized, I would probably be vertically
challenged all my life and even age wouldn't do me any favours.
Gerald was a man of few words .He'd
be in the house, you wouldn't see him but you felt his presence. If he wasn't
busy under his car or on his phone, he would be watching an some movie. It was
always one of those action flicks that had Stallone or Schwarzenegger in it.
Now that I think about it, this is how I got to fall in love with Denzel. Our
house was always updated with A list movies.
Having been the first born in a
family of seven, dad had mastered the art of peace making. He detested
conflicts. His belief was that there was a solution to everything thus no need
to go nuclear. My highlight would be when he made a problem look so simple, the
antagonist would hate himself.
Would you believe my first ‘sheng’
word came from dad? We were taking a test drive around the estate when I was 12
and I asked, why the radio wasn't working. My old man flat out told me, ‘siku
hizi sio radio,ni tenje.’Hehe. He was the coolest father ever.
Thanks to dad, Sundays were my
favorite days back when he was still around. he would make the tastiest meal of
pan fried steak while mum was in church. He wasn't much of a church enthusiast, but why would I even care
when I was getting pampered with rare meals. The taste of his Spanish omelette
has stuck with me since and I am forever grateful that he taught me every bit
of preparing one.
How would I forget his prowess in
grammar? If at all you were to speak in English in our home, it had to be
proper. I vividly remember his siblings bringing him their CVs and he would
rewrite them while insisting how significant it was to express yourself
articulately. My school compositions were also not spared, they would be highly
scrutinized, which to be honest left me option less. I had to read more to
reduce the criticism directed towards me.
I can go on and on about my late
dad’s greatness but that would mean publishing an entire book. His demise was
life transforming for me. It opened my eyes to the finite nature of human life.
It doesn’t matter how long you live, if you live without purpose then what's
the point? In retrospect, my father had achieved almost all he wanted to by the
time he met his death at just 39. Who doesn’t want the same?
Rest In Peace Gerald Mwangi Mureithi
(Gee) 1969-2008
