When father recounted to us how he was mesmerized by Great Britain during his only visit in 1973,he held us children in awe…
He was in the company of some upcoming Kenyan pseudo intellectuals brought together in the spirit of benchmarking of sorts. I’d rather visualize them as a bunch of upstarts.
Dad always fancied himself as an instrument of progress.
Because of this self imposed mission as an agent of what should be ideal for his family, his children, he made life really hard for us,for me. His sense of proper character and good manners was really a pain to bear. Constantly dreading his come back home from wherever he always went for so long.
When he passed on during my teen years( I was only 16) I didn’t feel the loss. Everyone who was connected to him and our home was in tears. Much as I tried to look aggrieved, the tears could not flow, the eyes refused to water. My heart was in a celebratory mode. I strangely felt relieved of a heavy burden in my life. A kind of good riddance.
Incidentally he left so many unfinished businesses…loose ends.
I sometimes wonder about the parallels I have with him. Now at 47,I have so many incomplete projects, conjured ideas yet to crystalize, to be delivered. My true potential is yet to be delivered. I only hope that so far I am not a burden to my 4 angels. The first one is16 plus 1.