One of my fondest memories growing up was seeing my dad at my school. He usually comes to buy us books for every new class. He buys them and writes our full names on it with the date. He never said it but I think he enjoyed seeing our excited faces when we came home and saw them. He would then give us the talk on the importance of education, reading and taking care of books, the man loved books o, you should have seen my dad’s newspaper collection that year (The archives section in UJ will bow its head in shame). We looked forward to the papers he bought home whenever he was out. Me and the cartoon/crossword puzzle section were 5&6. 

My dad was the ultimate handyman. He had a tool box for whatever needed fixing in the house, he was Fix-it-Felix whenever he was free. He tried to teach us a thing or two but we always dodged. Now that he’s gone, it seems I’m becoming quite the handyman myself (I fixed an extension box and sockets the other day, I’ll be fixing trains in no times, na so e dey start)

My dad once made me go to school by 12 noon to teach me a lesson in Nursery 2. I couldn’t find one leg of my sandals so I said I wasn’t going to school. My mother left me to my tantrums o. My dad too, he just kept on with his morning routine. I was even helping him o as a good boy that I was.  By afternoon, he found the sandal behind the sofa. “Oya dress up and go to school”, the look he gave me ehnn, it was the “go now don’t make me make you” look. My tears didn’t move him o. My plan was to go and hang around outside the school till closing time when I would come home and play pretend. He followed me and handed me to Mrs. Musa. They used me as a scapegoat that day o (No love)

Lesson learnt. The next day na me first the cleaners come school.

My dad loved pictures o. Our photo albums are stuff of legends I tell you. He made it his sole mission to make sure we had a photograph(s) every Christmas. When he wasn’t around, my mum knew his orders. There was no “Christmas yawo” until the photographer arrived. This is the only picture where I was even smiling, in the rest I had a visible scowl plastered on my face (Villainy). He got sick and nobody was really in the picture mood anymore but we took a picture last Christmas as a family, it pleased him I was sure.

I could write a million stories about this man I called Dad and I will still have a million more. He lived.

Keep resting SUPOL JAMES OJENO. We love and miss you.