Dear Dad and Mum, I don’t know how you will feel after reading this letter, so I’ve decided to slip it underneath your room door, as I hurry off to school; I hope you won’t be mad at me after reading this piece of my heart.
It pains me that I have to write these words to finally get you to understand that I’m in S.S.2, heading to S.S.3, as a science student who has little or no passion for how hydrogen combines with oxygen to produce water, who remembers only half of the physics formulas taught in class last term. I’m very sure you’re very impressed with my grades, but what my result sheet doesn’t tell you is that I only cram and pour all my teachers have thought me over the term; and what my report sheet also don’t tell you is how many times I sneak into government and literature classes just to listen to the teacher speak words that I can relate to; I’m sure my government and literature teachers don’t tell you how much fun I find their classes to be. You’ve always wanted me to be a Civil Engineer, and if that’s your perfect dream for me, then, I don’t mind sacrificing my happiness at the altar of your dreams. I just pray that I learn to love civil engineering when I grow up.
So many a times, I’ve wished I could share my thoughts with you, Dad, but each time I try bringing them up, you’re either preoccupied with your newspaper or you just shut me up telling me you don’t have time for my talks; how I wish it can be like the movies or the novels I secretly read in the dead of the night (for the fear that you might see them and tear them up like you normally do, since you’ve told me times without number that novels are for sissies), where kids can tell their parents anything and will not be konked for thinking out loud or being bold enough to air their views.
I remember the day I asked you, Mum, where you came from, i.e if you were born the way I was, or if you grew out of a tree or something; I was just 11 years old and I didn’t know better. I remember the way you laughed and told me that you had a father and mother too; so I knew I was going to be a father one day. Dad, the countless times you would hit mum in the face because she had the guts to question your authority, the countless quarrel that ran deep into the night, the abusive words you throw at each; the way mum tries to get back at you with her own words, I can’t explain it all. So I asked myself if I was going to be like you when I grow up; because I’m not sure you know how often I talk down on any girl who questions my authority in the class, and how I’ve been tempted to beat them up just to prove my points. I don’t bring my friends home because I’m scared they will see you both of you quarrelling and fighting each other, and how I try to stop you both from fighting by repeatedly shouting and crying in front of you. So instead, I make up wonderful stories about you whenever other kids are talking about their parents.
Dad, Mum; I just wish you can know me a little better than you think you do; I just wish you would come to understand that I have no passion for sciences and let me be the art student I want to be; Dad, I just wish you wouldn’t hit Mum, and Mum, I just wish you wouldn’t talk back at Dad. I just wish…
From your Son
#Gen. Sam
(www.deepthoughtspenneddown.wordpress.com)
DEEP THOUGHTS PENNED DOWN 