{"id":48,"date":"2012-06-13T14:47:00","date_gmt":"2012-06-13T14:47:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/?p=48"},"modified":"2012-06-13T14:47:00","modified_gmt":"2012-06-13T14:47:00","slug":"happy-fathers-day","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/?p=48","title":{"rendered":"Happy Father’s Day!"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\n<\/a>When I was younger, my father used to tell me one particular story over and over and over again. There were a few other stories that he used to narrate to me, but this one was a classic.  <\/span>Every time he related this story, the narration would be accompanied by the same passion, adequate detail and rich clarity – not a word more, not a word less!  <\/span>My father had a remarkable ability to always keep the sequence of events as orderly and intact as a clock, irrespective of the number of times he told the story.  <\/span>He would repeat a story with martial precision and unrelenting energy – thanks to his experience as a church minister.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\nI often wondered if he knew he was repeating himself.  <\/span>As he narrated the story I would always look at him with attentively sparkling eyes.  <\/span>I would compose myself in a still manner as if my whole body was absorbing the detail of the story. I would sit still with my innocent face tilted to one side, my curious guiltless heart openly glued to his face.  <\/span>Even if the world had come to an end at that moment, I would not have moved an inch.  <\/span><\/span>
\nMy father would sit still with his back resting on his favorite sofa, his tummy bulging out, his arms on the arm-rests on both side of the couch and his feet resting on the floor stretched out, with one foot crossed over the other.  <\/span>(He could sit like this for hours; sometimes he would fall asleep in this very position). So, this was his most comfortable and relaxing sitting position.  <\/span>He was not a gesticulating person.  <\/span>His constant gentle calmness would only disappear in rare moments of anger or fury whenever something hugely upsetting happened.  <\/span>These moments were infrequent in our lives.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\nSo, even though I say that I often wondered if he knew he was repeating himself, the truth is I did not want him to remember that he had told me the same story before.  <\/span>Always, I would eagerly sit still right in front of him on the floor for him to tell me the story.  <\/span>From beginning to end I would not ask any questions, in fear of disrupting the story line, I would just listen.  <\/span><\/span>My mother would look at both of us with a wry smile; she would give us a \u201cleave-them-alone\u201d smile as she went to the kitchen to make tea for him.  <\/span>I didn\u2019t like tea as a child.  <\/span>I was always surprised that adults could drink such a hot beverage just for the fun of it.  <\/span>My mother would bring the tea on a tray (and a glass of orange juice for me) and her movements would annoy me.  <\/span>She would constantly move this way and that way arranging the teapot, the milk, the cup and the saucer neatly on the table yet my father would not be disrupted.  <\/span>He would continue narrating the story and I would keep on listening; as if there were just the two of us.<\/span><\/div>\n
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\nI heard that story a million times but up to this day I could never ever be able to narrate it the way my father did.  <\/span><\/span>Lately, I sometimes sit still and replay it on my mind, as for sharing it with anyone, I dare not.  <\/span>Not that I do not remember the words, the plot, the sequence of events: all these are deeply engraved in my mind, in my heart.  <\/span>It is the moment we use to have that I cannot possibly re-create, I will not.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\nMy father died a few years ago, very abruptly and unexpectedly unlike his character and all I have that reminds me of him are three things: this unforgettable story, an irreplaceable kudu horn that rests in my entrance hall to welcome guests into my house and this inimitable moment.<\/span><\/div>\n
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\nSo, hence I say happy father’s day to all the dads who, in an unhurried manner narrate detailed stories over and over and over to their little ones.   Dads who realize that there is a need to share a moment with those attentively sparkling eyes, those curiously guitless hearts.  <\/a><\/span><\/span>These dads’ priority is to spend quality time with their children not because they don’t have their own needs to meet, goals to achieve or places to go to but they do it purely for the sake of love, for the sake of a precious moment that will forever be treasured.  <\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\nSuch was my dad. I will always adoringly remember him that way – he forever will be that!<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

When I was younger, my father used to tell me one particular story over and over and over again. There were a few other stories that he used to narrate to me, but this one was a classic.  Every time he related this story, the narration would be accompanied by the same passion, adequate detail […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-48","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/48","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=48"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/48\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=48"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=48"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=48"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}