Picture is Mine
One thing I've realised about life is how it moves faster than we ever imagined. No matter how slowly we think the clock is ticking, sometimes we fail to realise that it never stops ticking. Slow and steady the hands of time are moving faster, and before we know it, the tables are turned, and we're no longer those tiny babies of our parents. We become adults with new weights of responsibilities on our shoulders. Responsibilities that might turn out to be us returning the favour of taking care of our parents.
Just last week, I was faced with that proud responsibility, and just so you know, I'm willing to handle it again and again, if that is what it takes to let my parents know that I care for them just the way they care for me.
I came from a family with a history of eye problems. From my grandma, who died blind, to my father and mother, who have issues with their sight, and a few of my siblings and me on prescribed glasses.
And for weeks, my dad kept complaining to me about how his eyes kept giving him discomfort and some burning sensation. At first, we brushed it off as nothing serious until his complaints became severe and frequent.
I invited him over to my place after booking an appointment with my eye doctor so I could take him to the hospital once he arrived.
I recall having an important lecture in school that day, but I had to cancel it. My priority that day was my father's health and I was willing to trade it for that important lecture that day.
I recall vividly on several occasions as a sickly kid, how my dad had to cancel business appointments to take me to the hospital and now that the tables turned, I was willing to do the same for him.
"What about your lecture? What will you do about it?" I recall he asked me as we sat in the doctor's office, waiting for him to finish with the series of tests done.
"Don't worry about that, worry about getting better", I replied. "I'll just have to go and meet with the lecturer. Hopefully, he'll be too kind to understand how important it was for me to bring you here today" I added, my eyes on my phone, reading through my class group chat on any news about the lecture.
"You can go. I can handle myself", I heard my Dad say. I've always known him to be the type that doesn't show weakness even at his weakest point and he did well to teach us that.
I looked up from my phone and smiled "I know you can handle it", I concurred, even when I knew he couldn't handle it. He had complained of weakness earlier before we set out for the hospital. But I tried not to kill his ego.
"Then go" he pushed.
"The class has been cancelled" I lied. I knew he wasn't going to stop so I had to lie.
"How did you know?
"I just found out from the class group chat on WhatsApp" I replied,
"Oh, okay," Dad replied.
And that ended our conversation.
Looking back to that day, I still reel in the pride of being there for my father when the table turned for me to be strong and dependable in his weak and fragile age.
And gladly, I'll do that again and again. He was never found wanting when the table was his turn, and now it has turned out to be mine; I promise to keep the table firm and strong for him to rest on.
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