raising a brat

 

 

Now that I’m just a couple of days shy of 25years,their is this feeling I can’t detach myself with anymore.The feeling of growing up.

At 25,you feel like everyone is watching.It becomes morbid to relax your ass and enjoy a fight.You feel guilty to turn your neck when a lass with with an ass passes because someone else might be watching you.You can’t even watch Dj Afro movies,damn it: Someone might bump into your door and realize how uncivilized you are.

Then,the scary thought of starting up a family of your own crops up from nowhere.This is the very thought you have never flirted with.It’s intimidating.It makes you as cold as witch’s tit.Aren’t you the same Mike who used phrases like ‘single and happy’ and ‘forever single’ whenever asked of the relationship status? What the hell has changed? To hell.That was kiddish.You are now 25,that’s what matters,you can fucking get a wife.

I look at myself in the mirror with a deprived thief smile.The beards I shaved just the other day seems like they have never experienced a barber cut.Their thirst of making me poorer seems to be at peak.For a moment i feel like shouting at them:A barber cut cost Tsh 500 and not dollars, dumb ass.Away from the beards is the baldness greedily eating away my hair as if pissed off by their blackness.I never understand what causes baldness.Is it a malnutrition? Well,If you are a scientist and stumbles in this piece accidentally while doing a research on Angiogenesis ,please have a heart of explaining to me the baldness theory.Like,why do the animal eating away the hair on my head don’t do something on the beards instead?

I am pissed off because what I see in the mirror doesn’t reflect what women need in men.Handsome,tall and rich.Maybe,I wont end up with anyone.Shit,maybe I will end up alone.If so,GOD,don’t take me away before I raise up a daughter.

I really want to raise up a beautiful girl into a woman.A girl I will have the responsibility to defend from the world.A girl who will ask me all the rubbish questions like why her mum has bigger boobs than us,not knowing that hers will grow too.And I will have to think hard before I answer.

I picture her in kindergarten because obviously, that’s where fatherhood should start.You don’t win a Nobel by babysitting your and changing diapers.Leave that for females.She is in class, wearing a white blouse and a grey skirt, wondering who the hell feeds the sun because the teacher has just drawn a sun with eyes and a mouth.She doesn’t ask the teacher that question.Maybe she is afraid of her.Maybe she doesn’t trust her.You cant tell why children decides to keep thing for themselves,sometimes.But in the evening while I’m peacefully watching Papa Shirandula,I will have to mute the damn TV and explain who the fuck feeds the sun and whether it’s true Papa Jim can beat me up.The papa Jim I even don’t know about and I will have to assure my daughter that I can kick the shit out of him because his dozy son made my daughter cry, by saying his father can beat me up.Don’t ask me the obvious questions:what if he is the army guy?what if he is those mountain-like club’s bouncer guys?What if he’s a professional bank thug?

Years will rush that I will be astonished by how fast she will have grown big.

Life will happen.

The evening talks will drastically minimize.She will grow breasts and start locking herself in the room because she needs privacy.I will wonder what she does in the locked door she calls her privacy.I think this might break my heart.What do fathers feel at this stage when their daughter want to be away from them for their privacy?Do you feel dejected that you feel like deworming yourself with rat poison.But,I really want to see this.I want to shout on top of my voice because she has earphones thrust in her ears.

I dread to see this moment that a slim chap with a baby face,earphones stuck in her ears,wearing skinny jeans and chewing his shit will come home looking for her.Looking for MY daughter at MY home because just like me,he has a nice pair of balls and he loves her and he have something to give her.Something I can’t afford to give her.His member.The penis I would not hesitate chopping off given the opportunity because I know the son of a bitch is only here to fulfill his sexual drive and not the promises.But I will pretend that I grew up surrounded by the Vatican walls that I can hardly tell what a boy and a girl do behind the closed door.

I will eavesdrop him telling my daughter that I’m quite a nice guy.That he thought I would be hard on him.Bile will choke my throat with loathing.Loathing and not hatred,their is a difference.I will wish I had done a little destruction to that delicate baby’s face my daughter adored.Something to make her ask him that question men hate;are you the one?

It won’t be a simple task but I just want to experience it.C’mon a 25years grown ass can deal with this.

I will inwardly laugh when she lies,correct where necessary and support her education heartily.I hope she will love books because book will empower her.Books will help her differentiate when a guy is sincere and when he’s fucking around.She will be able to place people in characters she has read and judge wisely.

As I wait,don’t tattoo your breast,If at all you think you will be the mother..