Ardo Zubairu
06-27-2007, 11:37 AM
"Ardo" my dad started, "We're moving out of this house. It's for the best. You and your brother are at the age where you need a backyard like I had. We’re moving out there Friday."
"But dad, that's my birthday! And all my friends are here!" I said in protest. “That’s why I'm talking to you" .Dad continued,"We were hoping that you're grown up enough to realize it's not the day that matters. In fact if you can wait a couple of days you'll have the best birthday ever. As for your friends, you're only in the third grade. If you were in senior secondary school about to graduate I could see why you wouldn't want to move but you'll make more friends. Trust me."
"Ok dad. I'll tell my friends and we'll have my birthday later." I said. The next few days passed with amazing speed. Friday rolled around and I gathered up my 3 or 4 friends, told them we were moving and I'd see them later. They said "Ok" then ran outside to play without me.
I walked back to the house that was once my home. Now, my brother, kawuri practically become my only friend. But In my worst nightmares, he sneaks up on me in my sleep and beats the living daylights out of me. Not that we have a violent sibling relationship, but the point is he could if he wanted to. I'm whimpy and he owes me some brutality. There was a time when I could torment him, and I didn't hesitate to do it. I'm five and a half years his senior.
Working to embarrass and irritate me. My brother has always like sports. As a mere tot, he always joined football games and donned shorts and moon boots to every night's neighborhood kick-the-can game. My jaw never failed to drop in horror when he appeared. Sometimes, the pressure was too much for me and I cracked.
"I'll get you when you sleep," I mumbled so only he could hear. I think occasionally I saw fear creep up on his face, but mostly he just yelled for Dad. Then, Dad yelled for me. My parents let him participate in the activities he wanted to and encourages him to never back from any competition, never accepting my helpful advice. I’m sure mom would have encouraged me to throw the ball around too, if it weren’t for that glass I broke. Beside, I really did not like dirt and preferred playing indoors. In other words, I was the last pick, which is a real ego killer. I was, and still am, a big talker, I express my opinion every chance I get and mom always said I should. I remember telling her to vote for Aminu Kano when I was 8 years old. She might not have fueled my interest in current events, but she did, eventually I studied journalism.
Meanwhile dad, an eloquent man with a simple idea, once told me to mean what I say and think about it before I say it. I told him that I should have called this column "Reminiscent idiot" for how often I just say and think what I mean but later wish I hadn't said anything at all. He agrees.
But now I print what I say, and to avoid making honest mistake, I do the only logical thing: LISTEN TO DAD. Which, in my opinion, I think everyone should do, because if everyone's dad is like mine, he's always right
Growing up, I devoured every book I could get my hands on; while my brother plays football. I wrote heart-wrenching plays about fourth-grade love affairs; he eventually stopped wearing moon boots, and I began to appreciate him more and more. When I came home from boarding school, we bonded over a basketball game. I decided to watch and show my support for my school, although sports bore me to tears. I really got involved in the game, and yelled when our team captain went up to take his shots. "Geez, they make him do everything!"
His patience streamed clearly in his reply. "Ardo, he got fouled."
Ahhhh, the game took on new meaning. Every time I came home from school, he appeared taller and towered over my six-foot-eight-inch frame. We look nothing alike, but when people find out we're brothers, they assume he is older.
.
Although someone had to tell me, height helps out in many sports. The gods of coordination have blessed kawuri, and he demonstrates his skill in volleyball. I attended my first of his university games two years ago. It enthralled me, forcing me to get up and cheer occasionally. He was at his best, especially when he pounded the ball to the gym floor on the other team's side.
My wrist hurt just watching. I stood in awe after the game thinking, all of this skill, and he does well in school too. It surprised me when he expressed worry over his speech class. I reassured him, saying he just had to get up and talk in front of his class. That, I soon learned, was the problem. He dreaded going to the front and nerves made his hands shake.
My empathy switch flicked to off. I just couldn't relate. After all, I enjoy presenting my views to anyone who will listen (or, in this case, read). In secondary school, I acted in plays. My mom always said I'll talk to a wall, if I have to. Kawuri told me he admired my nerve.
Exact opposites in most ways, my brother and I respect each other tremendously. This, however, does not make us sing songs of friendship or skip hand-in-hand down the road. We still bicker, but I feel confident asking his opinions. He opens up new avenues of my thinking and makes me explain my reasoning.
"But dad, that's my birthday! And all my friends are here!" I said in protest. “That’s why I'm talking to you" .Dad continued,"We were hoping that you're grown up enough to realize it's not the day that matters. In fact if you can wait a couple of days you'll have the best birthday ever. As for your friends, you're only in the third grade. If you were in senior secondary school about to graduate I could see why you wouldn't want to move but you'll make more friends. Trust me."
"Ok dad. I'll tell my friends and we'll have my birthday later." I said. The next few days passed with amazing speed. Friday rolled around and I gathered up my 3 or 4 friends, told them we were moving and I'd see them later. They said "Ok" then ran outside to play without me.
I walked back to the house that was once my home. Now, my brother, kawuri practically become my only friend. But In my worst nightmares, he sneaks up on me in my sleep and beats the living daylights out of me. Not that we have a violent sibling relationship, but the point is he could if he wanted to. I'm whimpy and he owes me some brutality. There was a time when I could torment him, and I didn't hesitate to do it. I'm five and a half years his senior.
Working to embarrass and irritate me. My brother has always like sports. As a mere tot, he always joined football games and donned shorts and moon boots to every night's neighborhood kick-the-can game. My jaw never failed to drop in horror when he appeared. Sometimes, the pressure was too much for me and I cracked.
"I'll get you when you sleep," I mumbled so only he could hear. I think occasionally I saw fear creep up on his face, but mostly he just yelled for Dad. Then, Dad yelled for me. My parents let him participate in the activities he wanted to and encourages him to never back from any competition, never accepting my helpful advice. I’m sure mom would have encouraged me to throw the ball around too, if it weren’t for that glass I broke. Beside, I really did not like dirt and preferred playing indoors. In other words, I was the last pick, which is a real ego killer. I was, and still am, a big talker, I express my opinion every chance I get and mom always said I should. I remember telling her to vote for Aminu Kano when I was 8 years old. She might not have fueled my interest in current events, but she did, eventually I studied journalism.
Meanwhile dad, an eloquent man with a simple idea, once told me to mean what I say and think about it before I say it. I told him that I should have called this column "Reminiscent idiot" for how often I just say and think what I mean but later wish I hadn't said anything at all. He agrees.
But now I print what I say, and to avoid making honest mistake, I do the only logical thing: LISTEN TO DAD. Which, in my opinion, I think everyone should do, because if everyone's dad is like mine, he's always right
Growing up, I devoured every book I could get my hands on; while my brother plays football. I wrote heart-wrenching plays about fourth-grade love affairs; he eventually stopped wearing moon boots, and I began to appreciate him more and more. When I came home from boarding school, we bonded over a basketball game. I decided to watch and show my support for my school, although sports bore me to tears. I really got involved in the game, and yelled when our team captain went up to take his shots. "Geez, they make him do everything!"
His patience streamed clearly in his reply. "Ardo, he got fouled."
Ahhhh, the game took on new meaning. Every time I came home from school, he appeared taller and towered over my six-foot-eight-inch frame. We look nothing alike, but when people find out we're brothers, they assume he is older.
.
Although someone had to tell me, height helps out in many sports. The gods of coordination have blessed kawuri, and he demonstrates his skill in volleyball. I attended my first of his university games two years ago. It enthralled me, forcing me to get up and cheer occasionally. He was at his best, especially when he pounded the ball to the gym floor on the other team's side.
My wrist hurt just watching. I stood in awe after the game thinking, all of this skill, and he does well in school too. It surprised me when he expressed worry over his speech class. I reassured him, saying he just had to get up and talk in front of his class. That, I soon learned, was the problem. He dreaded going to the front and nerves made his hands shake.
My empathy switch flicked to off. I just couldn't relate. After all, I enjoy presenting my views to anyone who will listen (or, in this case, read). In secondary school, I acted in plays. My mom always said I'll talk to a wall, if I have to. Kawuri told me he admired my nerve.
Exact opposites in most ways, my brother and I respect each other tremendously. This, however, does not make us sing songs of friendship or skip hand-in-hand down the road. We still bicker, but I feel confident asking his opinions. He opens up new avenues of my thinking and makes me explain my reasoning.