Two cheers for the young men in my life

When the stripping of women for ‘indecent’ dressing hit the pick recently, I was among the most disappointed people. So I walk home one evening and lament to my sons about the primitive incidents.

Jerry, the eldest, asked me why nobody had ever held a demonstration to protest against the men who are washed in public (by fellow men).

He equated the stripping of women to the public bathing of the men. Then I was reminded of the fact that I am the only girl in the house because his brother Wayne, supported him fully.

Well, those are the men in my life. Jerry is 23, while Wayne turns 21 on Saturday.

Sometimes I wonder why God never gave me a daughter to defend me at such ‘crucial’ times. My men complain that I am so pro-girl-child that I tend to forget that I have them.

I have always been on the receiving end. It was worse when their father was still alive (Rest in peace Kenny) — it was always one against three.

I am not a football fan but I was forced to watch football — the men were in charge of the TV remote control most of the time.

If we had to vote on what to watch they always won. I am not a sports enthusiast but I am an Arsenal fan; not that I even know who the players are, but because the men in my life support the team.

Jerry, unfortunately, is asthmatic and whenever Arsenal loses a match, I get stressed because this is enough to trigger an asthma attack.

These men who come from a family that so much adores cricket and made me spend days watching the game when their father was still alive.

I swear I do not know what an innings is; but we would leave home in the morning and spend a whole day at a sports club watching the game.

I can tell you those were some of the longest days of my life because only daddy and his sons understood and enjoyed what was going on.

Now when I lost my hubby eight years ago, I had to try and fit into daddy’s shoes for my adorable men. I thought to myself, “I have to be strong for the boys”. 

Coincidentally, the then little men thought they should protect mum; and that is something they have perfected.

I am showered with love to bits. Love does not have to come in words.

When I get home in the evening and find a flask of tea for me on the table, prepared by one of them.

Isn’t that love?

I can maintain my manicure because my men, who despite being over 18, will do the dishes without me asking them to do them.

They will boil rice, cook ugali or even make the stew if need be.

When they do such things I always ask God to forgive me for lamenting that he never blessed me with a daughter.

When I am out late, I will always get a call back message from one of them. When I call back, the question is always, “Mum where are you? What time will you be home?”

Then I realise that my husband could have died but there are still some men in my life.

(To be continued)