I have to be honest. I’m one of the people that think mums go a certain school to learn the art of slapping.
Or maybe it’s a woman thing.
But it seems as though mothers have it on lock the most. I mean, they so understand the art – they know what effect to create by hitting you with a particular part of their hand. They know how to shock you, hurt you, jerk tears from your eyes and so on.
The Art Of Slapping.
The first time; (as far as I remember) I ever got intimate with the flat of a woman’s hand was via my mum. It was also the day I learnt that the human mind also receives static – just like the TV used to; back in the day before the multicolored lines appeared; before the National Anthem was sung.
Anyways, that fateful night she’d sent me to go get something for her from a neighbor’s store. I hurried out of the house because the store belonged to one of my friend’s mum and there was always some gist to catch. On arriving the store, I met my friend and a couple of girls.
Now, it’s important you understand; I was still in my teens and something was really worrying me back then. I think it was around the time a senior in school had pointed out to me that the thing on females’ heads was not fire or flames; it was just hair – just like I had. So I was raring to practice my newfound confidence on every available female.
You can imagine my delight when I spotted the two ‘victims’.
Without much ado I began to flow and postulate and…I was sha yarning a lot of what I realize now must have been dust; but neither I nor the girls noticed.
Something else I forgot to notice?
I was so carried away with what I was saying and the looks on the girls’ faces that – I had entirely forgotten someone was waiting for me at home.
The first inclination of trouble I had was an eerie feeling that someone was standing behind me – and I guess that was what made the whole thing worse.
I turned – and therefore what should have been a slap; something designed for just my ear ended up hitting my ear AND eye.
I think I tuned in to the satellite that gave NTA feeds that night. NOTE: It was night, and there was no power.
But all that made no difference. I was receiving static loud and clear.
Somehow, I staggered from that store and made it home without bumping into anyone or anything. How I did that, till now I haven’t figured out.
But this is my point. That slap set me straight.
And that; the ability to slap the sh*t out of any living thing, was the least of my mum’s talents. She definitely slapped a lot of nonsense out of me – not to talk of the other things; the caning, flogging…
She saved my life.
She died two years ago (August 27th) – a day to her birthday. And in spite of the pain that hasn’t diminished even the slightest – it’s as though she jumps out from behind the shadows of every naughty kid being chastised by a loving mother – I still have so many reasons to be thankful she was my mum. The above was just one of many.
I just wanted to wish her a Happy Birthday; and maybe take her out to Chicken Republic like I did, on her last birthday alive – and feed her ice cream while the other customers looked offended; thinking I was there with my sugar mummy…
Happy Birthday Momma!