One thing about most fathers is that you don’t get to play with them especially when they are the disciplinarian types. My father was a teacher and a strict disciplinarian. He was the type that believed in the dictum that said, spare the rod and spoil the child. So I didn’t really get to play ball, go on a bike ride, jump and laugh with my father.

By a tweak of fate, by the time I was through with university, my dad was taken ill and never fully recovered until he passed away. But one day before he died, my dad surprised me. He said, Paul, sit down, let me teach you about generosity.

But before I share with you what my father taught me, this is a brief about my father. My father was a teacher. He was not just an ordinary teacher, he was a headmaster. Next to bank managers, teachers were the most respected people in society then. My father had what was referred to as Higher Elementary in those days – that was the early fifties. Higher Elementary was probably the equivalent of a West African Examination Council Certificate. But there is a huge difference. My dad was taught by the “white man” (the British). They inculcated in him a sense of duty, hard work, and community. There were hardly other teachers of his caliber that I knew.

My father excelled in agriculture and won awards. His barn was full of assorted yams, pumpkins, and other crops. Whenever agricultural exhibitions were held in the catchment area, district or division, my father invariably came out on top. I vividly remember some of his exhibits that were bigger, taller and fatter than me. Some were so big they had to be carried by hand-pushed trucks. Teachers in surrounding schools trooped in to learn from the magician – my father.

My father was as straight as an arrow when it came to integrity. All the relief materials during the civil war, amounting to thousands of tons (or millions of Naira if you like), were entrusted to my father. Funnily, even as we were starving, he never took a pin, even a tin of sardine, home. I guess he believed we were not refugees. I hated him then on that score. However, when I hear government people talk about corruption today, I remember my father with pride. To read more go here.