It’s a fine time to be a father. A great time actually, because the bar our fathers set is absurdly low. I mean, how hard was it to be a father in the 70’s or 80’s?
I told someone that Tony was up this week to write about fatherhood and they said astonished, “What? Tony is a father?!” And I said, “Yep, kwani? Why are you surprised?” and they said,
Sam, my barber for dogs years, wears his trousers just above his navel. He’s always worn them that way. That’s who he is, that’s his equilibrium. His world feels safer that way. He’s very neat,
Julie Masiga is a lawyer turned journalist. Trained law in the UK, worked in a law firm, came back to Kenya in 2000, worked for some NGO working with refugees, resigned, became a freelance writer,
Sometimes I run into a male reader who says, “Your fatherhood pieces sometimes makes me wish I was a father. You must be good at it.” I’m not. Truth is, there are many fathers I know who I admire who are fully engaged and seem more involved.
The soundtrack of my relationship with my father has always been silence. It filled every crack and cranny, sipped in and cemented our interaction like melted cheese. He was always there without being there.