ACCEPTANCE 5
He knew he wasn’t supposed to remember but he did. He was so excited when the bus left his home town. He enjoyed road trips, looking at houses and trees never ceased to please his seven year old senses. His mother had told him that they were going to meet his father for the first time and this was the best news he had heard all his life. He wore the best clothes he had, which were the ones his mother had bought for him three years back. Sure they were a little jumpy in length and he couldn’t find a good comb to comb his hair but he made sure he used more than enough salt to brush his teeth so that his father could be pleased. He wondered why his mother had never told him about his father before today. He couldn’t think much about it because now, he’d stop asking because he was about to meet his father. Jide and the other children at school could stop teasing him and calling him a bastard now because he was going to meet and know his father. He could stop praying every night to God for a father because now he had one, he would be able to tell the whole world about his father instead of crying when asked. Now he could have someone to be like, talk like and learn from. Now, he could go to bed thanking God for his daddy and for knowing that he was not a bastard.
“Get that boy out of here, he is not my son. I have a family and my sons will soon be back from school.” Those were the only things his little ears heard. He would fixate on those words and never forget them. His little face grew hot with pain. It felt like when Jide and his friends were calling him a bastard again. He was ashamed. His father didn’t want him. He wondered if it was something he did; could it be because he ate the biscuit he had wanted to give his father. How did he know? His attempt to tell his father that he was sorry was met with a roar that scared the life out of little Dare. Maybe Jide was right, maybe he was really a bastard.
The journey back home was the longest he had ever had. He saw his mother crying, crying so much that he started to cry himself. She never seemed to be the same after that day and she didn’t live long enough to explain why. He felt all the more unwanted after her passing. He was lonely especially now that his mother had died. No one in school wanted to be friends with a bastard. Only grandma was there for him. Only she knew how he felt; only she reassured him, loved and comforted him. Only she could read him, only she could hear what he didn’t say. She was the only one that made him feel wanted. But she too passed.
Don't forget to come back later for the last part of the story. Tell your friends about Fictions, follow us on the blog and like our Facebook page @Fictionsblog
“Get that boy out of here, he is not my son. I have a family and my sons will soon be back from school.” Those were the only things his little ears heard. He would fixate on those words and never forget them. His little face grew hot with pain. It felt like when Jide and his friends were calling him a bastard again. He was ashamed. His father didn’t want him. He wondered if it was something he did; could it be because he ate the biscuit he had wanted to give his father. How did he know? His attempt to tell his father that he was sorry was met with a roar that scared the life out of little Dare. Maybe Jide was right, maybe he was really a bastard.
The journey back home was the longest he had ever had. He saw his mother crying, crying so much that he started to cry himself. She never seemed to be the same after that day and she didn’t live long enough to explain why. He felt all the more unwanted after her passing. He was lonely especially now that his mother had died. No one in school wanted to be friends with a bastard. Only grandma was there for him. Only she knew how he felt; only she reassured him, loved and comforted him. Only she could read him, only she could hear what he didn’t say. She was the only one that made him feel wanted. But she too passed.
Don't forget to come back later for the last part of the story. Tell your friends about Fictions, follow us on the blog and like our Facebook page @Fictionsblog
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