My father, my mother, and more

Sometimes I think about my parents and I wonder if I'll ever see them again. Don't get me wrong: this is just wishful thinking on my part. Nonetheless, I hope they see each other again in the afterlife because I think they got along well in their life on Earth.

I am one of those children who read the dance of the relationship between my parents from a distance. From what I have seen, although children's attempts to interpret their parents' emotions and gestures may be flawed, I can confidently say that my mother loved and respected my father. For example, day after day, she made sure his food was prepared and placed on his private dining room table, which was located in a small dining room between his bedroom and the family living room.

She served him dinner the way he liked it when he liked it, with a basin in the corner of the table with water for washing and a white towel next to it to dry his wet hands.

I also believe my parents had a good relationship because my father gave my mother the space to be herself and do what she did, including owning her own business and helping and funding anyone she wanted to help. My mother once told me that this liberal act meant a lot to an Igbo Nigerian like my father.

As a couple, my parents complemented each other. But as individuals, they have different lifestyles. Their differences affect the way they deal, interact, and dialogue with people. While my mother doesn't like to give people space and will confront anyone, my father is used to letting people continue to say what they think and then contradicting them.

Sentence by sentence, my mother would stay with her interlocutors throughout the discussion until there was an outcome. During the conversation, she would check on you at every turn of the corner. "Stop right there," she would say in the middle of the conversation. "Repeat what you said." She may feel that if she can't get her interlocutor to respond immediately, they may weave a web of shenanigans that will be more difficult to undo, or they may dig up an evil that is too serious to redeem.

"Wait, let me answer you," my mother would say when an interlocutor made the first point. She would insist that you wait until she rebutted. Back-and-forth rebuttals were her method. For her, there was no need to wait and listen for people to spew out their hate or misinformation. Maybe this was her way of safely having a conversation. The way my mother handled conversations and situations may have been due to lessons learned while raising ten children who needed immediate adjudication.

On the other hand, I believe that my father often seemed to know where his interlocutors were going and waited for them to conclude. "My friend," he would ask one interlocutor, "are you finished?" Then, counting on his fingers, he would pick out a narrative, one sentence at a time, "That's where I disagree with you."

Give a man enough space and the truth will be clear, which seems to be the way my father handled his daily relationships. Interruptions make people weave around the facts. I barely remember him interrupting the narrative while listening to an adult. My father never considered whether it was smart. He knew where people's narratives were going to go and waited for them. His speech was methodical and precise. There was no confusion. People always knew where he stood.

Although my parents have joined their ancestors, I still refer to their spiritual presence and personal power in my daily life and relationship activities.