Photo: Omugurusi Ezera Kisigo Mulera @ 94 years on January 1, 2011
People in many parts of the world celebrated “Father’s Day” on Sunday June 15. Others celebrate it on other dates throughout the year. As usual, it was my granddaughter Kenyangye who reminded me that it was Father’s Day. Left to my own, the day would have silently passed into history with the ordinariness of most days of my life.
Though foreign to my African culture where celebration and honouring of one’s parent should be a daily event, Father’s Day is a great idea that I wholeheartedly support. Unfortunately, like most special days that enjoy special recognition, including Mother’s Day, it has followed the way of Christmas. Father’s Day is more about commerce and cards, merrymaking and mass messaging, than about its original purpose and meaning.
I am sure that you received Father’s Day greetings and best wishes from friends, colleagues and strangers that only “know” you through social media banter. Many do not know you. Their messages landed in your inbox because social media platforms address themselves “to whom it may concern.” They may be convenient and popular, but they are impersonal.
I saw messages on several social media groups in which the writers wished a “happy Father’s Day to all fathers on this forum.” The intentions were noble, albeit inconsistent with the original purpose of the day. It is Father’s Day, spelled as a singular possessive word, because the original purpose was to celebrate one’s father, not all men who have fathered children. That apostrophe after the letter “r” makes the day exclusive to one’s father. It is not a Fathers’ Day. Please note the difference.
It is true that Sonora Smart Dodd (1882-1978) of Spokane, Washington, USA, the founder of Father’s Day in 1910, acknowledged the fathers who had played that role in the United States. However, her idea was about serious, intimate celebration and sentimental connection with one’s father, not some ritualistic celebration of the general mass of men that had sired offspring.
The same applies to the modern Mother’s Day, whose celebration predated the modern Father’s Day by two years. Mother’s Day began at the initiative of Anna Maria Jarvis (1864-1948) of Webster, West Virginia, USA when she held a memorial celebration to honour her mother on Sunday May 10, 1908. Her mother had died under Anna Jarvis’s personal care on May 9, 1905. Whereas Jarvis advocated for recognition and honouring of all mothers and motherhood, she insisted on every individual meaningfully personalizing the day with their mother.
Not surprisingly, Mother’s Day was quickly hijacked by commercial interests and was watered down by those who saw an opportunity for yet another day for having fun off work. Like Christmas, which, in many parts of the world, is devoid of true celebration and connection with Jesus Christ, Mother’s Day and Father’s Day are a windfall for merchants. They are days where many people take advantage of social media communication to send one-line recycled messages whose lack of originality often speaks of emotional and sentimental emptiness.
I subscribe to the ideas and attitudes of the founders of Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. Whereas every day was Mother’s Day and Father’s Day while my parents lived, I used the designated days for special communication with them. I telephoned them or wrote letters to them in the pre-internet days. I expressed my unlimited gratitude and love for them in very personal and private language that not even my wife knew about. I did not send them material gifts on those days because I was, and I remain averse to the rituals of commerce and trinkets that substitute for deep and genuine expression of love and gratitude. I give gifts when I want to, not when I am told to.
What I wrote to my parents were my original thoughts expressed in my own words, not the words of some creative writer at Hallmark or other famous greeting card maker. In the words of Anna Jarvis herself, “a printed card means nothing except that you are too lazy to write to the woman who has done more for you than anyone in the world. And candy! You take a box to Mother – and then eat most of it yourself. A pretty sentiment.”
When my parents died, I switched to communicating with them in my thoughts. I do not call anyone else to wish them a Happy Mother’s Day or a Happy Father’s Day. Yes, I know the African tradition of many mothers and many fathers. I have two remaining biological maternal aunts whom I love very dearly. I have many female and male elders whom I adore, honour and respect with commensurate humility and gratitude. However, they are not substitutes for my mother or my father.
I never send special greetings to my friends and relatives on these designated days. I always respond to friends that send me a “happy Father’s Day” message with a polite reciprocal prayer for blessings upon them. I trust they do not take offence at the absence of reciprocal comment on their fatherhood. It is not my place to do so.
I spent most of this Father’s Day reflecting on the impact of my father’s death nearly six years ago. I read through the words that I shared with the congregation at his memorial service at All Saints Cathedral, Kampala on Thursday November 21, 2019. It was very uplifting to note that my words during that difficult time of grief reflected my memory of him today.
My father was a man that was truly larger than life to me; a huge tree that gave me life and shade; a mountain that, like Muhabura, was my faithful guide through life. He made decisions for me which turned out to be excellent and positively consequential. Some of the decisions literally saved me from myself. I am humbled by the memory of my disappointment with some of his decisions which turned out to have been spot on.
His character offered me a template that I was free to plagiarize for my benefit, or to reject and take the hard route through life. He was generous, kind, hardworking, honest, Godfearing, very loving, a clear-headed disciplinarian, fun-loving, down-to-earth, and easily forgiving. His generosity knew no bounds. His friendliness came very easily to him. His mistakes affirmed his humanity.
To me, he was not an ordinary father. He was my friend. He called me his brother. I trusted him without reservation. I knew that he was always in my corner. Above all, he granted me independence very early. The moment I became an adult, he let go and allowed me to make my choices and take responsibility for my life. I am eternally grateful to him, and the emptiness of his absence is a permanent part of my journey. It is well.
© Muniini K. Mulera