Trait from dad

I dragged my feet lazily into the house through the front door; dusk readily enveloped me with casting shadows; my school uniform was sparsely loosened as I pushed the door gently open, giving a slight creaky sound; and as usual, I didn't meet my dad at home as I expected. He was mostly out of the house whenever I returned from school, oftentimes coming back drunk when I would have slept. I helped myself to the kitchen after dropping my school bag in my room. I needed to satiate the hunger bites that ravaged my stomach. An unusual but sweet aroma welcomed me as I stepped into the kitchen. My eyes noticed the neatly washed and arranged dishes while my nostrils danced to the tune of the sweet aroma of jollof rice in a cooler. I was thirteen years of age, and since the past seven years my dad got widowed, I had never seen him cook or perhaps been there as I wanted. I was forced to quickly mature, betrayed only by estrogen, even though my body changes gradually became obvious.

I smiled, not just because my dad cooked for the first time in a while but because it was Nigerian jollof, my favorite meal. It's a food I never got tired of eating, and cooking it was never a difficult task. I was equally exhausted, and this miracle was needed after the vigorous practice I had in school earlier, in preparation for the final inter-house sports event where I represented my house and colleagues in the girl's 100-meter sprint race. Parents would come around just as they did in previous years, and just as before, the cheers I received and expected were those of my fans.

After eating the rice with pleasure, I took out a small piece of paper and wrote a thank-you note on it. 'Thank you, dad, for dinner; I loved it, and it's enough to boost my morale against tomorrow's inter-house finals'. Shortly after, I had zoomed to Dreamland, and like a snap of fingers, dawn drew me out of the sleep I enjoyed.

It was a Wednesday morning, and I had slept a little later than my usual wake time of 6 a.m. I jumped and headed to the kitchen, making custard while boiling water to bathe. I practically multitasked, which was unusual, but at a faster pace this morning so as to meet with the school bus by 7:30 a.m. I noticed the center table was void of the letter I dropped there last night. A smile was gently carved on the corners of my lips. Within a jiffy, I was set for school, and as a ritual, I took a quick glance into my dad's room. He slept peacefully, as though the world were his and at his beckon. I loved him dearly, even though he could not fill the void of loneliness that constantly haunted me. We were each other's companions even though he barely had time for me, of course, unless during the weekends.

The honk from the school bus jolted me out of my thoughts, and I dashed out to board the bus. The school was dazzling with beautiful decorations for the inter-house sports. Parents and other invited schools made the crowd look like a mini-stadium, as the tents were barely enough to accommodate the guests. I changed into my sportswear of a blue short and shirt, stretching my body to free and flex my muscles.

"I'm Mr. Adefila Theophilus, and you can call me Theo; my daughter is Christiana Theophilus." I heard the loud speakers at different segments of the game field. I knew my dad's voice, and I was convinced that he was the one. I rushed to the field, where I stood with my colleagues and coach. I wondered why he never hinted that he would come; however, I was glad he did. There, I saw my dad standing among other parents to compete in a 100-meter dash. It was usually fun and amusing to see parents compete like us, but this time around, it was a mix of surprise, happiness, and concern. I knew my dad would not win; he was a bit obese and not too tall. I saw him clasp his hands severally and stretch his body in preparation for the race. Other competitors looked more physically fit than my dad and obviously would win the race. The whistle blew, and like a thunderbolt, I saw my dad leap with agility and carriage into the air as he led the group of parents on the track. Here,I saw a different side of my dad that I never knew existed; perhaps I picked unknowingly some traits from him that I didn't realize.

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The crowd cheered and chanted. Theo and I became super excited, seeing my dad lead the parents to the finish line. Within a twinkle of an eye, the table turned, my dad missed a step, and with a loud thud, he hit the ground. The crowd unanimously screamed with concern; their favorite sportsman was on the ground. I ran out of the crowd to help my dad up, only to see him struggle and stand to his feet again. He wasn't drunk, I assured myself, but he looked funny as he gained his balance. The crowd once again cheered and chanted his name. I returned to my spot; my dad was fine and was back in the race. He dragged behind other parents and ended up in third place out of the six parents that participated.

The commentary for my dad was heartwarming, intimating the crowd that Theo's daughter was one to dazzle them soon, a trait of sportsmanship in the family. I ran to my dad and enveloped myself in his arms, which he spread out for me when he saw me approaching. A medic attended to his foot, which may have sustained a sprain.

"Dad, you surprised me; thank you very much!" I said as we disengaged.

"I'll do anything for my Queen." My dad said it with a smile as he planted a kiss on my forehead. I felt elated and invigorated.

"I'm fine, champ; now go and make me proud." He continued.

"Surely, dad," I said, and I jogged to where my coach stood with my other colleagues. All I needed at that moment was the tracks; my spirit had already won the race, waiting for my body to manifest physically.

The whistle finally blew for the race to begin, and a surge in adrenaline bolted my feet like lightning. Ta-da! I won the race, and the commentator once again reminded the crowd that I was Mr. Theo's daughter. My head did swell with pride as I danced back into my dad's waiting arms.

He was given a chair to sit in, and I could see he had licked a lot of powdery glucose. I sat on his lap and hung my arms around his neck. I was my dad's little angel, and I was glad that I got all of his attention for my life.