By Dr. Dennis Acop
There was a man who had a son. This man was not that rich but he gave all he could to his son because he loved him. Not wanting his son to suffer like he had out of poverty from the war, he invested a good part of his hard-earned money into his son’s education. But the boy squandered away this charity that was gifted to him by his father. He preferred to do as he pleased often lying to his father that he was doing as he was told. Much to the father’s disappointment, his son never graduated. The father had warned his son that being poor and not having a degree was like being condemned to a life of perpetual poverty for a man and his family. Citing his own experience with poverty, the father said that he had vowed to spare his own son from such. He tried to discipline his son and correct his ways to put him back on the right track, but to no avail. The son would behave for only a few days but was right back to his old lazy ways beyond that.
Then the son decided to marry. Not only was the son without a stable job but the girl he married no longer finished school herself due to her getting married to the son. Perennially hopeful, the father thought that even without a degree, his son could still make it in the world since his now changed status would make him responsible enough to try harder on behalf of his new wife and soon to be growing family. But his son soon jumped from one promising venture onto another without success as he would quit at the slightest hint of difficulty and challenge. Such became the life of the son even through the birth and growing up years of his only child. Had it not been for his wife who ended up providing for their family, along with occasional charity and loans from concerned family and friends, his family probably would not have survived. There were times when the son brought home the bacon, but such were very rare. There were good breaks handed to him out of charity from well-meaning folks including foreigners, but even these opportunities were squandered away by the son due to either pride, plain laziness, or just other personal reasons.
When the son reached the end of the rope through all the years, he began to blame others for his misfortunes but never himself. He owed sums of money to various folks and hid from them when he was unable to repay his debts. Loaned capital money squandered away to gambling and unnecessary spending. In time, he owed so much money that he had to juggle any amount he could lay his hands on just to pay off urgent loans while piling up new ones. That he had to lie to his wife about the money she had entrusted to him. Among other things. He began to engage in corruption and other illegitimate money-making schemes. Even involving innocent relatives and friends in the process. His blame game spared no one: siblings, uncles, friends. But most especially his own father. Somehow his father was not kind enough. Not generous enough. Did not love him enough. Was not good enough. He talked ill of other people, especially those who criticized him even if the criticisms were true, painting them in a bad light but always sparing himself. His flawed feelings of entitlement blinded him gradually away from everything that was decent and true. He acted like everyone owed him something when in truth no one owed him anything. But he did owe himself. His own decency, conscience, and dignity a long time ago when he lost them and never made a sincere effort to turn around.
The son’s descent into his irreversible nothingness began when he made his own father the root cause of all his pain and suffering. For none deserved such irreverent condemnation. Certainly not his father who had only meant well for him since the day he was born. He had nurtured this child and schooled him. He had supported him and given him shelter when he had none. He had always been a father even when the son decided to no longer be his son. For years the son never came to visit his father in his old age even if father and son lived close by. The son treated his father as if his father was already dead. Some would go as far as to say that the son hated his father. He never communicated with him. He refused support offered by the father because he wanted more. He always took from the father. But he never gave.
The father finally died. Suddenly, the irreverent son was there even leading the prayers for his dead father. The son’s gesture was too little too late. If it was even real. For how could the son, who did not honor his father in life, honor him now in death? The hypocrisy of it all screamed in the silence of all who witnessed what was happening. Mouthing words only he understood, the son pretended as if he did right by his now dead father all along. But all the mourners knew who the son truly was. Only the son knew not who he really was. And kept introducing himself to whoever cared to listen. And when he introduced himself, it was as if he was under the impression that the wake was not about his dead father but about him. He had practically lived his life with only one focus — himself. Everyone or everything else was merely a blur. Each time he uttered, it was about him or spiteful of others. Other human beings he spoke of were portrayed smaller and him bigger. And spoken of with sarcasm and an ethnocentric tone. Truth is that this irreverent son had long been irrelevant to his family. In substance even if it was not always apparent in form. Even the son probably knew this deep down. More for his own sanity, he just had to pretend that he still belonged. Though most of his life had been a pretense. In essence, he no longer belonged where he stood. His family was better off without him. He was irrelevant.
