Fiction: Society Ills - Parenting

"These shoes are not where it should be", you lament as a start for the day. Your daughter was supposed to keep them in the racks properly, she never does. You are exhausted with the reprimands, she never registers this in her mind.

"Chidiebube, will you come here!" The murmuring of a deviant kid and shuffling of feet pads to your presence. "What's with this? How many times will I remind you that these shoes shouldn't be scattered?"

You keep ranting, moving towards her while gesticulating with your hands. She takes a step back and another till she is backed to the wall. She face is buried with her hands because she knows what awaits her.

You are angry, 'How dare she seem so unconcerned about your warnings?' You have to teach her a lesson. "Remove that nonsense from your face. Come on, look at me"

She heeds your voice, pull out her hands and stares right back at you. You gasp and now, it is your turn to take a step back. That look, that face reminds you of someone.

It reminds you of yourself in your childhood.

Suddenly, you are not an adult anymore. You are a 12 year old, living with your parents and siblings. You are back in your room with your 10 year old sister, jumping on the bed while reciting the "12 days of Christmas" song. The Christmas party is tomorrow and you are a part of the Carol.

You did not hear when he came in but you heard the slap to your back. You fall to the bed owing to unbalance as a result of your animated leaping on the bed. "Will you shut it! Shut up your mouth. Mechie ọnụ gị, You are disturbing the whole neighborhood."

You glance past him, your father and you see your mother. She looks back at you and you leer at her for a minute or longer. Your back feels numb. You are angry, bitter and pissed. She does not ever defend any of your siblings from his hands.

You try to remember when it all started. You are no longer 12, but 7 in elementary school. Your book is torn and you meet your father for help in fixing it up. He shouts at you and asks why you are careless enough to tear your exercise book. You are stunned, that was not hoe it should have gone. Infact, you did not tear the book, a classmate was responsible for that.

However, that was the beginning of your anger and bitterness towards him, your father but most especially, your being docile and willingness to be a perfectionist. 

You are back to the room with your daughter. She still has that look, that look you gave your mother for her wimpiness in the face of your father. That look you gave your father for his discipline.

"Yes discipline, that shaped me", you tell yourself. You reiterate it once again, to convince yourself that you are not wrong with your daughter. You needed the training then and she needs it now. After all, you turned out good.

"One day, she will thank me for this", you reckon and proceed to smack her in the face.