My father was my hero. In some way, everything that I aspired to be was influenced by him. Even at an early age, I remember how awed my friends were when I told them what my father did for a living. As if the fact that he used to fly planes wasn’t enough; he also owned and operated the most successful nightclub in Lagos at the time. I still remember turning in a math assignment in secondary school and my teacher recognized my last name and asked who my father was. He regaled me with stories of how he and his friends would travel down from Enugu to Lagos on the weekends to party at the nocturnal oasis my father had created for Lagos’s young adults. He was cool in a way that I knew I wasn’t but always dreamt of being. Whether he was staring down the barrel of a shotgun that was aimed at his face (true story; I was there) or entertaining a group of his friends, he refused to let his emotions get the better of him. To be in his presence was to be in one of serenity and calm. That feeling is one that I will miss the most.
My father was my compass in this difficult world. He was a guiding light not just to his children, but to all those in his orbit. He was our North Star. He shared his wisdom, resources and time with those around him as he lead them towards success and comfort. There are so many of us that would not be where we are today without his intervention in our lives. He was consistent in pushing those around him to be better. He had higher expectations than we did for ourselves because he knew that we could achieve them. My father was my hero.
One unique thing about my father that I will always cherish is that he did his best to surround us with books. We worked for toys and video games, but for books, all we had to do was ask. I remember during school breaks, not being allowed to watch television till 3pm because he made us spend as much time as we could reading and taking in information. Now, I do crossword puzzles everyday because daddy read newspapers and I love comics because he would give me those sections before he even started his daily perusals.
I am so truly grateful that I was able to share the unique bond of father-and-son with him. My father was my hero. He was our protector. Our first and last line of defense against the cruelty of the world.
As I write this, so many memories run through my mind. My father gave me first swimming lesson, he introduced me to different types of music, he told us stories both fictional and about his life. He taught me responsibility. He taught me the value in humility and letting one’s actions speak for themselves. He didn’t talk too much because for him there was no value in wasting words, so you hung on to every syllable he uttered. He taught me what it meant to show love to others, and unlike many men of his generation, he was unafraid to speak on it. I wanted to be like my father so much that I learned through him that there was comfort in learning to be my own person, whoever that might be. Because that’s who he was. Completely confident in himself and who he was, so much so that he won the heart of a woman who was clearly taller than him.
My father is my hero. I am grateful that Jerry Anazia was my dad, and I would never have been able to repay him for what he gave and imparted on me even if he lived to be Methuselah’s age. Hopefully those of us that knew him can pass on what he gave us to those that are around us. In a world that has been inundated with superheroes, legends and myths, my father is still the only hero that meant so much to me. Rest in power Daddy. I know you are enjoying your time in Heaven so far.
Your baby boy, Kikachukwu.
