My dear son,
Many, many moons from now you will be born. I cannot precisely quantify it in terms of years as yet but truth be told, that ‘many moons’ phrase sounds really medievally chic. On the day of your birth however I will be an elated man.
More so because you will not be the outcome of a dubious encounter between a reckless man and an enstranged ‘campus diva’. You will be borne of a loving mother and a caring father. You will be the seed of my loins and your handsome features an uncanny reflection of your mothers beauty. I will be proud of you, so much that if pride swapped places with helium for just that one day, I would be halfway into the stratosphere and probably croaking like Donald Duck.
When you transit from the comfort of your mother’s womb and gasp for your first breath, I will be there. You will be a slimy mess son, I know, but I will be there. It will be a perilous time for you. The warmth and cushioning that her uterus provided, the nourishing she gave you and the peace, calm and quiet that homely chamber posesses will be suddenly gone. In their place will be a bright and cold pandemonium, noise everywhere and large hands holding your minute frame. At some point, you will even have to cry. Ironically as this will be for you, I will welcome you home.
I promise not to give you a name you cannot pronounce.
As you grow, your mother and I will nurture you. You will learn the value of honesty, hardwork and mental stubborness from your mother. When the epiphany of right versus wrong overtakes you, I will be there to guide you. I will show you how to be a free thinker son just as your grandfather taught me. I will let you follow the path that the flames of your ambition clear for you. You will never be wrong. You will only learn.
You have to realize that my letter to you is written with the ink of optimism on the parchment of hope. These are trying times son. The government scorns its workforce while favoring the upper ranks. It soils the healthcare system and takes education for granted. It puts the rich on a pedestal and leaves the poor alienated and desolate. Such is life as per now. But there’s hope, there is always hope.
In your time my son, our lives will be different. Condoning impunity will be a thing of the past. Exploitation of the masses by a powerful, selfish handful will be non existent. The thwarting of efforts gunning towards fulfillment of basic needs and empowerment for all will be history. Intolerance to societal views and beliefs will have dissipated and our opinions will be open and unifying. Our country and humanity as a whole will perhaps be slowly gravitating towards utopia. When such times are upon us, you will flourish son. We will all flourish.
Meanwhile, I strive in my own meager ways to prepare for such a future. After all change begins with self. Needless to say, I would like only the best for you my son; just like any good father would.
P.S. On the day of your birth, the doctor may inflict pain on you so that you can breath. Fear not son for on another occasion their progeny will come to birth and a doctor will again smack the bejesus out of their behind. Then and only then son will we have our revenge.
Your prospective father.