Franque Presents: Through My Eyes by M.O.N.C

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I swayed gently from side to side, then I felt myself being picked up; this was not me being rocked, it was different. I opened my eyes lazily and saw mother bending over me. Why will she not let me sleep? Hold on, when did I even fall asleep? I remember being put in my special seat, I remember mother leaning over me and pushing the clips of my seat together around my chest to hold me in place. I remember wondering briefly where we were going to this time, only briefly.

Maybe it is the coolness of the inside of the car, or the softness of my seat, or just the gentle rrrrrrr sound of the car as she drove. All I know is that here we are, the car is parked and mother is reaching in and lifting me out of this cool softness into the harsh brightness of the afternoon sun, and then there is the heat too. This heat cannot be for babies!

She holds me close and pats my back and I am preparing to return to sleep when I feel another pair of hands reaching for me. I try to turn and see who they belong to but too late, I am pressed against a hard chest. I hear the heartbeat and feel it too: strong and fast, though not as fast as mine. I lean back to see the face. The haze of sleep is lifting from my eyes and a face swims slowly into focus. I have seen this face before. I find that I am not afraid or alarmed.

I look to mother as she walks beside us, she is looking straight ahead. I look back to this face I remember. He looks down at me and smiles. Even in my sleepy confusion his smile does things to me. There is this feeling inside me, it is similar to how I feel when mother smiles at me and makes funny noises, yet it is different. I suspect this is another type of happiness. He leans closer and sniffs my neck, his nose pressed to the point between by right cheek and shoulder and it doesn’t feel strange – though mother usually buzzes my belly; I like it. Then he mumbles “I love you son.”  He is my father. I have looked for this face in every face I have seen since I last saw him a month ago.

He tries to press me to his chest, but I want to see his face, to drink in the sight of his chin covered in very short hair, his eyes brown and filled with love, even as he tells me those words over and over, his nose I can overlook if only because from my position I see more nostril hair than anything. His lips are almost an exact replica of mine except I have a cleft in my lower lip and he has a scar.

We walk into a very small room and mother moves to a corner, as far away from father as possible. I smile and stretch my hands to her hoping she will draw near to touch me, she stands in that corner and returns my smile, but makes no move toward me, I suspect it is because of him. She presses a button and it lights up, he presses another and I am wondering if we are not going to the same place; Are we not going to be together?  They stand there silent as I feel the room going up and then the room stops moving, the doors open and father walks out with me. I turn around and see mother is coming out with us too, and I relax again.

We walk into a very colourful room, more colourful than my bedroom and bigger too. Everywhere I turn there is a different colour, I cannot sit still; I want to see everything. There are also a lot of games. Already, I like this place. Mother asks a man there for the ‘play pen’ while father takes me into a shop. Here again there are toys and clothes and shoes and toys. Father greets the woman there and she smiles at us, making funny noises and expressing surprise at how alike my father and me look. I want to ask her what is strange about that, but my gum is itching; mother says it is because my teeth are growing. What do I need the teeth for? I suck my lower lip and grind my gums against it. Can this itching stop already?

After walking round the shop, I find a toy that I like and I let father know. This one makes noise and has flashing lights, unlike the stuffed animal he got me the last time. He gives me the money to pay and I squeal in delight. Feeling grown up, I let the woman take the money from me, and father told her to write my name on the receipt – my first purchase.

From there we go to the play pen and father joins me. Mother is sitting close by on a chair outside the area. Father unwraps my new toy and I start to shake it and press it, I want to make as much noise as I can. I am playing there with father taking my pictures when somebody brings this child into the pen. She is a girl and can walk about, which is more than I can do. I still need help standing up. Father tries to get me to talk to her, but why should I? Shebi she can stand by herself? She should go and play by herself jo.

I play with some other toys there and soon it is time to leave. Mother takes me from father and wipes my hands and face, then she puts a bib around my neck and gives me a biscuit while father continues taking pictures.

Downstairs in the car, she puts me in my seat again and works all those clips again. Father leans in and kisses me softly on the cheek, “I love you son,” he says and I feel a wrenching in my stomach. I want to cry and my face must have betrayed me because he smiled at me through eyes that reflected how I was feeling and said “I will see you again soon. Be good and take care of your mother.” He trusts me to take care of mother, I trust him to keep his promise. I smile as he gently shuts the door in my face.

PS: When the little girl joined us in the play pen, I wanted to teach M.O.N.C to be a gentleman. It was not like I wanted to teach him to pick up girls or anything like that. I pulled him up off his behind to his feet, holding his hand to support him. “Say hello,” I told him. Rather than look at her, he turned and gave me a look the meaning of which I could not mistake. Then he sat back on my lap and turned his back to the girl.

She walked round us on her tiny legs till she was standing in front of him. With hands on her thighs, she bent at the waist just enough to be at his eye level and then stood there. I looked from the girl, (probably fourteen months old) to my son and I started to laugh.

At 10 months, M.O.N.C had perfected a move that is classic, and it got me wondering, not for the first time, where he gets these things from.

Franque

Franque

“Franque is in aviation, which by the way is not his job, just a lifestyle. If he ever kept a diary it would read like his articles will. Unfortunately he doesn’t. Scratch that. He didn’t.AIRtiquette is a walk in his shoes. Since regular isn’t in his vocabulary, brace yourself for a bit of airwalking!” Follow @franque_521 on twitter.

26 comments

  1. He’s cut 4m d same fabric as U so why wonder?! Only MONC wnt wanna walk in Ur shadow hence he’s develop classic signs of his own identity, this boywonder of Yours 🙂

  2. Oooooooooo! D joy of fatherhood. There’s a different kinda pride a man feels wen his son is a handsome replica of him. U told d story so well like u were in his head. Perfect picture Franque

  3. Another teary day. I admit I’m not as gangster as I thought, this young man gets to me everytime you write about him. And those classic move you wondered about, I guess I’m wondering too…..

  4. Dear Franque, it is rather unfair to have me wake up to such ‘mushy-ness’ on a Friday morning when I’m trying to be badass. However, this has to be the cutest thing I’ve read in long while. So sweet, and innocent, and mushy, and cute, and …. On my! *wipes tear*
    Loveeeeeeeet!!!

  5. Good mornin family. Rained in ur hood? Will go check that my roof is still intact when iFinish here. Usually when iHost a writer here, there’s a 2nd post from me @ noon. But unless iWant to outdone by a 1yr old, iWill respect myself n wait till next Friday.
    @ MzSwitz: good mornin. 1st iSee. Congrats. How’s u?
    @ Smallz: and u know my response to that. Bless u dearie;
    @ Mateelly: iPromised him when he was born that iWould make him popular, but it would seem he is more than capable of doin so himself. What can a father say?
    @ Goody: iHav caught myself wonderin about that too, cos iKnow he can’t work a laptop or BB yet. My bet is he got into my head and made me do this for him – just the way he wants it. iGuess iWill never kno the truth unless he tells me himself how this happened :D;
    @ Kay: iPromise iWasn’t tryin to set him up with any women. iWill send u a foto with the said girl in the backgrnd – she came to him by herself;
    @ HRS: iLearnt gangsta was only in my mind on d day iFirst met him. He’s got me twisted in all kindsa knots since that day at the hospital, maybe even b4 then. How’v u been?
    @ Miz Parker: u shoulda told me about ur badass intentions on tym nau. Think u can wait for next Friday to be badass?
    @ MaBiJo: ‘sup?
    @ qhaycee: good mornim bruv, sup? As for talks of hitlist, iWouldn’t kno about that;
    @ Everyone_else: next Friday’s SHAFT Friday. My bank story apparently isn’t done yet. And if u r wonderin about AIRtiquette Friday, there’s one on the calendar pretty soon. Bless!

  6. “She is a girl and can walk about, which is more than I can do. I still need help standing up. Father tries to get me to talk to her, but why should I? Shebi she can stand by herself? She should go and play by herself jo.” <<< classic line…make i go crash o jare, na past midnight for my corner of the world here, lol

  7. well thought out!..
    Fastforward to M.O.N.C stepping out of ride, crowd cheering..stops for a moment for snapshots den ushered through the red carpet..finally makes it to his seat. A certain someone seated close by looks on in admiration..our star pauses for a while glancing in dat direction to acknowledge this grinning fan ..ur guess is as good as mine! (Rewind to today)Little missy at the gift shop? No! Of course its our stars manager cum dada..Franque!

  8. No tears here but I have the hugest grin on my face!!! Good MONC. Just like his daddy. iGiggled at the little girl though. Its ok, he’ll be a gentleman yet.. Especially with his daddy”s coaching! Loved it very much~

  9. Yep! He is his father’s son. Make ’em come to you. Ha ha ha! I just about died at the reasoning behind why the little girl should play by herself. And good save in the PS. You knew we were going to harrass you for teaching your child “bad thing”. Beautiful write-up!

  10. @ alibaba: iSalute sah. Rest easy;
    @ Olaedo: my sistah! It turns out he loves it o;
    @ blessyn: livin in the present, shey u will be MY manager?
    @ Bukunola: bless u;
    @ Ijay: iWould like to believe my influence was felt there sha;
    @ nengie: that’s my story and iAm stickin to it o;
    @ Blackpearl: He berra be a gentleman o, we can’t have 2 rakes in d family;
    @ ‘Roj: *sigh* yea, he can write so?
    @ Bel: But darling, how far? Of course iWouldn’t want to be teaching him ‘bad thing’. 😀
    @ Uk: he has to be better than his father o! He has no excuse;
    @ Sara-taffy: iConsider myself immensely blessed to have him as a son.

  11. Awww….I almost cried…I’m at work, man. I can’t be crying all willy-nilly. Plus I’m a G. This was beautiful…it’s great that you spend time thinking about life from your child’s perspective.

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