Just so you know, I am a man – a very good man indeed but I am one the few countable on the streets. Now and then I drink and spend money recklessly like many but I still go home to feed my pets and everything I’m responsible for. Personally, I love the art of sex, but only when it is safe to do so. I have a packet of condoms in my room for obvious reasons. You cannot say I cheat because I’m in no stable relationship. My relationships start when I get in the bar, buy her a few Castle Lager cans, pull her neck to my room for the price of my beer money, tell her to put on her panties back on and show her the door – that’s where it ends. Now I know many of you will think I am mean but your daughters do just this. And if not, your son or husband is just like me – I think. I have arsenal full of protection gimmicks ranging from condoms, abortion pills, morning-after pills and all the juju that will prevent any victim to enter a maternity ward under my name. By now you are all on heat and wonder how all this horrible can be in one person. To be honest, I do not want to be a father, at least not now. It is a f@#king full-time job and I do not want to be one of the many who dodged their responsibilities. My disability here is my love for sex thus it is my responsibility to make sure it does not materialize into some child with some bar lady and shabeen queen.
It is for this reason that Father’s Day has zero significance compared to the other day when men are pushed in shops to buy happiness and remembrance of the days of pushing. I refuse such torture. You see, I have come to economically analyse my life and concluded that there is a cheaper and more fun way to live life than to imprison myself with responsibilities and be ashamed for not fulfilling them. Firstly, diapers are freaking expensive – I could buy a crate of beer and a few ciders for company. Secondly, the price of Formula milk is equivalent to paying house utilities but condoms are free unless I want flavoured sex. Plus, a friend will always have a packet for a few first aid rounds. Babies need attention unlike beer that ends when I have depleted my wallet. Lastly, failure to go to a bar has zero consequences, unlike the failure to send monthly maintenance money. That madam will take your pimpled butt to court for refusing to share your premature salary. The other thing I like about my ‘responsible’ life is the fact that those in my life who feel ill-treated have the right to leave. I will always get some ignorant and blind one. So I did myself a rough budget on an estimated crisis that could seize my wallet. N$1 400 for the nanny, N$400 for milk since city girls don’t like breastfeeding, N$600 for diapers, and maybe N$200 for food equals a sad N$2 600. This amount is devoid of medical expenses and clothing. Mothers would know best as it may even cost more than my conservative calculation.
To come clean, we have enough absent fathers. They are not even absent because they were never registered present at any glance. Many ‘fathers’ we have today are a result of failed abortions, condom breaks, Windhoek Lager consequences and other bedroom blunders. Now with all this knowledge under my nose, is it really fair to consciously fill in that fatherhood application when I’m already struggling with paying attention for the few women in my life on contract. To all you lovely women whom I’ve not met yet, I respect the crap you go through caused by idiotic guys like me who refuse to grow up and assume their responsibilities. So with all the love I have for you, kindly, with no second thoughts – stay away from me. Do not be tempted by the sweet words or promises because all that is a fallacy. I have zero nip of responsibility to taking care of a child. Sometime I even forget to bathe. The only thing I can manage is making sure you will not tweet. And just so you know, there are so many of us out there who look like real able fathers but it is all a deception.
Many of my kind will be celebrating Father’s Day with you without shame. Some have been last seen their children only on baptism days. It’s a pity some children do not even know their fathers – all they have about them is the surname if the mother was kind enough. I refuse to be the above. At least for now. For those who are oblivious of what it takes to be a good father, I urge you – the head of your uncircumcised pipi is too small for goodness sake so by no means should you allow it to do the thinking for you. It’s not easy friends. Stop being a mere sperm donor and abstain if you cannot be a good father. Don’t be like me either.