Father Moses
It is Father's day; I know we hop on every holiday we find on this part of the world, I might just hop on this too. It is way past noon; I almost wrote nothing for my father, I did not feel like it. As the years go by, and I have to leave my father's bosom and set out on my own and all of those adultish things we do, I mostly miss growing up with him. I have probably said it a thousand times over that I wish I was twelve-years-old, but I am not, so I will not go into the details of all that right now. By the way, in the year 2021, my first full-fledged novel would be published, and it would be a story about my amazing father. But today, I can share some of my most cherished moments with him. Moses is the name my father adopted after he became Born Again, and he would write the name with such pride on every notepad he owned. My Sister and I, while growing up, were dad's eyeballs, it was so clear. Yoruba people call mothers "abiyamo," and I, unfort