Growing up, I was practically a walking, talking photocopy of my father. From my nose to my eyes and even my gait, you’d think he cloned me himself. 😂
In every school I attended, there was always that one person who’d boldly walk up to him on visiting day and ask,
“Are you Titilayo’s dad?” And it wasn’t because we shared the same complexion, he was much fairer than I was. But our resemblance? Unmistakable.
Even the way we walked had people chuckling, like two soldiers on parade. The only difference? I’ve since learned to tone mine down unless I’m chasing a bus or trying to catch up with time (or rice at a party 😅).
Now, despite this clear carbon-copy status, my dear father had a very unique way of expressing his displeasure. Anytime I did something to annoy him, no matter how small, he’d whip out one word with the speed of lightning:
“Bastard!”
That was his go-to word. And I’m not talking about under-his-breath mumbling. No.
Full-blown, public announcement system style. I used to cry, wondering why my own father would call me such a name, but over time, I just got used to it.
Like, “Ah, he’s angry again… wait for it… there it is. Bastard.”
But the twist came one day, and I’ll never forget it.
It was my mum’s 50th birthday. No big party, just a warm lunch gathering with about 15 family and friends. Plates were clinking, gist was flying, egusi soup was making the rounds, everything was going fine. And then, just like that, I must have said or done something (to this day, I still don’t remember what), and true to form, my dad turned sharply and shouted across the room:
“Bastard!”
And then it happened.
The entire room erupted. Every single one of the 15 guests couldn’t hold it in. Even his younger brothers burst out laughing. In between their chuckles, one of them shook his head and said, with that classic Nigerian brand of sarcasm:
And then it happened.
Laughter, Deep, loud, uncontrollable.
The whole room, all 15 guests, lost it. His younger brothers were there too, and with pure sarcasm, they said something along the lines of,
“Well, the man who fathered this bastard must have looked exactly like you, because the resemblance is not even arguable.”
The shade was real. 😭
I think that moment struck a chord in my dad, because after that day, he never called me that word again. Not even in anger. Maybe he stood in front of the mirror later that evening, stared at his reflection, and whispered to himself,
“Ah… I can’t even lie, this child na my copy.”
And guess what?
Every time I walk past a mirror and catch a glimpse of my “soldier-on-parade” walk or see my father’s exact frown flash across my own face, I smile.
Because carbon copy or not… I’m definitely my father’s child.
(But thank God the B-word era has passed. 😂)
Born as Titilayo Oladimeji, I have been known by the nickname Titipetral for nearly two decades. I am a Financial Advisor at a reputable financial institution in Lagos, Nigeria, with over 10 years of experience in Financial Advisory and Credit Analysis. I am also an author and the founder of Titipetral Publishers, a duly registered publishing company.
In addition, I lead the Titipetral Empowerment and Development Network (TEDN), a duly registered philanthropic initiative dedicated to supporting underprivileged girls, boys, women, and men in the Alimosho area, Nigeria’s most populated local government, focusing on serving the underserved.
For inquiries or collaboration, you can reach me at Titilayooladimeji@titipetral.com or titipetral@gmail.com.