Teacher John

I rarely tell this story because I rarely get the chance to, but now, I believe it’s the right time to share with you. September was my birthday month and to be honest, it was the best birthday month, wishes granted and prayers answered even though things look worse, the important part is I had really prayed for some things and they were answered.

Being a kid who was raised to everything good in life, the penthouse, good education, things shifted from a hundred to zero, from having two parents to a single parent, living in good neighborhood to the ghetto because my mom chose to walk away from violence and being a happy independent woman and teach us how your life is determined by the choices you make. Starting from the bottom is not cute at all. It is right because you acquire skills but, IT IS NOT CUTE BECAUSE IT IS ROUGH.

My mom has been strict on spirituality and so church was not and has never been a subject of debate and hence here I am, the result of “teach your children in a certain way and they shall not depart from it…” we enrolled in Sunday school and developed a bond with our Sunday school teachers. My favorite being Teacher John, Chris and Becky. Our second born, Teacher Chris and Rhoda while our last born was small to attend Sunday school.

If you are to join Sunday school, you were put in the database and it included dates of birth and one Sunday every month we would celebrate our birthdays. I was of age and knew what it meant to have a birthday but still understood that mom could not afford a cake or present. I came from school and got out of my uniforms as usual, did my homework and was almost out to bask the remaining heat from the sun setting.

Let me take you back to the Sunday to the birthday week, I used to hot tempered. I would easily hurt someone if I felt I was hurt in any way. Maybe it is because I knew I had lost a lot and if I was to keep anything for myself, I would have to fight for it. Someone crossed my path on Sunday while we were at dance rehearsals and I got so mad, walked out and when Teacher Chris came to have a word with me, I pushed him away. Teacher John came and tried, I gave him the silent treatment, and he stayed there with me and told me “it’s okay if you do not want to talk to me, but I’ll sit here in case you change your mind and want to talk and also have someone with you if you suffer an asthma attack because you are seriously angry” Me being a hot mess, I never shared and went home later…

(Fast forward to my birthday after I am done with homework and almost stepping out)… someone knocked and as everyone was seated at the seating room, I went to answer the door and guess who it was, it was, Teacher John, with a green paper bag (the ones that had the calendar printed on them), he was holding it differently though, like it had something delicate, he said to me Happy Birthday as he handed me the bag. Yes, teacher John was always busy and he also ran the kitchen department at church which landed him many hours of no sleep due to juggling his personal life and having to make sure there were cookies and pastry for everyone visiting church. He found time to remember a kid that was not going to celebrate his birthday. It mattered but being the first born, he did not show it really mattered, and baked him a cake that was more than one and a half kg chocolate cake and delivered it to his doorstep in time to say, happy birthday.

He said he was in a hurry and left before I could recover from the shock and joy to cut it. I was a happy child, God had done it for me. Undeserved but my heart was joyful and was another memory made.

Thank you Teacher John. That was the best birthday because I got to forget everything and be happy for that moment, everything worked out and was okay in that time and one that makes me look at the 11th hour differently. You know, even if He is four days late, He is still on time.

Dear reader, Teacher John are not as many as we could wish for there to be and so be one, be kind to someone and lend a helping hand when you can and also when someone calls out.

©Francis Wairimu

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