Bittersweet-A Different Kind of Love

One story that created a media frenzy was that of one Michael Rotondo, the 30-year-old guy who had to get thrown out of his parents' house via the legal system.

I remember watching him during the court session and seeing him as an entitled little boy in an adult body. He kept blaming everyone but himself, he had no plan of getting a job and he felt like his parents did him wrong.

He was also late on child support payments for a son he had with a lover.

Talk about a child having a child...sheesh!

The fact that Michael was pampered and allowed to have his way as a child is clear. He probably grew up to become self-conceited while feeling that the world owed him something because he is the best thing that has ever happened since sliced bread.

He even said that he felt bad that his parents did what they did and he really needed to get back into the house because he had no source of income and he had no plan to find any.

It is not out of place to say that the love and protection his parents gave him as a child came back to haunt them years after. I can't begin to imagine how they felt having to evict their irresponsible child from their building while becoming popular for something that was not so pleasant (the media had a field day 🙈).

Now I have considered the flipside which many would call abuse and think that balance is key. The good news is it is possible to love and be tough at the same time. It may not be fun but it pays off in the long run.

As always, a story from my childhood is a sign that this is already a thing.

When I was a little child, I watched my Dad. He was a disciplinarian and still is, yet we never doubted his love for us. Dad loved my brother.

Who wouldn't?

My brother was and is still an extremely selfless person. He never waits for anyone to tell him what to do, he just acts like the first son that he is -a responsible young man.

His only addiction at that young age was football. Oh, how he loved to play football...the love was on another level.

As a reward for his good behaviour, Dad got him a gift.

Well, what do you know? It was a green ball with black inscriptions all over it.

His excitement was palpable and I was overjoyed on his behalf.

My brother quickly became the chief football organiser in the compound, he never lost any match cos of the standing "owner no dey lose" rule.

In no time, his addiction for this round toy became a challenge as his drive for house chores and other activities dwindled.

He spent most of his time kicking his ball around. He was cautioned by my father who suddenly realised that this gift had become a distraction.

No one knew how long it took him but my father conceived a plan.

One morning, he asked my brother to bring him the ball and they had a little chat about how his performance around the house had dropped.

After the discussion, my father went into the kitchen and returned with a knife. My father stood by the dining table with his legs apart, one hand held the green ball down while the other hand clutched the knife like an experienced butcher.

Daddy cut into the ball like one robbing a chicken of its crown-adorned head and with detailed back and forth movements, transformed the round object into two clean halves that looked like anything but a ball.

To say we were shocked is an understatement.

The horror in our eyes that day was epic. We looked at Dad as if he had suddenly grown wings and horns but he paid us no attention.

Then smiling broadly, he took one half of the mutilated ball, beckoned to my brother who stepped forward like a zombie and said as he placed it on his head "here is your cap". He took the other half and placed it on his head like one accepting the traditional red cap during the conferment of an igbo chieftaincy title and said: "This is mine".

That was the end of the discussion.

My brother knew better than to protest. I thought my Dad was a wicked person but now I know better.

A good father chastens his own son in the bid to deliver his soul from hell and teach him values that will last for a lifetime.

At that point, the one thing that gave my brother joy became a source of pain to him.

Now that he is grown, he understands the importance of getting rid of a distraction.

That is a bitter experience with a sweet lesson.

What is your own tough love story?

Photo credits: John Noonan via Unsplash