You’re in the hospital, she’s in there, in the delivery room. The surrounding noise is drowned out in your fear and uncertainty. The time is now. You suddenly hear the cry of a baby, it’s yours, the deed is done. You’re now a father. Hard guy, hard guy, you let out a tear of joy. Congratulations, in a few months, you’ll be paying school fees. No more peace and quiet henceforth. Fatherhood.
All I’m saying is, get married at the ripe age of forty-five, so that, if everything goes according to plan, your son will be fifteen at your funeral. The Igbo mans’ dream eh! But for real though, that’s why there’s an emphasis on getting married early. So, you at least get to grow up with your kids. Plus, you’ll be around long enough to pay their way through to a Masters’ Degree. I mean…
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