IN MY FATHER’S GARDEN

This week I received my son’s mid term report card. The results were what every parent longs for, that their child might excel. Being in school myself, I understand the joy of passing an exam. I was glad to learn that my son had put into practice what we had agreed on, not to play in class again. It was double joy that he passed excellently his exams and was also building character.

Yet the joy came with the painful reality that awaits my son. The thought of his academic future made me restless. Thinking about the current education system, and the fact that this poor soul was headed there made me get cold chills down my spine.

My son, who is in middle class goes to a simple Christian kindergarten. It is not the fancy one with a swimming pool, hot dogs for break and chicken for lunch. It is not one that will necessitate me to take a bank loan at the beginning of the term in the name of paying fees. It makes no difference whether I pick my son in a car or on foot, he has been taught that every parent is valued. It is not the school whose advert will appear on your screen, announcing the latest delivery of assorted play items. Yet it is so rich in values. It is the school my son goes to every morning and returns happily home at the end of the day. It is the school with the same belief system as mine, with whom we are jointly working to churn out a fine young man from this little boy.

The reality of this little man soon graduating from kindergarten to join primary school is food for thought now. The school system that idolizes materialism, waking up before the cock crows and retiring at the end of every school day with loads of homework is not a future I look forward to. The system that forces children to think like parrots, only with the ability to repeat what the teacher said makes me dread the future.

Yet I can see the school system alter burning with flames, menacingly beckoning me to bring my son as the next sacrifice. The resolve to cling to my son and save him from the pain is stronger than ever, yet the school to take him as a haven I do not see. I am forced to walk down the memory lane, probably I could learn from what my own mother did to protect me from torture, in the quest of education. Alas, the times are incomparable! The schools then were schools, not business enterprises.

How then did I make it in life? Well, for me it wasn’t the school. The school merely added on what my mother taught me at home. It was at home that I learnt that godliness with contentment is great gain. It was at home that my mother reminded me more times than I needed to hear that my future was in my hands, not in my school. Those values gave my life a whole new meaning, beyond what the Pythagoras's theorem could define.

Son, I hope when you grow up, you will appreciate why I chose the schools I will choose for you. At the end of the day, your future will not be defined by the school you went to, but rather, the home that raised you.

A few decades from now when your own children ask you why you are a special species among your generation, you will tell them;

‘I learnt this from my father’s garden.’

Amazingly, your father too did not attend the first world schools. Beyond the education he attained, he has a golden character. You will be amazed what he told me when I asked him what made him different.

‘In my father’s garden, I learnt the value of life and hard work.’ he says.

Son, treasure the moments you spend in your father’s garden, for there, your world class school is.

©Prim K. Tumuramye

19^th October 2016

Prim is a Christian, wife, mother and Communications Specialist at Compassion International. She is passionate about reading, writing, youth mentorship and intentional parenting.