Mr. Teddy

Christmas Day the spirits of the season lingers and penetrate our home. The variety of foods tempted my appetite, but going to the movies, a wish Santa Claus never delivered. Christopher Reed’s action movie, “Superman” was a hit at the box office in Guyana. As my brothers prepared for the movies, I wandered into the living room where my parents hosted a party. Our special guest included, Mr. Teddy. He spent most of his lives in the military and recently retired. Also he lived in a bungalow by the sea but spent most of the day at our house I trotted towards my mom, who sat in a sofa next to my dad. I pleaded to go to the movies. Her long index finger pointing at me, she said, “The rule is a kid has to be thirteen year – you are only ten.” I started to wail. First I burst out a high note, followed by a momentary pause then another high note, my mom told me to stop and my dad motioned his hands towards his belt buckle. I scampered in Mr. Teddy’s direction. He sat in the lone rocking chair, a pipe in his mouth, puffs of smoke moved from the pipe in the direction of the ceiling. “Come here son, you are a handsome kid, oh what a blessing!” His large hands patted my head. I bashfully looked at him through my fingers that covered my face. “Son, listen to your mom! More muscles are used when you wail and fewer when there is a smile.” I never heard such a commanding yet comforting voice. My wailing stopped; I humbly leaned against his knees and admiringly looked at, Mr. Teddy, my future mentor and role model.

Even though he dropped out of high school, his educational background was impeccable. One January afternoon, armed with a calculator, I rushed through my homework assignment. Mr. Teddy sat in the rocking chair. His pipe was in his mou...

... middle of paper ...

...h excitement.

All things considered, the universal teacher, Mr. Teddy, taught me about life as well as the subjects pertaining to the school of learning. He counseled and comforted me when I appeared to be suffocated by the breath of disappointment, on the other hand, he smothered me with praises when I excelled. The ex drill sergeant taught me the importance of passing on secret of knowledge. He once said that the secret of knowledge is like a plant that needs nourishing. There are shortages of Mr. Teddies in the world today. My mentor and life teacher died in 2005 at the advanced age of ninety six. He was cremated. I did not mourn for this death. It was against one of his rules. “Son, we live and move on…we never die” He once said. I probably could not emulate Mr. Joshua Teddy, but I would do my part by continuing to nourish the secrets of knowledge.