“Lucas! Lucas!” the voice thundered all over the compound, and he knew he was in trouble. His mother didn’t shout for nothing; he must have done something terrible. Lucas had just finished tying up his shoelaces and was going to pick up his bag which his mother was holding. He stopped for a second and ran through his mind for what he might have done wrong this morning.
His mother held his bag up and asked, “Where is it, Lucas? You’re on to your carelessness again, aren’t you? When will you learn to be more responsible? The other day it was your notebook. Then your pen. Then the new set of crayons. Where is the sweater I bought for you only recently, Lucas?!”
Lucas looked at his mother, confusion all over the little boy’s face. He couldn’t remember where the sweater was. But he couldn’t speak at the moment. When he opened his mouth, nothing came out. His mother asked him again, “Where is the sweater, Lucas? Did you leave it in the taxi? Is it in the classroom?”
Lucas didn’t know at all. But his mother would not accept such a response. He had to say something. His mother had always said that the truth would set him free, and he loved her very much. So, he looked down at his shoes and mumbled, “I left it in the classroom. I will bring it back, Mummy. I promise.”
He should have kept his silence, for no sooner had the words come out of his mouth than a hot sting flew across his face. His eyes watered immediately but he knew he could not cry; crying would invite more beatings. Why was his mother so violent?
“You better bring it back, Lucas. Do you know how hard it is to come by money these days?” his mother added. “I sit under the scorching sun, burning my back and my arms every day to provide for you. Only God knows where your father is right now; he chose to abandon us. It’s just you and me, Lucas.” His mother began to cry and the tears flowed from Lucas too.
On his way to school, the eight-year-old Lucas, determined to make his mother happy, vowed to find the sweater. All through his lessons that day, he couldn’t think of anything other than finding the sweater. His mother would be happy, and she wouldn’t beat him too much again.
As soon as school closed, Lucas went to their school’s playground. He looked all around the area but could not find it. He knew he would be in trouble for going home late, so, with fear in his heart, he trudged home, bracing for the expected beatings.
When he arrived, he found his mother in the kitchen hunched over an item. She was crying again.
“Good afternoon, Mummy.” Lucas began. As his mother began to straighten to respond, Lucas moved back quickly and began talking, “I couldn’t find it, Mummy. I searched everywhere but I couldn’t find it. I’m very sorry. Please…” his voice broke and he started to cry, “please, don’t beat me. I am sorry. I will never be irresponsible again.” He moved back again as he saw his mother rise from the chair and continued with his arms raised defensively, “I’m begging you, Mummy, don’t beat me. Please! Aaaaah…”
The touch was gentle on his arm. His mother brought down his arms and held him in a hug. That act shocked Lucas into silence. His mother had never shown him any softness before.
His mother, the twenty-eight-year-old single Judith, had never allowed herself to be kind to her own son. She was afraid that she would spoil him with her love and he might leave her too as his father did. She didn’t know what to do with all the emotions raging in her, and poor Lucas was always at the receiving end of her temper. This morning, she had accused him falsely and slapped him for no reason at all. He was only a child, after all, the unfortunate collateral damage of her ruined relationship with his father. She was ashamed.
Lucas allowed himself to be held and inhaled her aura. His mummy loved him, and he loved her too. But he had to know, so he pulled back and asked, “Mummy, please, will you beat me?”
His mother sighed. She had been too hard on her son for too long. She squatted in front of him and shook her head. Then she pivoted and retrieved the item she had been holding. It was the sweater. The tears dried on Lucas’ face almost immediately. Did she buy a new one while he was at school? Then he heard the words.
“Lucas, I am sorry.” They sounded like music in his ears. What?
His mother sniffed. “I have been too hard on you, Lucas. I love you, and don’t want you to grow up to be irresponsible like…” His mother stopped herself and sighed. “Patience, Lucas, is a virtue that can save many situations.” She paused as if to be sure her message had sunk into little Lucas’ head. “Here is your sweater; it was in the kitchen all this while. I found it an hour ago.” Judith paused. This was difficult. “I am sorry. Can you forgive me?”
Eight-year-old Lucas was stunned. It is unheard of in Ghanaian society for a Ghanaian mother to apologise to her child, even when it is obvious that the mother is wrong. As a matter of fact, adults did not apologise to children at all. What was happening? He couldn’t understand.
Lucas just nodded, and his stomach rumbled. His mother laughed. She was beautiful when she laughed. She made Lucas go inside, change, and take his meal. That was the best meal he had ever had, after the worst slap he had ever received. He smiled. Eight-year-old Lucas did not know how to begrudge his mother even for hurting him. He loved her with all his heart. She was all he had.
