The Flags of our fathers: An introduction.

The flags or our fathers are a tedious thing. A great burden we have to carry. A heritage and an inheritance we never ask for but must bear most of the days of our lives.

I have always wanted to write these pieces, actually make it a series of pieces, talking about what our fathers here in Uganda have left us and how many of us are forced to contend with these long after we have left our parents’ home and grown into young men and women.

I wanted to write but I did not want to sound like a defeated youth blaming the acts of yesteryear for their misfortune especially in an atmosphere that seems to whisper, “if you have failed it is your fault.”

I did not want to cuddle up to the other masses of on line attention seekers who illicit sympathy and readership because of their dark brooding lives and tales of woe and misfortune…I did not want to be a cynic either regaling you with how the world is quirky and sort of does not work by poking fun at other, myself or you the reader.

I want this to be one man’s honest journey into his past and his present, investigating the things that make him who he is and how they shape his future.

It will be a tale of some joys but mostly sadness for I cannot write about the laughter I did not have or the smiles I could give but the tears cried and uncried that defined many aspects of my life.

I want it to be a roadmap for my future. A statement that from henceforth I shall not be the man that my father was but I shall surpass him or I shall die trying. I shall carry my name proudly but I shall not carry the shame or the heritage.

This is a chance for me to lie on the couch and let loose into the cosmos the burden of my heart and hurt and let the flags of my father unfurl in the breeze allowing a chance for new life and new hope, that this symbols that has been such a burden shall start to breath a new an air fresher than that of the savannah after a heavy African rain. That the wind shall carry away with it my fears and hurts and pains, but like the moisture heavy ocean winds bring with it a torrent of newness and life.

The flags of our fathers

Are a burdensome thing

For our desperate hope and

Identity to it we must cling

Dearly like the fragile sapling

borne to the crevice whilst

just a seed , it’s the sum of our

Of our existence.

Proud to be a man...

I am tired of apologising for being a man. I am honestly tired of defending my sex before women who do more to damage their own standing in life and squander the years of good their forebears have brought them.

But this is not about women. So I shall conspicuously ignore them.

I recently stumbled upon a facebook page called Dads on Duty that shares pictures and storied of fathers around the world but mostly the USA who are defying all the stereotypes of men all over the net and more.

These pictures stir my heart; they encourage me on the journey I am taking towards a fuller manhood and maybe someday fatherhood. They tell me that the situation may be dire but I am not alone in the ideals that I espouse and that I have companions on this road that is many times lonely and filled with despair. I salute them. I guess its extra encouraging that most pics on this page are posed by mothers, sisters and wives. Granted a picture is not a full story but you will not deny the emotions that wells in your heart when you read the captions on each picture. Check it out here

Message from Holly Hermida-Lopez:My girls have the BEST DAD there is (part II)... Francis Lopez also does nails, hair and all the other things a little girl may want their Daddy to do for them... I may be a lucky woman but they have a one-in-a-million DAD...

The other thing that has caught my eye is the military and the sacrifices these men take for our safety and security. I have loved the military and on many occasions I almost joined the forces only for my mom’s instructions never to step in her house or even talk to her if I joined up.

I have watched countless movies and read many books and real life accounts plus articles on soldiers and why they do what they do. The closest I have come to that level of camaraderie is as part of a sports team. You become naturally a band of brothers where team work and the pride of the man next to you becomes bigger than winning, which dulls in comparison and is just the bonus of what you all went through on the pitch. I understand why grown men weep when something goes wrong with the team, cause that loss is a subtle judgement on the team and hence its members. It tells him that there is something wrong, lacking; that his brotherhood is ill and in need of help.

I respect these men, who take my rhetoric step further and take up arms to defend that which is sacred against enemies equally passionate or worse with no moral code and fight with absolute disregard for the “rules of war”.

. Members of The Old Guard have guarded the Tomb every second, of every day regardless of weather or holidays since April 6, 1948.

"This is the best job in the Army because each one of us has given our best to provide the Unknowns the proper dignity and respect they deserve..."

And so every day, I steel my face to the world, adorn my best soldier face and go out resolved to fight my battles to the bitter end and not flinch or Blanche at responsibility or shy away from standing up for the truth or defend the weak.