The Good Old Days
B ack in the days while I was growing up still in the cradle of my mother's care, it was like I would never get to this stage in life..Corrections upon corrections. Rebukes upon rebukes even at the presence of my friends or playmates with occasional lashing, a hot slap with the back of my mama's hand or rough squeezing of the ear( that especially I can't forget). Just as the Nigerian Born singer "Olamide Baddo"says in one of his singles... ''me and my friends no be butter boys...'' Then, it took me all my will power not to run mad at nature for giving me the kind of parents I have(disciplinarian to the born marrow). In fact, it was a thing of mutual understanding between my friends and I that whenever am walking on the street with my mother we don't greet each other. We just move on like zombies and behave like we've never met(You must be thinking my mother is too wicked. I thought as much then too... what ignorance!). The discipline