Be the bigger man and own up to your mistakes

I differ with those who say football is the most popular game in the world.

If you asked me, the most popular game known to mankind is the blame game.

Yes, the game of conveniently passing the blame to the next person even when you know full well that it is your fault.

I would naturally love to launch my diatribe right into the political skulduggery scene where the leaders who had promised to fully cooperate with the International Criminal Court (ICC) have now developed temporary amnesia and are now instead whining and pointing fingers at the court as a neo-colonial outfit fashioned to torture and demonise African leaders, who are poor scapegoats in geopolitical witch-hunting.

And while there is enough circumstantial sense in blaming them, today I want to turn tables and walk the blame talk right from our own homes.

How many families have been broken up by the cowardice of someone not owning up to their mistakes and instead choosing to crucify their spouse for their own shortcomings?

How many men (and women of late) have been caught cheating and instead of embracing their shame, they chose to accuse their spouses of not trusting them, running tabs on them, being insecure, clingy… I could go on.

BLACKMAIL USED BY CHEATERS

The blackmail used by cheaters is as long as it is horrifying.

Or better still, how many parents have wronged their children, but instead of owning up to their mistakes, they choose to rant about the sovereignty and unquestionability of a parent?

Something happened in my childhood that I will never forget, something that I use to make my parental responsibility benchmarks.

My father was as tough as nails, but understanding and approachable too.

My rosy childhood memories are of a doting father who would put his work aside just to hold me and play with me as if doing so was his greatest commission on earth.

I loved my father to bits.

However, even though he was accommodating, when you made a mistake, he was not the type to overlook it. He would get his belt and I would receive 10 of the best (I wonder why people complain about six of the best. They should have met my father).

Now, it goes without saying that I did not particularly look forward to my “10 of the best” dosage.

In my shoes, few children would have. It made me grow up with the notion that parents were perfect, infallible demi-gods to be always obeyed and revered without questioning.

So one day my mother left the tap running and the devil had his tea party.

Naturally as the only child, my father assumed that I was the culprit, so I bore the brunt of his temper.

'I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH'

Father assumed I must have been playing with water and left the tap running. It was with good reason for mischief and I were inseparable bedfellows.

He descended on me with the fury of the horsemen of the apocalypse. I received my “dosage” in muted tears and hated my father for that injustice.

The next morning, I was awakened by a knock on my bedroom door.

On opening and finding father there, I fixed him with the “What do you want now?” venomous stare, but he seemed unperturbed.

He sat on my bed and patted the space next to him, an indication that I should sit as well. That I did, albeit reluctantly.

What he said next surprised me.

He said, “Son, I spoke with your mum yesterday. It was wrong of me to have reacted hastily and misjudged you like that. I am sorry son. And I love you very much.’’

Those words made me cry. If only we had more fathers like mine, who apologise to their children for their mistakes.

This Wednesday, walk the moral high road of owning up to your mistakes. And watch the change.