No matter how tall your father is, you must do your own growing

Where I stay an elderly lady comes over every weekend to wash our cloths. Nalongo is a fantastic lady who does a fantastic job. She has since become like a  mother to most of us and we love her to bits.

 You know how the weather can be capricious; raining when you least expect it to, or shining on till dust covers the atmosphere. 

One Saturday, Nalongo was still washing when the clouds grew dark and the heavens let rip. It poured down till late evening. 

We all must do our own growing

Nalongo put the wet cloths in basins and delivered them to their owners with a promise to return early the next day to hang them on the lines to dry. 

I was standing at my door watching the evening get darker and listening to the BBC on my small radio when Nalongo knocked on the door of my immediate neighbour. He opened the door, looked at the basin, and at Nalongo and grumbled: "You're giving me wet cloths." 

"Yes," Nalongo countered kindly, "you saw the rain." She was still soaking wet and shivering.

"But what am I supposed to do with wet cloths?" the spoilt bachelor continued, pouting like some unhappy little girl.

I was shocked and got dazed as so many questions raced through my mind. Was he blaming Nalongo for the rain? Did he want the poor woman to carry that basin of wet cloths to her home and return them in the morning?  Did he want her to command the sun to return that late and instantly dry his cloths? Or was  she a powerful miracle-maker who would with the snap of a finger invent some wind-driven fan to fan his cloths dry?  

Friends, I stood there shaking my head in amazement, wondering, "who grew" this boy! Then I remembered a line I had read somewhere: that no matter how tall your father is, you must do your own growing. Obviously this crybaby in a man body still has a lot of growing up to do. You really can tell boys from men by how they react to simple situations.