"This story is not my real story. :-)"
Born by another woman, and brought to marriage by my father, you accepted me, loved me and have been so much of a parent to me. I was only eight and fears were high that you will maltreat me. at that young age, I knew nothing. I did not understand my mother’s admonitions when my father allowed me to visit her from time to time. She was always bitter, and trying so hard to get me to be rude to you. according to her, any act of correction from you was equal to maltreatment. I tried to tell her you were good to me, but she never really had ears for my little voice.
Sadly, however, as the weekend visits to her increased, I began to forget your good treatment. I was filled with so much poison that by age twelve, I was already talking back at you. I had become disrespectful and was not friendly with my siblings. I saw them to be my father’s other children with you. i never wanted to refer to them as my siblings. I felt you were a wrong drug. I did not want to be addicted to your witchery.
Throughout my teen years, I never gave you peace. my father could not have been aware of all that you were going through. You only mentioned my silliness when my siblings complained to him about a bad thing I had done to them. Mother dear, I was mean and spiteful. My mother had influenced me so much but still, you loved me. you always counted your children from me. I was number one. You taught my siblings to relate to me as their big sister. You taught them to love me still and to pray for me.
Some of my friends at school supported my silly ways. They fueled my hatred with stories of how step mothers always maltreat their step children. I went with their stories. There were others who told me in the face that I was being a spoilt brat. For those friends, I severed relations. I was not ready to ever allow any step mother to maltreat me.
You swallowed all these. You never seized to give me food. You loved me, and still do. I remember when throughout secondary school education, you would buy my food and fill my trunk. I thought you were trying too hard to buy love I was not ever going to give. In all these, woman, you remained strong and loved me. You prayed for me as much as you prayed for yourself and family. On this day I’m writing this piece to say am sorry for all the wrong I did. Am celebrating you with this, and telling the world that there might be a phenomenon of step parents maltreating step children but there are some step parents who do the very opposite. They love and train us as much as their own.
I’m filled with regret and remorse. I wish I could undo. But in all these, I thank God for your love and patience and prayers. I thank God that while I stuck with my mother’s negativity and chose friends who supported my silliness, that while my father could only come in with pockets of advice and while I ignored my siblings in school and other public places, you remained resolute. Until I first fell in love at age nineteen, and began to understand human behavior, until I sat down one day and pondered over my life, it had never occurred to me that you treated me well. Upon that realization, I called you, and instead of going straight to demand for whatever, for the first time I started our conversation with “how are you doing?” you answered and asked if I needed anything. My answer was no, and that I was only calling to ask how you were doing. I was in my first year at Tech, and I called you from my balcony. I wanted to say sorry. But the word would just not come out.
Mrs Gifty Oduro, now at thirty four years, I have been surprised to the core at how your heart loves. You actually practice Christianity with your heart and how you choose to love. At Church, I see all those young people drooling over you. They adore you Ma, yet I played with you. I got married and you were ever present to help me with all three babies at different times. You have played Grandma and Nanny so well. Ma, as Mothers’ Day approaches, I am filled with tears recounting how well you have trained me. I was bad to you but your love triumphed over my hatred, even to the extent of reconciling me to my mother when I realized how negative of an influence she had been to me. Little wonder Michael Oduro has always been a happy man. I thank him for marrying you, and giving me the chance to be trained by you.
Can you believe I’m still crying? Gosh! I love you Ma Gifty Oduro!