You're holding the bat wrong, son!

You're holding the bat wrong, son!

By Jude Allen

Dedicated to my friend and mentor

(Late) Mr. Issac Lucas

I still remember as little kids…we were playing in the compound when we got this invitation for Alfred Anthony’s (‘Alfie’ as we know him) birthday. Uncle Lucas decided to throw him a party. So there we were…the usual stuff that kids do, we were doing; that is, eating chips and drinking loads of Pepsi…and then came that special moment which Uncle Lucas had probably planned weeks before. He made Alfie to dance on a song; He wanted to show-off his nephew’s talents in front of all the other kids. I still remember the excitement in his eyes as Alfie danced away with those little feet of his whizzing about as fast as they could. I can never forget the smile on that proud uncle’s face.

I came to respect the man for his authoritative stature and serious temperament. He scared me with his naturally raspy voice and big eyes. We always tried not looking into his eyes too much out of fear that he could read just about anything that went on inside our mischievous heads; and we kept a low profile too whenever he was around ‘cause we knew all too well that he was a man with two sides - a bad side, and a worse side.

Then there was that signature trait that no one could mimic – a deafening whistle from one end of the compound to the other that was meant to wake up all his family members and the rest of us folks even in our deepest sleep. Indeed, he was a big guy, strong and always full of energy.

My morning routine would usually be a good one-hour strenuous exercise at 5:30am in the church compound. It was at this time I would spot the big guy on his way to church. Like clockwork, he would be there every morning to help the priest set up altar and prepare it for mass. I would greet him with the usual “good morning uncle!” and he in turn, would occasionally exchange tips on boxing and other sports of our mutual interest. It is no wonder that most of his family members excelled in sports. We adhered to his advice just out of fear; which in turn yielded amazing results. Soon I was part of the school football team………his daughters I recall, made it to represent Pakistan in various athletic meets. All thanks to the big guy who backed and supported us all the way.

He would occasionally seize me by the hand and yank me away from my friends just to give me bits of advice on something or the other. It was during these times I felt as though my life was about to end. It was those eyes again….constantly probing into my head, observing me, the strength in the grasp of his hands would stop the flow of blood in my arms and then, softly like a butterfly settling gently upon a flower he would give me small lessons in manners. I can recall a few of these special lessons:

1. Respect your elders, they know what they are saying.

2. Never mind what they think…I believe in you.

3. Say 'Sorry'.

4. Say 'thank you'.

5. Say ‘I love you’ to your mum more often.

6. It’s okay if your dad was wrong. You can still forgive.

7. Next time I see you with a cigarette, I’ll break your bones and then I’ll tell your mum.(That’s how I never picked up the habit)

8. Do not talk like that and correct others who do; and if you hear Alfie talk like that tell me…I’ll break his bones.

9. Be kind to animals – they too have feelings.

10. You look very weak Son. You need to eat. Eat good food – not that junk you have in your hand.

11. Talk to God – he’ll guide you through.

12. Your holding the bat wrong son.

13. Son, when you are right, don’t be scared.

14. Jude, I don’t hear you singing these days. You must sing.

15. Read books! And when you find something written good, keep it, save it and learn from it.

16. It’s like this because God wants it this way.

He would repeat lesson # 16 over and over again and with spontaneous confidence. Then he would give me that look as if to say, “Don’t worry – you’ll find a way”

The years went by and I was growing. Growing up wasn’t that easy. I was instinctive with a rebellious streak and an attitude to match my ego. The big guy now wasn’t that big as he used to be. His hair had streaks of white and his movements slower than before. But he was still commander-in-chief and twice crossed differences with my growing opinions to the point of verbal outbursts of anger between us. I was no longer afraid of the big guy – or least I think, but I did not dare say it. Deep inside I believe he was still reading my mind the way he always did – and then to confirm my belief, he said it out aloud “Don’t be afraid of me – be afraid of God.”

We settled our differences in the end just the way he taught me to. I said “I’m sorry!” and he said “I love you, son! Forgive me if I was wrong.”

It was then, that I learned something about the big guy. He was bigger than life itself. Stronger than what we all had imagined him to be. For not one day in my life have I ever bowed down to anyone younger than myself to ask for forgiveness as he did. I guess he just lived by what he believed and he wanted to pass the gift onto others.

Now as I recall his last days in the hospital, the big guy suffered in agonizing pain. Occasionally he would stir a bit, open his eyes for brief seconds – during this moment he looked once in my direction - a good ten seconds. I felt the fear once more as the commander-in-chief looked into my eyes. I felt him reading my mind as I was asking God why did it have to be this way. I felt it, as he started intercepting the signals in my brain and then he answered me in his silence “It’s like this because God wants it this way.” - It was the last time we spoke.

To this day, I find it hard to believe that the big strong guy is not around anymore. It feels like he’s still there somewhere watching everything – doing stuff that we cannot really see. Saying stuff that we cannot really hear but we know he’s saying it ‘cause we can feel it within us. It was then I remembered a poem that someone had written. I saved it owing to lesson number 15 of Mr. Issac Lucas. I share this with the family and friends he leaves behind just as he would like me to:

I AM THE GENTLE AUTUMN’S RAIN

Do not stand by my grave and weep;

I am not there.

I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle Autumn’s rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds circled in flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand by my grave and cry;

I am not there.

I did not die.

Author Anonymous

Thank you dear friend for the valuable and irreplaceable lessons.
Someday I hope to get down to holding the bat right!