Rays of light on our darkest day
LAST week my wife Sylvia and I endured the saddest of day of our lives; saying a final farewell to our son Andrew.
Andrew, the executive editor of The Star, died from cancer after many months of suffering.
Evidence of the widespread esteem in which he was held came in the large number of people who attended the function to celebrate his life.
Naturally, a person’s death often gives birth to anecdotes about their lives, and Andrew’s case was no exception. Perhaps my favourite is how he showed early signs of leadership qualities.
At the tender age of nine he persuaded a group of schoolmates to follow him, with an appropriate poster, to the TV station in Bulawayo where we were living at the time.
They were upset at the sudden absence from the screens of their favourite programme, Star Trek.
They were met at the entrance of the building by the station manager who, rather than ordering them to go, explained that the programme was subject to contracts and finances, but hoped it would return soon.
This satisfied the boys and they left, neglecting to break a few windows and setting a couple of cars on fire.
What they had demonstrated was the value of listening to both sides of a story, a principle that lived with Andrew to the end.