Deep roots and strong wings

The Wisdom of My Father

My parents did not always teach with lectures.

My father often taught with proverbs and songs.

He would reach into the music of Ebenezer Obey and others, lift out a line, a proverb, a warning, a truth, and place it quietly in the heart of his girl child.

He was lyrical by instinct. He knew how to make wisdom memorable.

He would leave a phrase hanging in the air, enough to stir curiosity, enough to make me wonder what lay beneath the words.

The Interpretation of My Mother

And then there was my mother. A remarkable amazon. Steady. Intelligent. Graceful.

She was often at hand to interpret the curiosity my father had stirred. At my mother’s side, the phrases he left hanging in the air became questions we could explore together.

Where he planted the riddle, she helped me find the meaning.

Where he offered the proverb, she unfolded its layers.

Where he used song to awaken the imagination, she brought clarity, context, and understanding.

The Inheritance They Formed Together

Together, they taught me how to think deeply and logically.

My father taught me to listen for wisdom; my mother taught me to interrogate it. He gave me the metaphor, and she helped me find the principle.

My father taught me to remember tomorrow. My mother helped me understand why tomorrow mattered.

He taught me that position is temporary, that power must be carried with restraint, that influence must never be mistaken for destiny, and that the person who understands darkness does not own the moon.

She gave those lessons shape. She taught me to examine consequence, to see beyond the immediate, and to ask what a decision means for people, for family, for community, and for the future.

She taught me that wisdom requires discernment, not merely knowledge.

He taught me that one stick does not kill the snake; she showed me the strength of partnership, discipline, responsibility, and presence. From them I learned early that strength was never solely an individual achievement.

And between them, something was formed in me long before I knew how to name it:

The Capacity to Lead with Resilience

Not the resilience of hardness. Not the resilience that survives by becoming unfeeling.

But resilience with roots. Resilience with judgment. Resilience with grace.

Resilience that knows when to stand firm and when to bend. When to speak and when to listen.

When to carry the burden and when to share it. When to endure and when to reimagine. When to act and when to wait.

My father taught me that leadership must never become intoxicated by position; my mother taught me that strength need not announce itself loudly. Together, they taught me that leadership is stewardship.

That character matters most under pressure; that people matter more than titles; that courage can coexist with tenderness, dignity with struggle, and resilience with grace.

That one can be formidable without becoming harsh.

That inheritance has travelled with me.

Through disappointment. Through transition. Through loss. Through reinvention. Through seasons when the road disappeared beneath my feet.

Again and again, I have discovered that my parents had already left something for me.

Sometimes in a song. Sometimes in a proverb. Sometimes in an explanation at my mother’s side. Sometimes in the example of how they carried themselves through life.

I am their girl child who listened. I am the daughter who asked questions. I am the woman who now understands.

And if I have learned to stand under pressure without losing myself, to lead through change without surrendering purpose, to rebuild after loss, and to keep opening doors for others even when my own road has been hard, then that leadership carries both their fingerprints.

My father, Elder Josiah Olagunju Olajoyegbe, sowed wisdom through music and taught me that the words beneath the words often matter most.

My mother, Dr. (Mrs.) Adebisi Omotunde Olajoyegbe, brought graceful interpretation to that curiosity and taught me to turn questions into understanding, understanding into judgment, and judgment into strength.

Together, they taught their daughter that resilience was not merely something to own. It was a way to live, a way to think, a way to serve, and a way to lead with tomorrow in mind.

To lead with humility. To lead with courage. To lead with discernment. To lead with grace. To lead with others. To lead beyond oneself.

This was the seed they planted in me: not simply to survive today, but to carry wisdom forward into what is yet to come.

A LINE TO CARRY

“Rántí ọ̀la — remember tomorrow.”

The inheritance her parents left her.

Source

Dr Lola Dare, Deep roots and strong wings, 2026.

And every time I lead with resilience, I carry both of you with me.

Long after the songs were sung and the lessons were taught, their echoes remain.

Your voices still guide me. Your examples still ground me. Your love still carries me.

Everything good in me bears your imprint.

Thank you for giving me strong roots and brave wings.

Rántí ọ̀la.