As a little girl I used to wear bright bubbles in my hair- pink, red, yellow, all very vibrant. I wore them practically throughout primary school…so well into my pre-teen years. They’re the kind of hair accessories that in the 1980s-Caribbean, you’d overhear adults talking about getting them from Panama. Of course, I had no idea what or where Panama was at the time but as kid you assign meaning to words and keep it moving. Bright bubbles lodged at the base of long neatly plaited ponytails. The scent of fresh vaseline lingering along the parts.
The other staple accessories I recall as a girl were frilly undies and frilly socks. There was a time when the idea of putting on frilly panties brought butterflies to my stomach; not to mention showing off those frilly panties to your female cousins during bathroom trips- giggles abound! Frilly panties were a thing, a fun thing, a thing you smile about as an adult when you recall just how much joy something so simple could bring. My mom has always been meticulous about me. She made certain bright bubbles, frilly undies, frilly socks, great food, and fun fueled by imagination were staples of my childhood. There was freedom for mud pies to be baked in my play kitchen, for trading grass-money for goods in my play store and creating elaborate stories about the lives of the paper dolls I would dress up in various paper outfits.
Early memories of my father are brief yet enduring – if that makes. He left to pursue a “better life in America” when I was a small child. And while his departure noble, yet filled with mixed emotions, I have fond memories of him. He is laid back, minding his business mostly, he goes with the flow. It’s from him I get this trait, it’s a kind of surrender to the flow that is. He has a stammer sometimes- for as long as I can remember – and has the kind of cheesy smile that when on full display allows you to see all his canines from front to back. I have the same one. He has always been very serious about this profession as a tailor and worked diligently. Always.
A few winters ago, I visited my dad and spent my first Christmas in Jamaica as an “adult-adult”. It was a solo trip and boy was it was glorious. After spending the day with my dad, I took the 2-hour bus ride from Kingston to Montego Bay where I’d stay for the remainder of the trip.
It’s the type of bus ride that takes you across the island, allowing for ethereal views of mountains, plateaus, lush greenery, an occasional roaming river, and the bustle of higglers in the market whenever you drive through a town square. The air-conditioned bus is huge, with about 50 of us in tow. It’s mostly quiet, I surmise because each of us are deep in thought about our plans for when we arrive. It’s an early afternoon ride that’s long enough to turn into night before reaching your destination.
As I sat on the bus, soaked in quietness, I thought about my dad – about his life. I wondered how he felt about how things had gone. I thought about the excited introduction he made of me to his apprentice; his apprentice warmly sharing how much my dad talks about me and how proud he is. I wondered, how my life would be if I were his apprentice instead. What would it look like if I were a seam-tress trained by my father? Though, I suspect my longing was more about spending time with him than it was about learning how to make tailored suits. My mind wandered to various spaces; one of which was, will my dad someday walk me down the aisle? Now, I’ve never been of the mind to have a wedding on my goal sheet, never really envisioned a big wedding as a girl. As a matter of fact, as a young person I thought I would have children in my 20s with someone I had chosen to partner with in life. But here I was on a bus, with complete strangers, being lulled by the sways of country roads, on the verge of tears. I was deeply saddened by the thought that I would miss out on sharing this moment – a life “event” that I wasn’t personally invested in – with my dad. I wasn’t even certain that was something he looked forward to, I’ve never asked. It took me years to process why I was so saddened thinking about a hypothetical future moment that was chiefly defined by external parties and termed “life events that should occur.”
In reality, I was in the midst of a beautiful life event that actually just occurred. I had spent the day with my dad. He pranced me around to all his co-workers and friends, as if I was a prize he’d won. We had lunch from his favorite spot nearby. (I had the mackerel run dung and it was yum!) He sewed for me a handful of gorgeously tailored pants, that fit like a glove- hugging all the right places. We laughed. We talked about how much we missed each other. We said I love you and hugged goodbye. It was a beautiful day.
On that ride back, I was caught up in someone else’s definition of a beautiful life event. Almost distraught, about having not done something I “should” have done. The reality was, in that moment I had done exactly what I was intended to do. I was exactly where I needed to be. Sharing an unforgettable moment with my dad, one that warms my heart every single time it comes to mind.
It’s a vivid reminder for the times when I feel as if I’m missing out, it brings me back to the present moment. It forces me to ask the question, what do I want in this moment? Am I present? Instead of being swept away by a flood of “what-ifs and shoulds”, asking these questions of myself creates an environment to strengthen intuitive muscle. One where I can think critically about the root of feelings, whatever they may be, and consciously decide to be in the present moment.
My dad has taught me countless lessons. I’m grateful for him. This piece is in honor of his birth month. I’m excited for the shared moments that are to come. Happy Birthday Dad.
Until next time, walk gud’
k.h