I’m not certain how many of us in our fifties had bothered to, or even had the time to really analyse, think about, dwell on our parents’ selves, their likes , dislikes, manner of doing things when we were children. Sure we knew what they expected us to do mostly by “The LOOK.” often the “Lashes, Blows, Strokes, Thumps,” or “Objects,” Tone of Voice.” As we grew older and reflected, our minds might have wandered back to those days and like the “Light Bulb” turned on, our memories would light up to reveal a plethora of facts, opinions , viewpoints of them we hadn’t realised lay hidden within us.
Quite unlike us, our children do have their views of us and are certainly more open in airing bits, fractions, segments, chunks of it to us, sometimes to our displeasure, awe, surprise, acceptance, rejection, or even annoyance at times. I know my children have their views of me and their Dad. So I’ve been told how much I talk a lot, am repetitive, difficult, supportive, loving, dramatic, et al. I am not always in agreement with what I hear but I am certainly grateful and appreciative of their expressions.
My own parents, one of whom is deceased have left imprints of themselves etched firmly in my memory. As I peer through my Minds eyes I am unravelling threads of them that had been balled up throughout my Fifty-Six Years of being on this planet, earth. Though my version may not necessarily be their authentic selves, or indeed it may very well be, or in part, thereof, it is certainly my experience of who I knew and know them to be, as their child.
So who to this child, is, was Ray. Well, Ray from my earliest memory was my Daddy who called me “Preet” short for Pretty. He was my Daddy who brought home fruits as snacks, made bread that tasted so good to this girl who was and still is not a fan of flour and bread, fed us lots of fish and sweet potatoes, yam and codfish, was very affectionate and so did not fail to provide me with hugs. Ray was hardworking and committed and approached any task with zest and zeal
Ray was well-spoken, flashy and boastful, loved to wear his shades, shave his beard with that Phillips automatic shaver but who left his sideburns. Ray was that father who insisted that school was very important and that being at church was not to be joked with. Ray was a Chauffeur, the best and who could manoeuvre any type of vehicle with dexterity and ease, Orderly, Farmer, Carpenter, Painter.
Ray was an alcoholic who sometimes was too drunk to go to work and half-lay on the bed while I tried to remove his shoes and socks and help him to lay properly on the bed. Ray was a perpetrator of Domestic Abuse, who gave us a lovely day at the beach only to come home later at nigh and beat on mommy for some imagined folly in his eyes. Ray was and impetuous man who woke us up at night to give us lectures about our future. Ray was that uncaring man who turned off the light on the Christmas Carollers who came to our house on Christmas Eve. Ray was a father who often drank away most of his money so I did not complete my Typewriting Classes and Exam.
Oh but what else does this child have to say about Ray, what pictures are hidden in her mind’s eyes? Ray Oh, Ray, I firmly believe, was a delicate man, a solid man, a kind man, complicated man, a confused man, a complex man, a harsh man. Ray was the epitome of a Jovial Light, a sweet-savour as well as a Dismal Dark Abyss and a bitter stick. Ray was my Loving Dad and my Awful Dad.
And Vay, Vay, Vay! Vay my mammy, mommy, mom! Vay was my mommy who made sure that every birthday I wore a brand new dress. Vay saw to it that I was always fed. Vay taught me to sew, wash, cook and clean. Vay shared her plate of rice, provision and fish with me and my little sis every Tuesday and Thursday when she did the Ironing at her other workplace and could not prepare our lunch.
Vay ensured that I had my necessities as a young girl and taught me the importance of having having personal care items and personal hygiene. Vay was that mommy who believed in God and prayer, self-respect, respect for parents, and the ordinary man and woman. Vay took pleasure in her appearance and her hair and skin were her beauty.
Vay was a Seamstress by profession who often charged little or nothing to many who could not afford. Vay was a Laundry-woman, an elderly -care-giver, a loving caregiver grandmother, an excellent craftswoman in all types of needlework, straw, wool. Vay knew how to stretch that little sum of money to always ensure that me and my siblings were well clothed and fed. Vay was that hard-working woman who instilled in me the value of sticking to the task and doing one’s best
Oh, but Vay was a stern disciplinarian who did not smile, a harsh mom whose words stung harder than a thousand bees and which left me deflated many times. As I matured and reflect, I realise that Vay was also a burdened woman, a hurt woman and silent sufferer who had undergone much. Vay was a good Mammy, a caring Mammy, a harsh Mammy, a sometimes cold Mammy. But Vay is My Mammy!
Ray and Vay had very different personalities that played out in their actions and attitudes towards each other, others and their children. For whatever reasons that brought them together, I am glad that their journey produced me. I am elated to have a been a product of their union. Despite the ills and downsides, I had the pleasure of having a Father and Mother who both afforded me much food for thought. I have not embraced the sides of them that made me cry and feel hurt, Nevertheless, I love them both. They are my Parents!
Garden Conversations with Roze 