Election Day Hi – Jinx

So in a cute development this morning my five year old’s Pre-K teacher set up a mock election for her Pre-K class to participate in. It was too cool to look at. There was a little privacy booth complete with photocopied pictures of the candidates for the children to circle the aspirants of their choice. And this was completely unexpected so parents did not have time or enough information to coach their children on their own voting preferences.

I was so amused and tried to chant the name of the nominee of my choice to my baby’s ears but was quickly shooed out of the room for trying to influence the electorate. Well cut to 12:45 pm when I picked up my daughter only to see a glum face. I enquired as to the cause and the teacher happily blurted out the candidate of my daughter’s choice. To my surprise my child was unhappy because the teacher was saying that she had voted for a particular candidate, a charge which she vehemently denied, and then began to sulk about it. It was almost as if she expected to be chastised for her vote.

Quickly I tried to reassure her that her vote was her choice and she was entitled to her opinion and there was no such thing as a bad or wrong vote. To the contrary I reasoned, what was a reprehensible act is having the facility to let your voice be heard and not taking full advantage of that ability! She was just interested in the fact that her ballot did not go to the candidate that she intended to choose and was so crestfallen by same.

Subsequently, while we were waiting for her older sister to be dismissed, another favorite teacher saw her downcast face and enquired like I did as to the matter. When I told her, she was almost visibly offended and asked in an accusatory tone “So is that a bad thing?” Realizing that this could be a supporter of the other candidate I immediately backpedalled and tried to say that because there was a majority in the class my daughter was objecting to the fact that she did not have a chance to be a part of the winning ballot group. Right then and there I began to really get how much of a personal choice this was and even to a five year old the right to keep your selection private is sacred and both the well meaning teacher and myself had unintentionally violated her suffrage entitlement – if a five year old can have one!

I guess the moral of this story is that as we keep living, we keep learning.

Results of the Pre K vote:

Barack Obama 11 John McCain 4 Margin of error +/- 1

Selah.

Change is in the Air!! Notes from the Ground On This Historic Election Day 11/04/08

Even the weather feels different today…. Change is not coming, it is here! Usually the morning is brisk with a chill that would numb your bones!! Not this morning! It feels like all provisions were being pulled out even in the heavenly realm to ensure that all goes well for the voters. I did not drop my kids to school today, I walked because I knew there would no available parking at their polling station school. And What A Sight! There was a line already out the door at 8:30 am, excitement is in the air!! Everyone is happy, pleasant and polite the electricity in the air is palpable!

There are some reports already of electronic malfunctions at that polling station, everyone is wary of that situation but interestingly enough they are not leaving! All around there is a buzz that no one should leave the polling station until their vote is cast! People are on there phones calling work explaining that even though they have been at the station since 7:00 am they cannot vote and they are not leaving until they do!! The authorities have already changed out one machine and everyone is prepared to wait it out! The common feeling is that no one is going to allow an election to go the way of the hanging or dimpling chad of lore!

In the classroom, my youngest in her Pre-K class is participating in a mock election…too cute while my eldest also goes to the polls in her class!! Isn’t democracy great? I’ll post updates later.

I have been to the mountain top and I have seen the promise land and I may not get there with you but I have a dream…Yes, We Can!! Selah.

Friendship Redifined

The other day I was remarking to someone that I thought I might have recently offended another person. But further in the conversation it occurred to me that I could check a popular social networking website to which I am a member to see if I was still on that person’s friends list. By that point in the conversation the person that I was speaking with was convulsing with laughter and right then the truth in the absurdity of what I was saying hit me like a ton of bricks, Facebook and MySpace are at the helm of a quiet revolution that is redefining the contemporary parameters of the word “friendship” as we know it.

Take this for example; someone else once spoke about being sent a friend request again on a social networking website, by a co-worker who was really just an acquaintance. That individual then was forced to either let this person have access to the private details of his life that a co-worker would not ordinarily have access to, or ignore the friend request. He decided to do the latter but his distress was compounded when the co-worker, several days after not getting an accepting friend correspondence, came to him to enquire as to the matter. Well needless to say, I’m sure the office became a less friendly place when an explanation along the lines of ….”I’m just not that into you,” was given.

Another person spoke of feeling very awkward about a friend request that he had gotten from an ex-girlfriend who had been very deceptive all during their relationship. Though it had been several years since the relationship had ended and both of them had moved on, he was conflicted as to whether he wanted to allow this murky figure from his past to have such a familiarity with his new and improved life.

Also, sometimes on those websites hackers disguise viruses as friend requests as that appeals to some people’s vanity. You see, all types belong to these networks including those who it seems are in a race to add to their friends lists in some sort of rabid popularity contest gone awry mode; the premise being, the more friends the more worthy thus these people become quick fodder for scams when they befriend a frienemy.

More than that, I have been privy to persons having to explain who they are and where they know an individual from when a friend request comes back with questions like, “who are you again!” At that point I believe you should cut your loses and move on, clearly a friend you are not, if they have no recall of your existence. On the other end of the spectrum, there are those who develop a running online dialog with persons after receiving their friend request but do not acknowledge same. Maybe they are worried that the seeker might disapprove or be horrified by the intimate details of their life so they ignore the olive branch of new age friendship that is being waved their way. I tell you it is all so complicated.

At this point I am not sure what the current definition of friend is, given these new friendship factors. All I can do is to figure that the people who you can call in the middle of the night and disturb their sleeping baby when you are in a bind, are your friends. Those who don’t laugh at your hatred of your middle name are your friends; those sounding board listeners who don’t judge your idiosyncrasies are your friends and those who you haven’t seen in ten years but can pick up where you last left off without pauses in the conversation being uncomfortable, are your friends. Who knows, maybe the traditional definition has not really changed, instead maybe it has evolved with the times. Selah.

"It's the Economy, Stupid!!"

Years ago when President Bill Clinton was campaigning against President George Bush sr., this was the catch phrase of his campaign, “It’s the Economy, stupid!” Well fast forward sixteen years and it constantly befuddles me how come none of the campaigns have seen it fit to focus on the economy. I mean with Lehman Brothers, Merril Lynch and AIG all recording major trouble in the same week, where is the rally call…”It’s the economy, stupid?” I have heard about a bridge to nowhere, championing voting rights in congress and lies in the media, but no one has clued into, …”It’s the economy, stupid!”

On the street where I live, the man across the road, the lady beside him and my neighbor directly beside me have all lost their jobs over the last year. Certainly they were able to get jobs again but I’m almost sure their rate of pay and not to mention their tenure has suffered …”It’s the economy, stupid!” There were two houses on this street that recently sold after being on the market for over a year and a half and when they did sell they went for almost twenty per cent below asking price…”It’s the economy, stupid!” I was speaking to a friend of mine who was having a migraine headache and when I enquired why she did not go to the doctor, she told me that she had a choice of making the doctors co-payment or putting gas in her car so she was taking Tylenol instead…”It’s the economy, stupid!” My sister in law in the medical field speaks of getting less hours on the job because people have to make co-payment choices, my sister speaks of massive layoffs in her sector …”It’s the economy, stupid!” Can anyone hear me?

A lot of people on the top of the food chain think of the economy as some airy fairy, pie in the sky concept that that is to be tracked by statistics and graphs. No it is not! It is a bread and butter issue that affects the way how people feed their children. How can I expect a man whose wife’s outfit cost more than most people’s house to understand this predicament? How can I expect the first term governor in her second year of office, from an oil rich state with a population barely higher than that of the county I live in, to catch my drift? Does the regular guy from ordinary circumstances who worked his way to the top comprehend this plight? I don’t know but November is coming and these issues need to be addressed, shucks they could once again become a rally call…”It’s the economy, stupid!” Selah.

9/11...7 Years Later.

You know when I was a little girl, my mother would always tell me about her experience of a worldwide life changing event - when everyone it seems felt the same vulnerability. For my mother’s generation that event was when President John F. Kennedy was so horribly killed in such a frightening way. For my generation the event was September 11, 2001 when those two buildings fell in almost slow motion. I feel I could wager that just as how my mom’s colleagues could always remember where they were and what they were doing on that fatal day, my contemporaries too will forever have this date etched in their minds and the feeling of helplessness that occupanied the disaster.

I remember how much of a beautiful morning, September 11, 2001 had started out as being as I cradled my baby in my arms. I remember how that all changed in a heartbeat. I remember being struck by the cacophony created as every available sirened vehicle rushed down to the scene to assist in anyway possible. I remember TV showed nothing else. I remember the smell of burning ruins with all their contents burning too, that filled Brooklyn’s skies and parched the back of your throat. I remember the darkness that covered that city during the daylight and people just standing outside looking up for answers to the common unspoken question…”Is this the end?” I remember children being stuck at home panic-stricken as they longed for some word, any word of their parents fate. I remember seeing thousands walking home trying desperately to get a signal on their cell phones as the roads in were closed, heavily guarded and public transportation halted. I remember how communication ceased in the city as one of the WTC towers had an important transmitter that was lost in the days events. I remember how much that day caused people to look at themselves and reorder their priorities.

I also remember the change that followed and New Yorkers rallying to tame the turmoil. How a city that was known for being distant and unfeeling wore its heart on its sleeve and the entire world reached out to comfort it. I remember the vacuous hole that appeared in the center of the city once the rubble had been cleared became a pilgrimage of the macabre that everyone had to make and the twin rays of light that beamed up into the sky soon afterwards in ethereal remembrance of what was. I remember looking down into that deep unforgiving cavern marveling through my tears.

Since that time, hope has replaced fear and has finished a memorial to that day at the sister site in Washington DC. Hope is rebuilding on that same Manhattan site with reverence and a view to the future. Hope is everywhere even outside of a little town in Arkansas and as Jamaicans would say, “its better to live in Hope than Constant Spring.” So now the air is no longer blocked by haze and my baby is a second grader who on a clear crisp, September 11, 2008 is being taught to respect and never forget, September 11, 2001 while expectations remain bright. The world has changed. Selah.

Does God Have A Brother?

So we were out in the backyard early one Saturday morning my girls and I, communing with nature as we bathed our dog when my eldest, obviously struck by the absolute beauty of the moment and the serenity of the mood, asked the following question…

“Mummy, Does God have a brother?”

I sat bolt upright. The depth of this child’s thoughts always intrigues me. Then her sister chimes in,

“Yeah, or a sister?”

Building on that sister theme, my eldest then added,

“Yeah and does that make Mother Nature his sister?”

I liked the fact that given the direction of the questioning, both my girls had come to a realization of God’s omnipotence because they did not seem to think that Mother Nature was God’s Mom. But to me it was curious that they chose to put her in a sister slot. And then it struck me that the beauty of the morning could only be attributed to God or his sister Mother Nature who must be his proxy for all things beautiful, while his is busy handling bigger issues like hurricanes and new born babies.

So I answered,

“No he doesn’t girls, but that is a wonderful question.” “Good Thinking!”

Selah.

Somethings To Make You Say Hmmmmm!!

Yesterday morning I checked my television’s Olympic coverage and was surprised to see that a decathlon race was being broadcast live from the Bird’s Nest at 9:30 in the a.m. Whatttt! How come when Lightening was striking at that venue, we on continental United States had to settle for watching his reflected magnificence in rebroadcast? Were the higher ups at that t.v. station trying to steal his thunder from us? How can that t.v. station’s coverage on behalf of the world be so one-sided? I wonder what is going to happen now that the Americans have DQed out of the sprint relay finals - if they will attempt to bury coverage of the race in the 2:45 a.m. broadcast slot? Maybe the BBC would do a better, less biased job in coverage and this should be considered when the Olympic coverage contract bids are being reviewed in the future. Something to make you say Hmmmmm!

As for you Mr. International Olympics Committee chairman, your cowardice is unbearable. Sure you are big enough to pick on a single sprinter from a poor island, third world country, but do you have the chutzpah to take on a world power about discrepancies in their athletes eligibility requirements or far more detrimental to the entire global athletic contingent, would you question same power about the quality of the air those sports people are breathing? When you can do that, then your opinion will hold more weight with the ordinary person like me, or do you care? Something to make you say Hmmmmm! Selah.

Trifectas Galore

Sometimes there is no greater motivation than being overlooked or being undervalued. This was proven two nights in a row when the Jamaican Women sprint team took the 100 meter final with a 1-2-2 finish and again the following night when the U.S. male hurdlers swept the 100 meter hurdles final with a 1-2-3 finish. The results should not have surprised anyone, for the Jamaican Women needed to prove themselves as a separate but equal entity apart from the men’s team and the Americans needed to do something to redeem themselves from a very dismal team performance to that point.

What happened next was a fantastic rebound in an almost textbook way that showed spirit leading talent into greatness and Trifectas galore. I mean, I could be wrong but I don’t think that it happens often in a single renewal of the Olympics that two teams sweep an event in world record times. So hats off to the Jamaican Women and the American Male Hurdlers. Job well done. When Men on earth have done their best, Angels in heaven can do no more. Selah.

Struck By "Lightening!"

I would not be a Jamaican worth my salt if I did not take time out to bask in Usain Bolt’s, or “Lightening's” as he is more favorably known ah yard, glory. The feat was phenomenal. He not only broke his own record but he did it while slowing down to celebrate. One can only imagine what the record would have been had he gone for broke straight through the finish line. Then there is the fact that never before had anyone broken the world record while winning the gold in the 100 meter sprint final, at the Olympics. The commentator even mentioned that before “Lightening” struck, it was thought to be impossible to smash the record and win Olympian gold in the 100 at the same time. Oh Well!!!

“Lightening” struck in other places too. For instance, here in the north east I was not able to watch Olympic coverage of that race until way down in the night, somewhere after eleven o’clock. Now I know that the race was telecast in Jamaica at 9:30 am, 8:30 am our time, so I wonder if when “Lightening” stuck he inadvertently disabled all the fancy rebroadcast equipment that NBC has and therefore caused a more than thirteen hour delay in telecasting the event. I know the delay was not due to the fact that Tyson Gay did not qualify for the race and there was only a bronze medal win for the other American participating. Bronze in a field of champions is great too but surely other accomplishments deserved and received more attention than a mere third place finish.

Among his peers in the race, some looked as if they had been struck by “Lightening” even before they started. My heart went out to fellow Jamaican participant, Asafa Powell. Deep in his eyes Asafa looked as if he had surrendered to not winning the race even before it had began, while Usain just knew he was going to win.

In Jamaica, the tumultuous gun violence that has shrouded some areas of the country for years stopped while the race was being run! Yes, it has been said that even the intrepid shotta of lore paused his misdeeds to watch “Lightening” strike. This being said, if true, places one man, Usain “Lightening” Bolt in the annals of history, able to do what countless political regimes, church caucuses and foreign government brokered peace initiatives have failed at doing, bringing a momentary ceasefire to the madness. Maybe the gods on Mount Olympus are missing their messenger. Is it just coincidence that our champion is Bolt in golden shoes and not Mercury in winged sandals? Check out his Olympic winning pose; you can either be the Judge or be struck by Lightening. Selah.

From One Bird Nest to Another

When I was in high school I was given the unfortunate moniker “Bird Nest.” Make no mistake there was nothing complimentary about the name. You see in an all girls high school nicknames could be cute or complimentary, mine was not cute. It made direct reference, whether true or untrue, to the perception that my flyaway hair was not as well coiffed as others. I protested the intent behind the name and happily it was soon dropped from usage.

Well fast forward more than twenty years and there is a new, positive and without a doubt far more spectacular Bird Nest on the scene. Better than that, there are now all these positive associations with the name. There are allusions being made to the nurturing environment provided by the Birds Nest, it is being linked to the wisdom of the Chinese society, its revolutionary design is being heralded by everyone with eyes, great!!

From one Bird Nest to another, I would like to say, there might be a myriad of untold less savory stories beneath the surface about you but that doesn’t stop you from being magnificent! You go girl. Selah.

Birthday Cake Politics

It recently occurred to me that even in birthday cakes there is politics. At a child’s party it is the most political item there. Firstly its color speaks to the sex of the celebrant that could be considered sexist and therefore very politically incorrect but who’s counting. Then the way its decorated speaks to preferences, skill level (if homemade), age bias – who came up with the brilliant idea of putting candles on it to indicate maturity level?- and dependent on age, pyrotechnic ability.

But the real politics comes when it is time to cut the cake. Initially, the party child chooses a cohort who shares his or her limelight, that child’s status among party goers is immediately elevated. Then there is the obligatory singing happy birthday and blowing out the candles. The real money event is however the cake cutting. Now I’m not certain how it works but where I‘m from some people believe that there is luck to be associated with the person who wins the cake cutting race. However that race is fixed by virtue of the fact that the invited child dare not beat the party child at the race because if that happens, for the rest of the party he/she would be a party outcast.

Then there is the division of the cake or spoils if you will. The party child designates to the party Mom who gets what. The most coveted pieces are the with the name, which the child usually saves for himself; the writing pieces – Happy and Birthday – never were so exalted and the much overlooked aces in the hole, the corner pieces blessed to have two sides of icing for the lucky recipient. When these treasures are dispersed through cronyism, the rest of the general public lucky enough to attend the party line up to have the “what-left”, divided up amongst them. But even this is hierarchical because Mom still has the ability to decide on thickness and size of slices, while making sure to set aside some to be left for those belonging to the party household to enjoy in days to come kind of like an austerity measure.

I’m sure by now the metaphorical significance of birthday cake politics has not escaped the keen observer of the political scene especially in a general election year. How the spoils are divided up is always interesting as well as cake cutting partners, who is invited to the party and what Mom reserves for herself. Oh to have ones cake and eat it too!! Selah.

Bring Back Hillary

Has anyone noticed how uninspiring the political landscape has become ever since that epic battle between Democratic Presidential hopefuls, Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton ended? It was so awesome that now, everything after that seems ho-hum. Republican Presidential hopeful John McCain simply does not have a commanding presence and even his party seems to be worn out now that the clash of the titans has ended. That party does not have anyone to be the subject of their ire, so much so, it’s as if the President has been selected and there is no more fight left.

But how wrong are we if we think that it’s over. That’s why I would like to suggest that the Democratic Party bring Hillary back to the campaign trail, for real. Not a couple of days of a grin and bear it tour like what we saw recently, but a as a running mate. You know one can say what you want about Hillary but what you have to acknowledge what she does well, and that is raise hackles. She is a fighter, a scrapper and an individual that is passionate about what she does. Her passion elicits passion in others and that is what the Presidential campaign is lacking now.

It’s funny that the Democrats have not won and the Republicans have not lost yet but everyone is presupposing same and that is a dangerous thing. If through this presupposition voter turnout is low, then a race that was formally thought to be in the bag could perceivably be a lost bag, just like that. When Hillary is around she attracts attention, like her or dislike her, she is good for the political process. I put it to you this way, when was the last time you paid attention to what going on in the race now? Even the media houses are bored with this vacant faceoff. Hillary’s presence causes people to act and that is good for everyone, Democrat and Republican alike. I’m just saying!!! Selah.

Bull Buck and Duppy Conqueror

Recently, my youngest who is in the throes of her ‘no I will not stage’ was standing with her arms folded at her chest, eyebrows knitted, looking up from under at me. Her father walked by and snickered and all I could think was, “Look at this little girl trying to scare me as if she’s some Bull Buck and Duppy Conqueror.”

Bull Buck and Duppy Conqueror, Bull Buck and Duppy Conqueror!! Very few of us in the world have the distinct pleasure or occasion of using such a fine idiom. It’s totally Jamaican and possibly one of the most colorful terminologies that I remember from my childhood. I don’t even know its origin but Bull Buck and Duppy Conqueror always conjured up images of a swash buckling obeah practitioner facing off in a head to head match up, against an untamed, fearless animal and emerging victorious.

Therefore when I had, my first instance to use the saying and use it in the context it has always traditionally been used, to describe a defiant child, I felt a bit as if I had received the gauntlet passed from a previous generation, preserved in my memory to be brandished at this particular time in this particular way and hopefully to be carried on in my child’s memory to the future. Heady stuff!! I wonder if I will ever have the privilege of using it again? Maybe not. But trying to say the entire phrase five times really fast can be great fun. Selah.

Navel Gazing

The other day my youngest noticed her navel and asked, “What does this do?” Before I could answer, her older sister replied,

“That’s your navel” “It’s where you were attached to your Mummy when you were a baby in her tummy and then she breast fed you milk!”

Then she turned to me with earnest eyes and said, “right Mummy?” I did not have the heart to correct her so I said, “Something like that.”

She’ll get it right eventually. Selah.

Second Generation Steve Ercoliltes

Family Matters is back in syndication on Nickelodeon and my kids love it. I however am having the same problem with it as I had in its first incarnation. While his antics are mildly amusing, I find him to be annoying and almost offensive. I have never understood why the eccentricities of one set of people are to be laughed at. This concept of the nerd has always befuddled me. Others will point out that his buffoonery belittles all of us as a people.

But when I realize that my children get a gut laugh at his tomfoolery, something that bubbles up from their toes and rolls around in their tummies and comes rushing out of their smiling faces, how could I continue to hold the show up to a microscope. Utilizing a willing suspension of disbelief and just viewing it on one level one can really laugh in spite of oneself. So now my household’s second generation Steve Ercolites have influenced the first generation doubters to, “relax…. its not that deep.” A little child shall lead them. Selah.

On The Horns of a Moral Dilemma

I always as a child thought that the choices that adults made were cut and dry. Really, to me it seemed that answers consisted of either, yes or no. But now as an adult, I know that answer variations between the negative and the positive extremes are infinite. So how does one really know that a decision made on a child’s behalf is the best decision? The truth is that one does not know for sure. All a person can do is to rely on whether a situation raises your hackles enough to be passionate about your conviction and then follow your conviction, all the while asking God to guide your resultant decision.

Scenario 1

At a dance studio, class is already in session. One little girl comes half an hour late unaccompanied by her parent and is told by the office personnel that she is too late to participate in the class. Therefore, she stands quietly and awaits the start of the next class to join her peers. Ten minutes later, a parent comes hurrying in with a child. It has already been established that this child is related to both the office personnel and the dance teacher. The parent does not stop. He ushers the child unto the dance floor and she blends right into the class uninhibited. Now the reason that the office personnel gives for not admitting the first child is that; the class has already started to grasp the lesson and interruptions will break the unit’s concentration not to mention that the teacher will have to update the new entrant on the whole routine that was missed.

Did that premise not hold for their relative? As an observant parent should you not have stood up for the disadvantaged child’s interest in her parents’ absence or at least question the officer about it? Left unchallenged, would that type of preferential treatment be meted out against your child in your absence? Is it your obligation to fight other people’s battles unrequested? Do you have a right to question the administration’s traditions in their dance studio with their pupils? Do you defend the child who also notices the favoritism and clearly feels slighted?

Scenario 2

A child has a playmate that is a lot older. The Parents are wary from the start of the friendship that while it might be good for the older child to stay in the company a younger more naïve playmate, the younger child is being prematurely exposed to the pre-teenisms of the older child.

So what are the parents to do? Allow the younger child’s innocence to be eroded by a more world wary pre-teen or perhaps diminish the older child’s opportunity to be a questionable influence while appearing to be the villains of the neighborhood?

What are your options as you sit languishing on the horns of a moral dilemma? Those who stand for nothing will sit for any and everything.

Selah.

Matchmaker Triumphant

I’m always trying to do what Jamaicans call "a set up," or what the rest of the world refers to as match make. I think I can just see when two people will get along. Most times to no avail, sometimes with limited return but every once in a while, success!! How good it is!

There is a lady on TV that has an entire business based on matchmaking and then it occurred to me that Eharmony.com and Match.com are simply matchmaking ecommerce, I could be on to something big. But what I have come to realize is that there are so many factors involved in how people click. I once tried to step up two people on the basis of, one person having tremendous resources and the other needing a resourceful person in their life. That did not work. I once tried to set up two people based on their sharing success in the same profession. That did not work. I once tried to set up two people based on them both being single, that was a colossal failure.

So what worked this time? Well there was an all important meeting of the minds; a vital and very sexy component in my estimation. Then there was a surprise physical attraction, they were so caught up in logistics that they forgot to enquire, “…so what she/he look like?” Plus, expectations were kept at a realistic level and so everything was good karma and moved upwards from that point. Finally and most importantly, I was not there at the initial meeting to interfere with the vibe, so they were forced to make nice all by themselves. Thus, while no one has ridden off the sunset yet, and I haven't incorporated at the local licensing authority, I think a cool friendship has been made. What more could one ask for? Selah.

Six Flags Exchange

Recently we went on a family outing to the local Six Flags amusement park. It was great. We went through the Safari, got one on one interaction with an Ostrich we named Peck-Peck and did most of the kids rides. We had a wonderful time. Halfway through the excursion I noticed a certain pattern. It seemed to me that a lot of the ride operators and park attendants were Jamaican.

Could this really be true? If so, how did it happen that such a large concentration of Jamaicans ended up being hired together in a random township in New Jersey, not particularly known for a having a large indigenous Yard population, like Brooklyn, New York for instance? I had to find out.

So soon I happened to put the children on a ride that was by and large ignored by the rest of the park attending population. The lone operator of the ride was a young Jamaican girl who was quite friendly and we got to talking while my girls enjoyed the ride. She soon told me that she had come up for the summer to work and was staying in a township nearby but that there were a number of other young Jamaicans from Brown’s Town Community College in St. Ann who were a part of a college work program.

I found this to be fantastic. Young people who probably never travelled before were given the opportunity to work, travel, earn coveted US dollars which could benefit them and their families back home a great deal upon their return. When I was growing up there was AFS and the International Baccularate that helped students gain the benefit of residing in a foreign country and being exposed to diverse cultures but this was different on so many levels. As one young man that I spoke to put it he couldn’t think of a better way to spend his summer holidays.

I’m not sure if the selection process was academically linked but it seemed to me that for the program to take youngsters from a rural community college rather than from one of the more resourceful Kingston high schools, its ability to do more good for a larger cross section of people was evident. So Kudos, what I have come to call Brown’s Town Six Flags Summer Work Exchange Program, long may you benefit deserving young people in the Jamaican countryside. Selah.

Parting Ways

I watched recently as my eldest went through the whole realization that she is growing up. The trigger for that insight came to her I believe, through the knowledge that she would be leaving a teacher that she had come to really highly regard behind. This teacher was phenomenal, truly inspired, the kind of educator that we all wish would nurture our children’s psyches. For days my daughter would come to me and express her worry about leaving her teacher behind. Then we would discuss the fact that moving on in school means that she was growing up and although her teacher would always hold a special place in her heart she worked hard to move on and so she should.

When I went to pick her up at school, there was the teacher with her class huddled around her interlocking embraces moving around the little cluster via a wave of obvious emotion uniting the little group one last time. The teacher’s eyes were blotchy with tears and the children were also overcome. They were exchanging telephone numbers like big people and promising to keep in touch every day. The teacher through her tears told me, “we’ve been crying all morning” and I could see it.

But with all this sadness I was happy for my child. Happy that she had gotten the opportunity to glean at the feet of inspiration and through that experience had gained a love for learning that is irreplaceable. Now I want to encourage her new found appreciation of knowledge and hopefully see it grow and evolve as she does. I remember speaking with a librarian recently, who was wondering aloud who her children would get as teachers next school year. She said “I wonder who I am going to get next year?” At first I thought she misspoke but now in retrospect I realize that is exactly what she meant as essentially you get who your kids get…the symbiotic relationship is inextricable.

Well now our summer begins and to you Mrs. V., the beginning was bumpy but your way was golden. Thank you for everything. I hope my youngest will also be prepped by you and that on our way to a well rounded education we meet upon more dedicated educators as yourself. Your pupil has blossomed in your care. What more can I say except...Selah.

Bicycles and Donkeys

So I was on my daily trek home with the children in the company of my bredrin the expert on everything that is rural Jamaican, when just up ahead of us a child who had being doing bicycle acrobatics comes tumbling down in a hurt heap. The sidewalk becomes alit with laughter and I’m the only one who runs to see if the boy is alright. Before I can reach to him, the spilt boy races to his feet brushes, himself off and makes a hasty retreat in one tremendous face saving effort. I turn to the expert and after curbing his unconscionable guffaw he says “Lissen nuh mistress, nuttin like bicycle and donkey fi embarrass yu inna public!”

He immediately caught my attention with that one. Was there some perpetual power of those two modes of transportation to humiliate that I was not aware of? I had to investigate. My companion went on to clarify, “Mi say everytime yu inna crowd an yu decide sey yu ah mek di donkey gallop, ah den it ah go throw yu.” I was flummoxed, for once again my expert bredrin had pointed out my ignorance regarding certain Jamaican lifestyles. Once again I who thought myself the quintessential Jamaican, had been out-Jamaicaned. Sure I knew of how embarrassing a public fall from a bicycle could be but regarding the shame of being unseated by a donkey, I knew nothing.

I quickly tried to find a way to look at this as an opportunity to gain some metaphoric understanding of life but all I could come to was the word overthink!! There were just some things that me with my “town girl” upbringing would never be able to understand as well as there were some things that a rural expert wouldn’t cotton to. Just like Bicycles and Donkeys. Selah.

Paraskavedekatriaphobia

I don’t know about you but I don’t often come across a five syllable word, so I had to share. Appropriately enough for today being Friday the thirteenth, this wonderful word paraskavedekatriaphobia, means a fear of Friday the thirteenth. I remember when I was younger I had a great amount of fear and trepidation regarding this day. All my friends would talk about in the days leading up to that Friday, there would be discussions on the radio and TV about it, leading to general climate that anticipated the worst in imaginative young minds.

Today decades later, my daughter mentions that she is…” happy that she is wearing her lucky clothes on a day like today.” Where is she getting this stuff from? We don’t even pay attention to this rampant superstition in our home. After all, there are other far more pressing issues in day to day living to deal with. But she is probably getting it from the same place I got my information when I was a child, the playground.

Yup that font of childhood activity is where the junior grapevine grows and flourishes. I can’t tell how many times I’ve had to debunk some “truism” that my eldest came home with after learning it first hand from someone who really knows, on the playground. But if you can’t beat them join them, maybe I’ll let her tell everyone that Saturday the fourteenth is really the luckiest day in the world and that’s what should be so highly anticipated. Meanwhile, the news reports say that Friday the thirteenth is really the safest day because many people avoid leaving home fearing the worst. Sigh, I’ll start with my child first and then take on the rest of the world. Selah.

Not So Sir.

Yesterday I read an article on one of those multimedia websites that really got my goat! It seemed to me that like everything that is black and phenomenal someone attempted to make history more palatable as he pronounced Presidential Candidate Barack Obama multi-racial. I mean as a child I did not know that Egypt was in Africa, or that the missing nose on the Sphinx (also in Africa) could have shown clues to the Pharaoh’s African heritage. Egypt in the text books of my childhood had been successfully extricated from its place of rest on the “Dark Continent” and just seemed to be floating out there as an entity all on its own. Similarly, it has been said that when Napoleon saw this obviously Afrocentric nariz on the glorious structure that is the sphinx he had his troops remove it because it offended. Well did this blogwriter, in my opinion tried to take the black out of an African American…yes he did.

Mr. Obama has defined himself as an African American from always and has had experiences, allegiances and offspring that are black. True he has a multicultural identity but I ask you if he was still perhaps less vaingloriously the Senator from Illinois would he be anything else except an African American Senator? I think not. Now he is a Presidential candidate and it seems to me that in order to vote for a black man some folk have to go to any lengths to soothe their consciousness. Well whatever Mr Blogwriter sir, just as long as you exercise your right to universal adult suffrage on Election Day. Selah.

Guava Jelly...Leave Me Alone...Don't Cha!

I would love scientists to do a study on why of all the lyrics of songs children hear on the radio, they pick up the one with the most questionable words and then learn it by heart. I can think of several occasions when I have shuddered to hear bright-eyed innocent children singing melodiously with some of the ugliest songs imaginable.

So imagine my shock when my two got a game recently with this song “Don’t Cha” embedded on it? For all who are unacquainted with same, the hook of this song says “Don’t wish your girlfriend was hot like me? Don’t you wish your girlfriend was a freak like me…Don’t ya?” WHAT? What are my babies singing? I was beside myself not knowing how to react! Do I forbid the singing of the song? Do I stop them playing the game? Do I ignore all of it knowing they will soon grow out of it? The questions ran through my head at warp speed.

Then it struck me, OVEREACTION!! My Godmother has stories that she recently reprised without urging, featuring me at about their age singing a song all day, everyday called “Guava Jelly.” Talk about suggestive, the lyrics which I still remember, go like this, “Ooh baby here I am, come rub it on my belly like Guava Jelly….” Eeek!! My mother had the foresight to let my obsession with that song peter out on its own so likewise I guess I have to patiently wait for this to pass, no matter how hard it may seem.

After all, I remember years ago after leaving the hospital from a particularly distressing visit with a very significant person in my niece’s life. The mood in the car was very somber. Between my between my sister, myself and the baby, everyone was contemplative, lost in thought if you will. Then Micheal Jackson’s song, "Leave Me Alone" came wafting off the radio into the car and from the two year old in the car seat on the backseat we heard…

”Neave me anone oh, oh, oh just stop dogging me around!!”

The mood in the car lifted immediately, laughter filled the air as we marveled at the baby’s ability to repeat a song like that from recall. We were really grateful for the comic relief.

Therefore I guess children singing the most inappropriate stuff, has been around since forever and it’s not a reflection on parenting skills. Sure now there is such a broad spectrum of offerings where channels are concerned that wholesome lyrics really need not be an issue. If one predetermines listening tastes, the problem need not occur. But I ask you, where’s the fun and opportunity to laugh in that? Selah.

Cow Itch

Thinking back to garden based dangers one could run afoul of in Jamaica, all I could recall was Cow Itch. It is a small golden orange, fuzzy looking pod that grew in the wilds of the hillsides of my childhood and when the breeze blew off the hillside the pollen from that pod would be lobbed per the gusts onto innocent bystanders afflicting them with an incomparable itch only to be soothed by a good bath. Cow Itch was not something that was found in domestic gardens so it is possible that maybe some of my friends who lived on the flats could not even identify with its trouble. My more knowledgeable cohort on things rural Jamaica, speaks of getting soaked by rain while carrying Yam aloft the head to or from market, as being another fantastic itch provider…could be, but believe me folks all that is child’s play when compared to a rogue bush found throughout most of the North America called Poison Ivy.

You see its gardening season here in the north east and after being cooped up in the house for six months watching the land transitioning from barren dryness of winter to the moist blossoming greenery of spring, most are inspired to get outside and become one with the soil. Yup and that’s where my tail of woe begins. Two weeks ago I decided with my newly stimulated seasonal earthiness to trim an eyesore of a bush that was growing approximately four feet from my house. In retrospect I wonder what made me even think of that? I got out there and really went to town decapitating that vermin shrub…or so I thought. I used my hedge trimmers and snipped and shaped and when that proved too short to reach the inner branches of the hedge I got my husband’s power saw with length extension and happily hacked away thus, everything was good, right? WRONG!!

While I was trimming the bush let out a peculiar green odor which I thought was akin to anything one would smell in the Jamaican thickets and never gave it another consideration. Shucks, Cow Itch smelled like this didn’t it? Well two days later I got a wake up call that essentially said, “you’re not in Kansas (or Jamaica) anymore Dorothy (a little Wizard of Oz humor).” I woke up with my arms and legs afire from an itch that nothing could soothe…I had run amok in Poison Ivy!!

My walking partner, rural Jamaica officiando and bush doctor quickly assessed my symptoms and diagnosed that I needed to seek the help of someone with an MD because it would get worse and I would need medication. What was he saying? I had been to Jamaican bush and lived to talk about it! He had to be joking! I laughed it off and continued about my merry business. By the following day I was at the doctor’s office red and swollen itching like none other and begging for relief. In a moment of clarity, I began to figure out how much trouble I was in when the doctor just looked at me and did not touch my arms. Not only was I itching, I was contagious. How would I take care of my family, household and self?

Well, I have never taken so many baths in a 96 hour period!! I can now say without hesitation as a result, that I am an authority on Poison Ivy, Poison Oak and its cousin Sumac (which is what I got into.) I researched the matter thoroughly on the net, I poured over every website, posting and blog regarding same. The only thing that soothed me over the sleepless nights which followed was knowing what I was up against.

Today even as I resurface on the other side of the affliction itching getting less intense as the days pass, I am scarred but greatful that I did not infect my household even though I reinfected myself by wearing my shoes again without putting them in detoxification isolation!! I have learned that like Texas; everything is bigger and better in the US even their toxins additionally, Cow Itch in no way compares; wearing long sleeves and layers while gardening is imperative for you know not from whence the itch cometh; no home should be without Calamine Lotion, Dettol soap and Benedryl finally; watching Oprah reruns of the 4:00pm episode at 2:00am on channel six is a good way to pass time while itching in the early morning hours . Selah!!

Peer Pressure

When I was a youngster, the terminology ‘peer pressure,’ was the newest child rearing catch phrase and was being bandied about by parents and teachers alike as if it were some newly discovered childhood malaise plaguing my age bracket.

“Such and such is suffering from peer pressure…”

“Ah hear she was influenced by peer pressure..”

“The pressure was too great for him to resist…”

Whispered in hushed tones in teacher’s lounges and tossed over fences between gossiping moms like a verbal hand grenade, at first I did not know what it meant but whatever it was it was bad and I did not want to catch it! Truly, PP loomed large over all of us and it really seemed as if the most advisable course of action was to avoid it altogether.

So my story continues and a couple of days ago, I rush into the neighborhood market to get one item and there, is an open container of unhusked corn on the cob at a bargain price awaiting selection, parceling and transportation to the pot of choice. But what’s this? Everyone is husking their corn on the spot and tossing the remaining trash into a provided bin. I don’t have enough time to husk I’m just running in and out to get one item. What will I do? Will they think I’m lazy for not husking? How will I throw four corns in a bag and just go? What will they think of me? Cho!! I don’t even know them, I don’t care! Then I realize that with this single act I could redeem my entire age group!!

I steel my nerves and inch towards the container to make my selection all the time building up my resolve to not bow to the beast PP, rearing its ugly head. I make my selection and proceed to bag the corn without picking them. All around me faces drop and eyebrows rise!! Folks glare disbelievingly at me and the four unpicked corns in my plastic bag. Did I see those two women snicker condescendingly to themselves?

“Well, if you leave them in the flesh they’re easier to microwave,” I hear myself mumbling to no particular person, attempting to justify my husking indiscretion as I shuffle away from the scene of the crime while fixating my shame-faced gaze on the ground. I quickly retreat to the checkout stand, leaving PP behind, feeling stronger still for sticking to my resolve. As I reemerge into the sunlight of the store parking lot I realize that I just stared down peer pressure and won. I did not husk my corn, scoring not just for me but for my whole generation… whoppee!!! Somewhere across the ocean, the unified parential unit of Jamaica, breathe a sigh of relief.

Random Acts of Kindness

You know when you spontaneously show a child or anyone for that matter, love through a kind gesture, they never forget it. Case in point, the balloon lady in the neighborhood grocery store; now don’t think the supermarket actually has a balloon lady. To the contrary, the balloon lady is just a regular employee of the store that saw my children ogling the balloons she was filling with helium one day and gave them one each. I guess she must have noticed the squeals of delight, the transfixed gazes and the salivating mouths and decided to be nice but little did she know that such a simple gesture on her part translated into a magnanimous act of wonderment in the eyes of two little ones.
They have never forgotten her and whenever we go shopping the first thing they do is to look out for the balloon lady to give her a smile.

Then there is Miss M, our favorite crossing guard. She is never without a smile or a hug or a lollipop for the girls whenever we pass by. I cannot help but believe that these people of the community, in their small ways are teaching my children an important lesson regarding the glee to be derived from unplanned, no strings attached benevolence.

Remembering that, I was not surprised when on a recent visit to the Jamaican store, I witnessed the girls putting what they had observed into action. Before they went, they each were given a coin as a good behavior reward to spend as they liked. But after they deposited their coins in the gumball machine, they noticed that another child was pleading with his parent for a coin to partake in the bliss the girls were enjoying but to no avail. They then came to me and asked for another coin to give their friend candy too. This presented me with a bit of a challenge, suppose the parent did not want the child to have candy, what message would I be sending to them if I unmercilessly squashed their initiative seemedly without a second thought?

I decided to let the act take its course reasoning that whatever the outcome, the girls would learn some invaluable lesson about human nature, regardless of the turn of events. Thankfully, the other child was allowed to accept their generosity and they went skipping out of the store filled with self-pride and glowing in self worth....whew! Next lesson :- how to harness the power in wind turbines as efficient providers of electricity…LOL!

Weighing in on the Jamaican Citizenship Issue.

The hot debate in Jamaica, for those who are not aware is whether a public official should be required to be a Jamaican citizen. I almost feel as if I should be saying, Duhhh! In the US the American President has got to be an American born citizen. I cannot help but recall that recently, Presidential hopeful John McCain’s citizenship and therefore eligibility was questioned because he was born on an army base outside of continental USA. This leads me to reason that although it is true that affairs in miniscule Jamaica could hardly be fairly compared to those of the vast US, they do serve as some sort of precedence pointing out how such issues may be handled.

Further to that fact, one would imagine that persons who seek to fill public office given their presupposed wish to serve the public well-being should not balk at the requirement to be a citizen; I mean to say how do you propose to lead me if you cannot commit to pledging allegiance to the state that governs me? How are you going to uphold the law in my country when you have an escape route reserved for yourself if things go south through your citizenship in another country? Could I go to the country of your citizenship and hope to become a public servant there if I was not a citizen? I think not – a foreigner as gleaned through my own experience cannot vote in local elections in this country until they become a citizen and rightfully so because with citizenship an individual declares his or her vested interest in upholding the state’s wellbeing.

I’ll never forget that my American born cousin years ago tried to enter and win the Miss Jamaica contest. She did not win and was told by one of the judges at a later date that although she was a pretty girl, she could not hope to represent Jamaica as she was not born in Jamaica – And that was just a beauty contest. True, we (all her family members) did react in horror at that statement because we her saw her as a Jamaican more than anything else but I think if a poll was taken of our hearts we would probably privately admit that we agreed with that judge. My niece was a beautiful girl who loved Jamaica dearly but we all knew that she had no chance at winning that contest as a born American, so most of us would have advocated that she enter the Miss USA contest, do her best and wear her heritage as a proud part of her essence on whatever stage she commanded.

I love my Jamaica. But if I ever decide to run for public office in Jamaica, I could not really hope to sit the fence on such an issue. I firmly believe that one must have the strength of one’s convictions. If you run for public office you must be a citizen of that country. Come on people, man up!!

The Cool Mom

Before I became a mom I always had visions of being the cool mom. You know, the one whose house everyone went to; the one who was hip to all the gossip of her children’s clique and knew all the right dance moves and better than that, could do them! We all knew her and probably visited her house once or twice when we were younger and marveled at her rapport with her offspring albeit a little enviously. I thought I had a good start too; after all I was the cool aunt; I was younger than all the other aunties and drove the cool car and was not caught up in all the isms and scisms that moms had exuding from their pores. Fast forward more than a decade and can you believe it? I am one of those moms who exude authority stuff and have rules and regulate order. Many years spent as the cool aunt made me has made me an older more protective mother which is enough grounds for total annihilation of any cool mom points I could ever hope to gain.

Further confirmation of the nullification of any possibility my cool mom status even existing was handed to me by my four year old recently. Notice I said four year old right, yes I said four year old and believe me she did let me know that I wasn’t cool. Shucks I don’t even know if they still say cool, oops am I dating myself again?

You see, cool moms know what is cool without having to be told that same is cool! Exasperated children should not have to sigh in thinly veiled disgust at an uncool mom’s faux pas. You should know not to wear mom jeans and notice that the shoes that you dragged on to make a quick run to the supermarket for that missing ingredient to make dinner just right - did not match your blouse; elegant coif is required and most of all DO NOT AND I SAY DO NOT GIVE YOUR DAUGHTER A TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA – BOY- UMBRELLA THAT HER COUSIN LEFT AT YOUR HOUSE TO PUT OVER HER HEAD IN THE RAIN BECAUSE IT DOESN’T MATCH HER HELLO KITTY RAINCOAT!!!

This was the lesson I learnt recently after committing that most grievous of all sins. I was told in no uncertain terms that she could not carry a boy umbrella because “…that would be embarrassing.” Pardon my colloquialism, “But see ya?” In my day I was just glad to have something over my head in rainy weather. Jamaicans are notorious for having newspapers over their heads in rain – ridiculous I know, but go figure – so when the only umbrella in the house with minimal wear and tear on it just happened to have a green amphibian on the handle I never gave it another thought. I wonder if I could ever recover from this blunder and drag my abysmal cool rating up in time before teenage comes around and all hopes for redemption are lost until everyone reaches twenty one? Hmmm are there any bonus points to be gained by trying to keep their wardrobes fashionable? Do I even know what equals fashionable is to the virtual reality generation? Eeek!! Only time will tell. But if keeping them safe, protected in a loving environment and striving to be descent individuals means saying goodbye to my coolness, them see ya. We’ll reconnect when the mist clears and they realize, oh she was always there, now that’s cool!!!

This is dedicated to all the moms out there who aren't trying to be cool cause we all dun know seh a you run tings - tings no run you!! Happy Mothers Day!!

Throwing Kisses

Up North we are so conscious of the weather and its many changes that every variance is marked – and depending on its favorability – celebrated. Our obsessesion , I have just come to realize sometimes gets passed to our offspring unknowingly. How this happens exactly is an enigma but I am sure it has something to do with the fact that the little ones see their parents daily watching the forecasts so as to plan for the necessary toting of weather related gear anon.

Bearing all of these facts in mind, I should not have been surprised when after sitting in the backyard on a recent balmy spring afternoon my eldest looked up and said,

“Mom God just kissed me!”

I replied,

“What Honey, how do you know?”

“Through the breeze Mummy, it’s warm and came up quick like God is throwing kisses!”

Then she made a kissing motion and blew one towards me that landed directly on my cheek.

That was the best use of weather related knowledge that I had observed; for once the elements were not the enemy being planned for or rejoicingly outwitted but a loving friend throwing kisses. Perfect!!

Between Jupiter and Stewart County

Years ago before the advent of cell phones, dare I say this because it really ages me, yeah anyway, before cell phones there was a song which made reckon to the crooner being… “caught between the Moon and New York City.” At that time this lyric was considered to be imagery at its finest, I mean who gets caught between the Moon and New York City? What an impossible situation conjuring up a myriad of possibilities this was, it must have taken a truly gifted lyricist to think up this hook. Impressive!

Fast forward, oh wait a minute we don’t do that anymore either…skip to the next track, next century and I am speaking to my cousin in Florida and he mentions that he is somewhere between Jupiter and Stewart County. Right then it strikes me that prior to cell phones if one were to be using such a directional in speech, one would either have to be on a pay phone, writing a jingle or scoring a hit song. Further to that thought, now if there is a nightclub or diner or any blip on the map called the moon, it becomes quite possible to be caught between there and New York City. As it was then. Therefore, maybe it is not the span of the world that has gotten smaller but the reach of my imagination that has gotten wider.

Silence

When I was in Prep school, elementary school to those educated here, we learnt a song with this chorus…

Silence is the silver thread of vibrant expectation,
Silence is the absence of a longed for visitation,
Silence is the feeling of a breathing all around you,
Silence is the loneliest of sounds,
Silence is the loneliest of sounds.

Poignant isn’t it! I don’t know the title of the song and as I think of it, I probably learnt it because I loved its poetic resonance, even then I had a love of the written word, it wasn’t taught to me either rather to the school choir for a Christmas play but I remember it touched me then as it does now…and I think I was about nine or ten years old at the time – but I digress.

Silence in today’s cacophony of whirring computers, cellphones and the internet has come to mean something totally different to what it meant to our grandparents or even us when we were younger. Today, there is always something running in a dwelling, be it a refrigerator or a microwave oven, leaving me to think that true silence is rare.

Well the other day I think I came as close to witnessing the nothingness of sound as I ever will. Now I’ve been in power outages in this country before, but none were so, well quiet and curiously enough this state of quiet was achieved without an interruption in electricity. You see recently there was a mandated switch to cable reception on a television – either that or get a converter box at a cost as everything is now being broadcast in high definition. But since that transition was made this was the first break in transmission and it was quiet interesting. Think of being placed in a bubble unbeknownst to you. The television did not work, and in some households because all are linked then that meant the internet and the telephone were also down.

People were literally outside looking up wandering what was going on! It was as if they forgot that the radio still worked. I mean, I know some folks get their household music from the cable music channels so you can just imagine. Everyone was just drifting to their windows and looking out kind of dumbstruck. Sure you could hear you fridge run but who wants to?

This leads me to conclude that although silence is wonderfully romantic to sing about; the security of din is far more comforting. Forget all that philosophical mumbo jumbo about if a tree falls in the woods and no-one is around to hear it....We want sound damn it and we want it now!!

Little Girl Bling

If stickers are the currency of childhood; then hair clips are little girl bling!!

So the interaction with the girls’ favorite crossing guard has resumed without a hitch despite our foul weather break. We walk almost every evening now and Miss M continues to be a highlight of our trek. The other day she asked me if I would mind if she give the girls some hair clips. I thought about it and responded gratefully because a girl can’t have too many shoes or hair accessories.

Well, if ever there was an understatement in the history of understatements the words “some hair clips” is a clearly that; for was I was in no way prepared for what I received the next day…a vat full of hair clips!! I am not kidding. Miss M gave me a container about 36 x 24 x 12 in size!! The container was so big that it had a warning label on the side cautioning adults of the possibility of a baby being locked inside! That’s not all, inside there were several smaller containers which had the hair clips color coded and sorted according to design. I was overwhelmed.

Then when I got home my youngest dived in with reckless abandon. She wanted every one in her hair regardless of whether it matched her outfit and nothing was too grandiose for her liking either. There were hair clips with fur on them, heart shaped hair clips, flower design ones, some with a pearlescent finish; I mean enough hair clips to patch a mile. Then when my eldest and saw them she sang Miss M’s praise and wanted to know what we could do to repay her generosity, I reassured her that mother’s day is coming up to which she responded "We'll really have to do something great for her, Mummy".

You know sometimes life gives you events which etch themselves on your psyche; I hope this act of giving is one of them for two such little people - allowing them to realize that sharing does not neccesarily need a reciprocal expectancy attached to it and spontaneous acts of kindness just feel right.

Now I just have to tame my girls’ wishes to be bling-blinging every day and find storage for the multitude. EGAD!!

Manners, A Double Edged Sword

Alright, I grew up in a pretty strict society even though today it may seem very lax. Children would speak when spoken to, neighbors would greet each other pleasantly on the road and most importantly a child would never dare to pass an adult on the street and not recognize their presence. I guess by now the direction that my argument is about to take must be pretty obvious. I am constantly offended by the way some children in this my adopted nation, just kind of walk past an adult without even acknowledging them. What happened to good manners?

Maybe to some this may seem too inconsequential to even briefly mull over but it is a real blight on a society. Who are the parents of these cattlelike young people that just mosey along chewing their respective cuds and regurgitating insolence through their many stomachs akin to grass? How could they not know in their most basic being, that it would be nice to be respectful to a passing adult?

On close observation I note that this phenomenon strikes at every level of childhood, from the very young preschooler to those children close enough to adulthood that one would think should know better. And don’t for a minute think that your being familiar with their parents may cause them rattle their civility even for a minute…NOT! My neighbor lamented the other day that some children play with his kids, ride their bicycles in his driveway, see him sitting there and do not even nod in his direction, they then have the temerity do it all over again, the process could continue for hours unchecked.

But who is blame? The Parents…for not imparting to their children the importance or being as old time Jamaicans would say, “mannersable,” maybe. The neighbor…for not insisting that they acknowledge him after all they are riding on his property…could be. Or perhaps society is to blame for the manifestation of declining environments where a child’s safety could hinge on whether he or she speaks to a stranger adult or not! In that case then perhaps, it is best that a child speaks to no adult rather than endanger himself trying to discern who is safe from who is not. Welcome to the Razor’s Edge where Manners becomes a double edged sword!

Gauging Responses

In this world of political correctness, I find myself always trying to give the most right (I know, grammatically incorrect) response to any question. I literally must have a built in gauge in the speech section of my brain that gathers, fetters and checks over my every response before it is cleared for delivery. Gone are the days of just answering a question from my heart because those types of retorts I have often noticed, draw a snarl or bad feelings sometimes causing repairable damage. Remember when you were young and could just blurt out exactly what you thought? Look back at those times properly with clear vision even as you thought you were voicing your opinion truth be told, there was probably some other party looking to revise your intensity.

I have resumed my walking regimen with the children now that the weather is changing. Every day we meet up with a very nice Yard neighbor who usually walks along with us to get his grandson. This particular day my youngest was complaining that the sun was in her eyes so my neighbor suggested that she ask her dad to get her a pair of “sun spectacles” (curious thing about my people is that we have this engrained habit of calling items by their original or outmoded name… hence glasses are spectacles and pants are trousers… even though conversely a lot of us don’t know when to use an A sound as opposed to a H sound – go figure). To my horror my baby said “I don’t want to hear that!”

I thought and intervened immediately. “No Honey, you can’t speak like that to Mr. H., he is an adult.” My embarrassed neighbor muttered a lot of platitudes, “its okay…she didn’t mean anything by it…children will be children,” but the damage had already been done. All of a sudden I felt as if the innocent mutterings of child reflected badly on my parenting skills thus, I sought to edit her. What’s so bad about her reply? Shouldn’t her candidness be applauded? Wasn’t her candor coming from a place of truth with no intention to hurt or dismay and technically should be embraced? But the ways of the world intervened in the form of Momma and she apologized and perhaps learned a lesson that day.

Three things cometh not back: the spoken word, the sped arrow and the missed opportunity.

Watch De Ride

Recently while giving this child a ride home from school and that neighbor a lift, I was struck by how my car resembled a good old Jamaican Robot. For those unschooled in yard transportation ways, the Robot was an unmetered mode of transportation - more than a taxi but less than a bus, or for terms that anyone who has been through Brooklyn NY can identify with, the Robot was the more unruly grandfather to the dollar van. I say was because I’m not sure if they still ply the streets of Jamaica, but when they did they were menacing!

My friend and neighbor and I reminisced on our childhood experiences with catching minibuses plying any random route in Jamaica. We relived how the robot was almost always was a Volkswagen panel van which had both a Driver and a Ducter. The Driver’s role was simple; get the vehicle from point A to point B, stopping to pick up twice or three times the van’s capacity in passengers, break or flout all of Jamaica’s road laws as often as possible and scrunch over on his seat to allow a schooler a kotch while maintaining enough space to aide his control of the vehicle.

Now a Ducter was always a very important character, he kept the day’s intake lodged between his fingers in fan like configuration dispensing change at will while holding the string that both opened and closed the door. Minibuses were never empty but no matter how filled they were the Ducter was always calling out to anyone who would listen and was willing to take the chance “...two more”. When he was not doing that, he was hanging out the vehicle in periscope fashion, calling to all the young girls and trying to touch pedestrians as the “bus” wheeled past, door open, carrying him squinting into the breeze.

Additionally, I am sure the Ducter’s job description required he be able to bang on the side of the van to signal the needed start or stop of the vehicle and if he cared not to bang he could simply sound off, “one stop driver” – he was key personnel. In a traffic snarl it was not unusual to see a Ducter get out of his bus and take his banging talent to the next level as he slammed his hand on the hoods of cars that dared to block the way of his bus leaving a wake of unsuspecting drivers wincing as they crushed their brakes and envisioned phantom impact only to hear, “watch de ride” or get out the way!

The trip down memory lane was interrupted by my eldest calling out in subway fashion “next stop, neighbor’s house, keep please move to the front of the vehicle,” mimicking that eerily mechanical voice piped through the trains she has ridden in. At that juncture I was struck by how different our life experiences are. How sad it is that she will probably never know what a minibus is. Hey, I don’t even know if they still exist!

Telemarketers...As Explained by a Six Year Old.

Ring, ring, ring.

I look at the caller ID and ignore the telephone hissing, “telemarketers,” as I continue my task preparing dinner. My youngest inquires, “Why didn’t you answer the phone Momma?” Immediately my eldest chimes in, “Telemarketers again huh Mom?”
“Yup!” I answer nonchalantly.

Youngest: Momma, what’s a telemarketer?

Eldest: I’ll answer that Mom.

Before I can respond, she begins her lecture to her awestruck, intently listening younger sister.

Eldest: Well baby, (forget the fact that she is only 21/2 years older) a telemarketer is a bad person that always calls Mummy during dinnertime asking her to buy something when they should know that she has no money and she already told them so and make her to say, …I’m not interested, please take me off your list!! Then they force her to hang up on them. Right Mom?

Youngest: Oh! We don’t like telemarketers Momma?

My Reponse: No Honey it’s not that we don’t like them, we just don’t like them always calling during dinner.

Everyone seems satisfied with my adjunct. My eldest beams at what she believes, is her masterful explanation of the situation, my youngest quietly ruminates in her light bulb moment. Dinner preparation continues as per usual.

Letting The Cold Air Out

There are some Momisms that we as Mothers pass on to our children knowing fully well that we were told them as children and not really questioning their validity. Things like:- don’t play with sticks you’ll poke your eyes out; or don’t do that with your eyes they’ll stick like that or, if all your friends were jumping off a cliff would you jump too or my personal favorite, close that refrigerator door your letting all the cold air out.

Debunking time!! As a Mom I have found that sticks and kids have a certain gravitational lure to each other that is unbreakable. You could be at a formal dinner at the most crystal glass setting, bone china displaying and heavy silver crockery using event in the most discerning location and rest assured your child can probably find some sort of a pointy object, or sans that a stick will probably find your kid!! It’s kind of like childhood kismet, ying and yang if you prefer, so best to get used to it. To avoid pricey mishaps, keep eyes peeled, ears well tuned and rely heavily on that gender gifted ingrained intuition that all of us have for disturbances in that Mom force field – one small rule of thumb could apply here – if you can sense trouble on the hairs on the back of your neck, there usually is something to worry about.

I have yet to come across any instances where anyone’s eyes have gotten stuck cross-eyed after making a face. But if it can diminish the occurrences of same and keep the peace by reducing the annoyance factor in other siblings, I’m all for it – I was once told by a parent that she did not lie to her children, good for her – this does not qualify as lying it is more like passing on a Momism that your children will pass on to their children intergenerational ad infinitesimal!! I am of the mindset that if it helps to maintain equilibrium, and lessens daily household friction and as my mother would say - lets your ears eat grass - more power to you!!

If all your friends were jumping off a cliff would you jump? This one kind strikes my nonsense toleration vein deep at its core akin the frustration I felt as a child with the statement – a man on a galloping horse would not notice – begging your pardon here but how many men on galloping horses do you know? In the same way, how many of us have cliffs handy? I am fully aware that I am being purposely trite but if you know your child do you really have to brandish this Momism? Hmm, methinks thou dost protest too much!! Say no more, I have to admit I too have used this saying once and then shuddered at my own lack of imagination – Touché!!!

After diligent research I have found that it is actually possible to let the cold air out of the fridge, who knew? I thought that it was something that the Academy of Moms a very August body, devised in order to keep sticky little people from standing in front of a yawning fridge door on a hot summer’s day. Apparently cold air circulates in the fridge and the warm air that gets let in has to be cooled down causing the machine to work doubly hard. All in all letting the cold air out is not the worry rather letting the hot air in is the more bothersome of the two prospects. And you thought you wouldn’t learn anything!!

Whether or not you are going to burden your children with these nonsensical verbal glyphs is up to you, but for me the fun lies in participating in tradition all the while remembering, my mom used to say that!! Happy Disseminating.

Lessons in Tree Removal, 101

On every occasion that I have observed the tree removal process not only have I been fascinated and awestruck but I have also learned something – to boot. And I am not the only one because as I stand transfixed by the visual I always notice others gathering; taking photos with their phones; stopping their cars to observe and marvel if even for just one moment. Interestingly, this procedure I note with interest is more of a suburban phenomena as in the big cities where I have lived a tree (which often provides a welcome bit of solitary green to the prevailing urban grey) is valued far more and greater lengths are travailed to preserve its sexy.

To understand my enthrallment one needs to know that where I come from only two things take down trees, dry rot and breeze blow (i.e. hurricane). Oh well scratch that, three things take down trees, dry rot, hurricane and construction but the act of taking down a tree for household purposes is unheard of. Even more unheard of is the occupation of tree service person hence this is where my interest stems (pardon the pun) from.

You know one has to admit that the tree service guy is the closest thing to a rock climber that most of us will ever see. He is outfitted with crampons (those climbing spikes that are attached to shoes), carabiners (those detachable locks that can hold tremendous weight) and heavy duty rope harnessing enough strength to tow a small fleet of disabled vehicles. That’s not the most fascinating thing though; the tree guy has to know math, angles and physics to pull down the tree without causing damage to surrounding property. He uses his ropes, locks and a power saw to guide the direction of the falling logs with such precision that one is almost inspired to yell T-I-M-B-E-R!!!

When the guy started to pull down the tree next door, I wondered how is one little man going to bring down this humongous life form all by his lonesome? He was a young Hispanic man who could barely speak any English, and although he was doing a good job on the smaller bramble, it became obvious that he would need help with the trunk and larger branches. Well later his entire family came out to help him. I’m not joking, his wife and daughter were cutting up and organizing stacks of rubble for loading into their truck; his brother helped to anchor him to the tree and sure up his safety harness while he sawed away at the thick tree trunk and his son was picking up the twigs and smaller branches and loaded them into their truck which served both as crew vehicle and disposal unit with disposal of waste being their last job related chore for that day.

As I watched I knew I was observing the birth of a tree service dynasty, and as the man said in his halting English; “we work so we eat.” Everyone in the organization knew their purpose and got right to the business at hand, no fooling around - enjoying the effortless pleasure of being an authority at their particular task regardless of how simple. Now suppose we all pooled together like that, relative helping relative, mano y mano, what a different place this world would be! In unity there is strength even if the question is to fell a tree or not to fell a tree. Eureka!

A Subliminal Reckoning

I’m not sure if I ever mentioned that I don’t know how I came by the name of my blog, but after my niece passed last year, I began to see things and this world differently. It occurred to me that every experience that one has is just that; the single experience that one will ever have. Life gives us no do-overs, pause or rewind buttons, simply what you see is what you get. A person essentially lives in this moment nothing is promised so it behooves same to notate the joys and triumphs, curiosities and light bulb moments to pass them on to whomever wants them, whichever way one can hence, “We Pass This Way But Once,” was bourne… or so I thought!!

Recently I had occasion to be discussing just various events with a friend whose parent was the principal of a school that I attended at age 3. He inquired what the name of my blog was and when I told him, he laughed. This was his parent’s favorite saying. Now I could not have revisited this memory through him because I did not reacquaint myself with him until about a month or two ago and my blog is approximately four months old! Could it be that this memory was planted in my subconscious all these years and now in a moment of need the saying resurfaced to guide me in muse like fashion? Or did I see it on someone’s epitaph? I don’t know but it sure makes interesting fodder for discussion on the capacity of the mind to preserve thoughts and ideas through time.

Ecosystems

I awoke this morning to the sound of the neighbor’s proxy busy cutting down their tree. Really, I should have no love for this tree, it’s a nuisance during fall, it bears no fruit and its roots burrow down beneath any surface in search of water, regardless of whether there is a structure in its way, or not. But my children and I love its aura, if a tree can have an aura.

It’s a welcoming site for all sorts of wildlife, from birds to squirrels to groundhogs and its not unusual to look out and directly observe Blue Jays, Cardinals and Pea doves in their natural habitat; the experience somewhat similar to having a thriving ecosystem in your very own backyard. At the root there is the Groundhog who nests and gets protection from exposure to the elements while perhaps benefiting from the water collection that the tree is constantly sourcing. In the middle are the squirrels scampering along the power lines commuting back and forth to their hiding places in the fall to sleep the winter through. The topmost level hosts a thriving colony of birds and whether they are, laying eggs, molting, or gathering bramble for nests; something is always happening.

Alas, the neighbor says the squirrels are getting up in her attic and causing havoc in her house’s heating and cooling systems and the birds follow the squirrels taking refuge when their furry counterparts are not around, then the burrowing roots are upsetting the foundation of her house – so its got to go! One Ecosystem in these circumstances must give way to the other - I guess. In other cultures folks try to incorporate nature into their livity (Jamaican for living) the mindset being that symbiosis certainly is more ideal but – what can I say - I hope that trees don’t eventually go the way of dinosaurs and our offsprings’ offsprings don’t have to go to museums to experience the joy that this lonely tree and its vibrant ecosystem has so generously shared with my family and that my neighbor remains cool and warm always.

Condoleezza Rights

A lot of us disassociate our selves from the current Secretary of State because of her political party affiliations. But Dr. Condoleezza Rice is on paper quite the force to be reckoned with. She has numerous degrees, is purportedly a fabulous musician and has many firsts associated with her name.

The first that intrigued me the most however, was when I saw her step off Air Force One, the President’s official aircraft by herself. Had she been in another administration on another side of the fence the importance of this event would not have been so severely under publicized. I mean I know that when the President does not ride in Air Force One it is not really considered to be the first priority aircraft, but my goodness, the historical significance of the impact of a black woman, who probably had ancestors who were sharecroppers deplaning such a important vehicle by herself should not be lost on us.

Sure one could say what’s the big deal, General Colin Powell was Secretary of State but a black woman I believe is doubly handicapped. She has to work twice as hard for four times as long to merely qualify for anything not to mention to become an acknowledged expert or leader in a field. So now when it seems as if Dr. Rice could be in the running as a possible Vice Presidential nominee I say, "Bravo!! Way to trump the Democrats!!" I know my Condoleezza rights!!

About Maturity

The other day, I’m at the checkout stand in the supermarket when my young cashier sees her obvious crush and everything else was shot into teenage romance zone. She becomes totally oblivious to the clearly mundane task of ringing up my groceries. “Why you didn’t text me?” she stage hollers (I guess her supervisors must have some rules as to what is appropriate behavior in front of customers). I stop trying to organize my youngest’s unloading of food from inside the trolley and look up, she’s caught my attention.

From his hiding place behind the potato chips display, I spot her object d’amour - a young man dressed in a soda delivery uniform. I must note here, how unused to this type of scenario I am. You see I cannot help but observe that in Jamaica (which a third world economy), jobs such as this are almost never held by teenagers; instead adults with families hold such coveted service industry positions as jobs are hard to get and any money coming in is better than no money at all – same are a step up from household helpers and gardeners which are perhaps the most basic level for the unskilled labor industry and a very menial way to eke out a living. In other words, it is a successful economy that can afford to place youth in what could be sort after positions for breadwinners in purportedly lesser, cash strapped financial systems but sometimes the young do not know how to honor such privileges – just an observation - but I digress, back to the show.

So my girl races through checking out the items I purchased, hurriedly grabs my money, shoves the change in my hand, packs meat in with tinned goods and abandons her post to bumrush the poor guy. But wait, I was in the way, still packing up what she had deemed unnecessary to stuff into a bag. She practically impaled me against the checkout aisle with the cart while sending my child lurching as she wiggled up the narrow space, hot pursuit was where her focus remained fixed, everything else mere projectiles to be dispersed at will. Forget the job responsibilities!!

Even with all her abrasive behavior, the mother instinct in me wanted to caution her and share wisdom gained through years of experience. I wished she could just look at the little guy cowering behind the snacks through my eyes – her enthusiasm was scaring him – me too for that matter! Alas I shook my head, checked my disoriented daughter for injury and quickly left the immediate area before she came trampling back to her station. Glancing over my shoulder as I departed, I could see her interrogating the poor young man while gesticulating wildly and causing a scene, tsk, tsk, I thought. It wouldn’t happen if an adult had in her space. There’s something to be said about maturity or decorum for that matter, which is best gained with age.

Signs

I don’t particularly think of myself as being superstitious but the other day when I was in a set of circumstances that I really wanted to work for me, I found myself counting signs. Not street signs or poster boards (even though one of my so called signs did take this form) but curiously circumstantial events occurring through hapinstance that I wanted so much wanted to believe were portents, good omens or just plain lucky. I had to check myself, where did an educated 21st century woman like myself, come off looking for confirmation of direction through random events?

My questions continued. Was this something that I developed on my own as an adult, or was it my Jamaican Socialization? Is this type of behavior unique to Jamaicans or can almost every culture be tipped to reveal their own curious behaviors or traditions that border on superstition or should we say comfort actions (we all know my experience with holding my heart). For instance, I know that my American friends can recall the playground legend, “step on a crack, break your mother’s back,” and I know some West Indians who don’t even want to see an umbrella in the house; and do wind chimes have particular significance in some cultures and what about some of these emails that we all have gotten that say pass this on to all your friends or else(a new millennium chain letter if you may); and how many of us dare to put a hat on a bed (I’m just saying)?

So although I would have loved to believe that a street sign of showing the name of a road that I grew up on in an unexpected location as being significant, or a familiar car leading me on my journey in unfamiliar territory and a dream having special meaning and all of these experiences adding up to one bonanza of fortuitous situations, maybe I should as the song of praise and says, “….Turn your eyes upon Jesus and look full in his wonderful face, and the things of this earth will go strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace"

Driving Etiquette

The other day as I drove along an unfamiliar road I came to a four way stop along with three other cars. Three of the vehicles got to the intersection at virtually the same time, with the fourth being way behind and the very last motorist to access the crossroads. Everyone was being very courteous, “you go”, “no you go,” “oh but I insist you go” gestures and facial expressions were exchanged by us three drivers who reached the intersection together, totally ignoring the fourth driver who just kind of languished there a teenager on her phone waiting for someone to make the first move.

Still the discourse in driving etiquette continued and no one moved. The teenager in her supped up coupe became livid. As we waited there not moving she gunned her gas pedal and sped off! We all looked at her disappearing wake in horror and superior disgust then we slowly dispersed from the intersection in an orderly fashion, giving the exhausted TEENAGERS, shake of the head.

We had not been at the crossroads longer than four minutes!

Black Heart Man

Some time ago I attended a party and happened to be in the company of an elder statesman Jamaican politician. He commanded the centre of attention in the room and soon began to relate stories of his travels throughout the country during its early development years. He told of going to college in the United States and returning home to Jamaica and wanting reacclimatize himself with his homeland. Thus he went to live in Jamaica’s interior (which is very rural) and was gifted a little black car to move around with. As he sojourned he noticed the children happily playing and decided on befriending them to learn their traditions. He bought sweets to distribute hoping that by this kind gesture he would make friends and blend in.

Soon he noticed that as he drove around in his little black car, children were running for their lives, parents were dragging their youngsters inside homes and hastily closing doors behind them, his very appearance seemed to trigger streets teeming with playing children to resemble vast empty wastelands with not a child in sight instantaneously. He was perplexed until he was informed that his modus operandi was similar to the fabled Black Heart Man. But who was this, he had never heard of such a person. Apparently, Jamaicans believed that there was a fiendish character who roamed the country side stealing little boys and girls away from their parents, dressed in black and driving in a black car, the legend further made the stipulation that once the children were stolen they were never heard from again. Yes, he could have been mistaken for the Black Heart Man as the black suits that he wore were in vogue in the United States from where he had just newly arrived.

Of course that gentleman had to change his whole mode of dress to be accepted and later went on to become one of Jamaica’s most influential advocates. I tell this story because to this day communities and families have to remain continuously vigilant because of the real threat to children out there. Therefore, the question of how to keep kids aware of their surroundings and of such sensitive to potential danger without making them into paranoid little people, is real to all parents. Can the retelling of such fables help? Do you pass them on in their historically relevant context or do you change them up to suit your reality? I think both options can be exercised as long as the dialogue is open, children can be armed with realistic tools to assist them in protecting themselves. The prospect of having a communtiy of aware children presents a win win situation for all, in my estimation.

The Incident

My daughter’s fifth birthday party was over and I was at the gate with a friend chatting before we said goodbye. As I remember it now, it was about six o’clock on a beautiful summer’s evening, some of the neighborhood children were moving around us as we exchanged views and I was tired but happy after the party, but everything was great. As we stood there, a little neighbor girl was riding her bicycle up and down the road in that carefree summer way. On about her third pass it happened.

I was standing facing the street while leaning into my friend’s car talking when out the corner of my eye I see another neighbor boy from behind his father’s car which was parked on the opposite side of the road, throw a stone. It was almost as if time stood still. I shouted out, “what is he doing” because as I stood there, I knew that stone was aimed at and was going to hit the cycling girl. I wrenched my body around just in time to see the little girl fall from her bike, blood beginning to flow from a fresh wound on her neck; all of a sudden I was in the middle of an incident.

My friend jumped out of her car at the sound of my alarm and the child who was behind his father’s car turned took to his heel and beat a hasty retreat inside his house, slamming the front door behind him. It was on and I saw it all!! All I could think of was, supposed that was my child who got hit as I ran to assist the little girl. She was already crying as I dispatched her home and told her to go to her mother and show her the gash on her neck immediately, thinking that it did not seem so bad.

What followed was total melee. The father came down the road to speak to the parents of the errant boy. There was a shouting match, the mother of the boy swore that her son did nothing and encouraged the child to say that I, an adult, did not see anything and was lying, the father of the boy declared that his son played football and baseball and therefore was a child of integrity, but interestingly enough this was enough to attest to the accuracy of the boy’s aim. They blamed another little boy who was no where near when the incident occurred but more regrettable that that they did not allow the child to take responsibility for a momentary lapse in judgment. In their yen to protect him from any perceived legal consequences, they left him to live with his conscience an act which sometimes can be far more damning.

The neighborhood was never the same after that, the white elephant created looms large over our community. Children stopped interacting. The family of the little girl put their house up for sale. The boy’s family moved away. I still have occasion to see that little boy and when I do he slinks into a corner, his posture becomes all droopy and his eyes fall to the ground. It always makes me wonder what his self esteem is like. I also wonder, if his parents had let him admit to his error and deal with the fall out how different things would have been? Sadly we will never know.

It's Just like....

My computer has a chess game on it which I never dreamed of trying to play. My eldest saw it on my desktop and kept pleading with me to show her how to play the game, to which I would always respond, “ask your father.” Somehow that answer never satisfied her and inevitably she would always return to me, big brown eyes glassy and pouty peeved look in tow, armor donned to wear down her Mummy’s resistance. Conveniently, I would always have something else to do, I can admit that I was having a hard time letting her know that I could not play the game.

Finally, I declared that I could not play chess amidst my own concerns about the messages I would be sending to a little girl about gender capabilities – I just want these girls to see that nothing is beyond their reach and all they have to is try – but still paradoxically I could not face the chess game. So the other day when my eldest was done badgering me about the game I excused myself from the room and left her with permission to look at the premises of same on her own.

I was in the middle of a task in another room when she entered excitedly. “Mom, Mom” she exclaimed. “I know how to play that chess game it’s just like the Dora and Swiper game.” What did she say? Could she really have figured out how to play such a complex game in half an hour? Does she know that there are chess grandmasters out there who would cringe at the sound of Dora, Swiper and chess even being mentioned in the same breath, much less being likened to each other? Once again, I am floored by the innocence of children and their ability to simplify seemedly complex precepts into understandable terms.

When I checked the game that still lay open on the desktop I found that the computer had made the game so easy that a six year old could grasp it, Bravo. But what this taught me about myself is summed up in the old adage; “Never assume, because you make….” I hope my daughter will always remember this episode and continue to test her curious mind while refusing to accept no for an answer – when appropriate.