We can't be ungrateful to God, coulda never ever be ungrateful to God.
A pet peeve of mine has always been de annoyin' questions of friends & relatives who constantly asked my husband an' me about our family plannin'. Sounds intrusive? That's what it was when they'd ask, "So what yu waitin' for? When yu goin' to have another baby?"
We sometimes had to snap at people or otherwise be a bit harsh to get them to stop de inquisition. They didn't understand. Then we'd prob'ly feel crummy for havin' shut down folk who meant no harm.
Anyway, God is good, great, and in His generous divinity, a few months ago, He answered de many late-night prayers of my husband an' me. Thanks be to God for our baby.
(It's been a lengthy recovery that included many changes for us, including relocation, an' ah wasn't keen on postin' endless complaints, so ah kept quiet on de topic. However, this experience -- this gift -- is too precious to go undocumented. Especially considerin' our recent escapades of suitin' him up like Santa, an' like a Teletubby. It's been joyous, so ah sharin'.)
Anyway, back to baby. I'm always tellin' him how delicious he is, an' mi top 3 reasons for not gobblin' him up:
3. His dad & his brother would B sad.
2. Ah luv him 2 much.
1. Ah got no hot sauce:)
God is good.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Another Year wid mi Fierce Brosnan
At first glance, mi cousin said, "Don't him remind yu a 'Remintan' Steele?"
I said, "Hmm, not really. Pierce more mawga." (Like mi know Pierce!)
Donkey years later, U're still Fierce, mi bootleg Pierce. (De name's Bond, Jamrock Bond)
Hi, darlin' dear, sweetie pie, pineapple (song)
Here's lookin' forward to 15 more, if God allows.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Environment & U
Leon just blogged about global warming, so bein' friendly to de environment, here's mi 2 cents:
We all luv de yummy food that some restaurants sell, but avoid de styrofoam if yu can. It contains dioxins (which are known carcinogens). Consider it, "Wouldja like dioxins wit dat?" De environment can't break down styrofoam into earth-friendly fossil, so it's not doin' Mother Earth any favours either. Dioxins especially seep into fatty food, so if you buy soup or porridge or gravy-laden meals in styrofoam, U just got a free order of dioxins -- does it go well with your oxtail and rice & peas? Not really ... not at all.
We all luv de yummy food that some restaurants sell, but avoid de styrofoam if yu can. It contains dioxins (which are known carcinogens). Consider it, "Wouldja like dioxins wit dat?" De environment can't break down styrofoam into earth-friendly fossil, so it's not doin' Mother Earth any favours either. Dioxins especially seep into fatty food, so if you buy soup or porridge or gravy-laden meals in styrofoam, U just got a free order of dioxins -- does it go well with your oxtail and rice & peas? Not really ... not at all.
Friday, October 05, 2007
"Secrets" of Life
In listenin' to de gospel station, ah heard de followin' simple yet profound statement: "Your Dearest Wish Is the Flip-side of Your Worst Fear." (That entire series is aimed at helpin' us to fulfill life's purpose, to glorify God.)
Examples:
If your dearest wish is wealth, your worst fear is poverty. Life lesson: temperance
If your worst fear is rejection, your dearest wish is acceptance. Life lesson: self-acceptance.
If your worst fear is starvation, yu too greedy:)
Examples:
If your dearest wish is wealth, your worst fear is poverty. Life lesson: temperance
If your worst fear is rejection, your dearest wish is acceptance. Life lesson: self-acceptance.
If your worst fear is starvation, yu too greedy:)
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Seventies -- The End
I saw Pete for the first time when I was introduced to Auntie Leigh. He was a confused 19 year old surreptitiously trying to engage a (basic-school-level) 3-year-old child in continuous conversation. All I recall of that was that I liked his bright-red track top so much that he let me try it on and wear it, sleeves drooping way beyond my arms. (Unlike Fawn, who proclaimed to every earthly molecule the injustice of losing her fabulous high school popularity, and having to get her GCE and JSC passes through evening classes because of pregnancy by Pete; he kept his woes to himself. She felt her family had rejected her in favour of her own child. No one knew Pete's perceptions of his family's reaction.)
I next encountered Pete when I went to Auntie Leigh's a year or two later to meet and spend time with my father. I heard music, and peering into Auntie Leigh's dimly-lit family room, I saw Pete sitting at the piano. "Hullo," he said. I went over to him, and he patted the bench for me to sit beside him. I presumed he was waiting for his own dad. He was his quiet self, not clumsily constructing conversation with a kindergartener. His helper stood by the door, keenly watching us for a moment, then she shrugged and left. He closed the door. "Tell me a song to play," he said. And soon he was pounding out Stevie Wonder's then current album at my request, while I danced around the room. He stood and danced while he played, rocking and bopping his head. We both bellowed songs, me mutilating the lyrics confidently. Auntie Leigh arrived and called a jarring halt to our fun. She asked what the noise was in aid of, she asked if I'd gotten anything to eat, she said she was telling him for the hundredth time to cut his hair. Then he pushed her out and locked the door. He took a rubber band from a desk drawer, and pulled his hair back into an afro-puff "ponytail."
Behind the mess of hair, his forehead was a map of scars.
"That's why yu won't cut yu hair?" I asked.
"No," he said matter-of-factly, "Ah just don't want mi hair to hurt or bleed."
"Oh," I answered, and tried to process that. My grammy had cut my hair the summer before, because it was thick and time-consuming for her to wash it and detangle it. But my hair hadn't hurt or bled. It had all just looked dead on the floor, cut off from its life source. I thought maybe that's what he meant by hurt. "I kinda understand," I said.
Then we went to the window and looked at daylight through a telescope. I told him I liked looking through things, and he lit up. "Ah have something for yu!" he gushed, "I'm so forgetful."
"Is a Viewmaster?!" I guessed.
"No, this." And he handed me a knapsack with a little bright-red tracksuit. "Put it on," he said. "I'm goin' to put on mine that you liked." I was thrilled.
His helper followed him back into the room after he'd changed. He shooed her away, and as soon as her footsteps faded into the kitchen, he hoisted me through the window. In matching tracksuits we ran 'round the corner, down Stanton Terrace, and were soon tearing across Lady Musgrave road to screeching tyres and screaming horns.
"We look like twins," he said, looking at our identical attire. "People must be wondering if we're twins." I smiled at that. "Yup," I agreed; I didn't mind having a twin who could dance like Michael jackson, and he could.
His dad's car rounded us up, and took us back to Auntie Leigh, who announced that he was endangering me, and that she was sending me home for my own safety. He argued; he beat his head against the grill until his forehead bled. His father yanked him away from the verandah and dragged him inside, while neighbours gawked. Auntie Leigh's relative was a doctor who lived a few houses away. Discreetly, he tended Pete, and whispered about Pete's needing to return to England, and oh, what embarrassment, with those gossips outside feigning concern then calling Pete "Mad-eeks" behind his back.
I told Auntie Leigh I couldn't leave yet, that I had to meet my father, that I had to spend even a little time with my father.
"Then who yu think yu spend de whole day wid?" she asked in her flat Chiney voice.
!!
I next encountered Pete when I went to Auntie Leigh's a year or two later to meet and spend time with my father. I heard music, and peering into Auntie Leigh's dimly-lit family room, I saw Pete sitting at the piano. "Hullo," he said. I went over to him, and he patted the bench for me to sit beside him. I presumed he was waiting for his own dad. He was his quiet self, not clumsily constructing conversation with a kindergartener. His helper stood by the door, keenly watching us for a moment, then she shrugged and left. He closed the door. "Tell me a song to play," he said. And soon he was pounding out Stevie Wonder's then current album at my request, while I danced around the room. He stood and danced while he played, rocking and bopping his head. We both bellowed songs, me mutilating the lyrics confidently. Auntie Leigh arrived and called a jarring halt to our fun. She asked what the noise was in aid of, she asked if I'd gotten anything to eat, she said she was telling him for the hundredth time to cut his hair. Then he pushed her out and locked the door. He took a rubber band from a desk drawer, and pulled his hair back into an afro-puff "ponytail."
Behind the mess of hair, his forehead was a map of scars.
"That's why yu won't cut yu hair?" I asked.
"No," he said matter-of-factly, "Ah just don't want mi hair to hurt or bleed."
"Oh," I answered, and tried to process that. My grammy had cut my hair the summer before, because it was thick and time-consuming for her to wash it and detangle it. But my hair hadn't hurt or bled. It had all just looked dead on the floor, cut off from its life source. I thought maybe that's what he meant by hurt. "I kinda understand," I said.
Then we went to the window and looked at daylight through a telescope. I told him I liked looking through things, and he lit up. "Ah have something for yu!" he gushed, "I'm so forgetful."
"Is a Viewmaster?!" I guessed.
"No, this." And he handed me a knapsack with a little bright-red tracksuit. "Put it on," he said. "I'm goin' to put on mine that you liked." I was thrilled.
His helper followed him back into the room after he'd changed. He shooed her away, and as soon as her footsteps faded into the kitchen, he hoisted me through the window. In matching tracksuits we ran 'round the corner, down Stanton Terrace, and were soon tearing across Lady Musgrave road to screeching tyres and screaming horns.
"We look like twins," he said, looking at our identical attire. "People must be wondering if we're twins." I smiled at that. "Yup," I agreed; I didn't mind having a twin who could dance like Michael jackson, and he could.
His dad's car rounded us up, and took us back to Auntie Leigh, who announced that he was endangering me, and that she was sending me home for my own safety. He argued; he beat his head against the grill until his forehead bled. His father yanked him away from the verandah and dragged him inside, while neighbours gawked. Auntie Leigh's relative was a doctor who lived a few houses away. Discreetly, he tended Pete, and whispered about Pete's needing to return to England, and oh, what embarrassment, with those gossips outside feigning concern then calling Pete "Mad-eeks" behind his back.
I told Auntie Leigh I couldn't leave yet, that I had to meet my father, that I had to spend even a little time with my father.
"Then who yu think yu spend de whole day wid?" she asked in her flat Chiney voice.
!!
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Seventies
She started with his cousin.
He and his cousin shared a birthday, so logically they shared a sweet sixteen party. Unlike him, the cousin wasn't touted to have a future-million-dollar brilliance. The cousins looked astonishingly alike. However, where his cousin sported his looks like an effortlessly suave suit, Pete was awkward wearing his looks like super-starchy clothes. But. Pete's Chiney mother was proud of her protege who'd always been an undeniably gifted child. His father, a stern black man, was conspicuously quiet on the topic of his bright son.
Fifteen-year-old Fawn flirted her best PamGrier-esque hairdo to the birthday party, and gave herself the gift of Pete, throwing the cousin back into the sea -- she really wasn't fond of small-fry prospects.
Pete was Fawn's new "settle." Problem was, unlike the cousin, Pete could be counted on to do things. Things like wearing a Manley-type bush jacket and flood-water-high gaberdine pants with buckle shoes outshone only by his greased-flat hair, to a Plus-X bash where everyone else wore bell-bottoms, trendy platform shoes, and fluffy afro. Still, she took his Sunday-best disco gear in stride; after all, in any number of years, when he was more cashy than all the crowd, who'd get the last laugh? Besides, she was trying to rekindle the cousin's interest on the side.
Pete's family was unaware of what was happening. Only the helper heard the goings-on in the heretofore virginal Pete's room whenever his parents were out. And the helper knew better than to be the bearer of bad news to her employers. She did however tell Fawn of Pete's illness that had started when his closest brother drowned a few years before. Pete was fine as long as he took his meds, she said, but Fawn shouldn't toy with his emotions. "Him can't tek it," the helper told her, "Him can't tek it." The cousin confirmed the helper's assertion.
Fawn was abased.
But worse, Fawn was pregnant.
He and his cousin shared a birthday, so logically they shared a sweet sixteen party. Unlike him, the cousin wasn't touted to have a future-million-dollar brilliance. The cousins looked astonishingly alike. However, where his cousin sported his looks like an effortlessly suave suit, Pete was awkward wearing his looks like super-starchy clothes. But. Pete's Chiney mother was proud of her protege who'd always been an undeniably gifted child. His father, a stern black man, was conspicuously quiet on the topic of his bright son.
Fifteen-year-old Fawn flirted her best PamGrier-esque hairdo to the birthday party, and gave herself the gift of Pete, throwing the cousin back into the sea -- she really wasn't fond of small-fry prospects.
Pete was Fawn's new "settle." Problem was, unlike the cousin, Pete could be counted on to do things. Things like wearing a Manley-type bush jacket and flood-water-high gaberdine pants with buckle shoes outshone only by his greased-flat hair, to a Plus-X bash where everyone else wore bell-bottoms, trendy platform shoes, and fluffy afro. Still, she took his Sunday-best disco gear in stride; after all, in any number of years, when he was more cashy than all the crowd, who'd get the last laugh? Besides, she was trying to rekindle the cousin's interest on the side.
Pete's family was unaware of what was happening. Only the helper heard the goings-on in the heretofore virginal Pete's room whenever his parents were out. And the helper knew better than to be the bearer of bad news to her employers. She did however tell Fawn of Pete's illness that had started when his closest brother drowned a few years before. Pete was fine as long as he took his meds, she said, but Fawn shouldn't toy with his emotions. "Him can't tek it," the helper told her, "Him can't tek it." The cousin confirmed the helper's assertion.
Fawn was abased.
But worse, Fawn was pregnant.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Women -- Especially over 30
Planning on having a baby? Especially, if it's your first:
1. Create a birth plan (e.g., If U don't want students participating in your delivery, say so!)
2. Grill your doctor like a cheese sandwich to see which MD is most likely to stick to de plan.
3. Avoid their usual moneymaking tricks: e.g., they request extended foetal monitoring -- try to send you to a delivery room early -- request last-minute ultrasounds: all of that "just because."
4. They make way more $ from caesarean surgery (affectionately called c-sections, like Condoleeza's now affectionately called 'Condi' -- don't de media know how to sell stuff!) Vaginal delivery means less $ money to them. More money is often their prime objective.
5. Epidurals (especially catheter as opposed to injection) can immobilize and disorient you at a time when you NEED to be alert, and make it difficult to push -- then what? Caesarean section!
6. Do you want to feel old, depressed, violated, and generally unhealthy? If yes, disregard my warning. If no, beware, beware, beware, beware.
Surgery & anaesthesia are no walk in the park. This is serious.
1. Create a birth plan (e.g., If U don't want students participating in your delivery, say so!)
2. Grill your doctor like a cheese sandwich to see which MD is most likely to stick to de plan.
3. Avoid their usual moneymaking tricks: e.g., they request extended foetal monitoring -- try to send you to a delivery room early -- request last-minute ultrasounds: all of that "just because."
4. They make way more $ from caesarean surgery (affectionately called c-sections, like Condoleeza's now affectionately called 'Condi' -- don't de media know how to sell stuff!) Vaginal delivery means less $ money to them. More money is often their prime objective.
5. Epidurals (especially catheter as opposed to injection) can immobilize and disorient you at a time when you NEED to be alert, and make it difficult to push -- then what? Caesarean section!
6. Do you want to feel old, depressed, violated, and generally unhealthy? If yes, disregard my warning. If no, beware, beware, beware, beware.
Surgery & anaesthesia are no walk in the park. This is serious.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Hail to Everybody
Hail to all of you bloggers. Hope you're all doing fine, as I am at this point. Thank God.
So many changes -- blogger married to google now!
Hope you all havin' a ball. Piggy luvs ya!
So many changes -- blogger married to google now!
Hope you all havin' a ball. Piggy luvs ya!
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Election?
J'can media seem to be hintin' that election might happen early this year -- possibly before Cricket. Hmm, could it be, could it be, could it be so? Commissioner said it's likely to be quite violent -- don't doubt him -- police he oversees statin' figures of about 40 murders so far. Bruce (opposition) seems kinda silent right now, Portia's side (gov't) currently somewhat loud, so there might be some substance to de speculation, but could it be, could it be, could it be so?
Friday, December 22, 2006
Merry Christmas Everybody!
Happy, jolly, yummy time of the year --
Merry Christmas & a Happy New Year to everybody who reads this!
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Bye, Neville
J.A. lost a media icon, family man, and pretty nice guy: Neville Willoughby. Years ago, "It's the Evening People Show with Neville --" No more. Observer said it was a road accident somewhere off Farewell Ave. (That road now means suppem more than walkin' mi cousin there in de '80s to visit mi cousin's best pal, Selema.) Strange, de name of that road, & de accident that will now make it memorable for so many. Rough holiday this for de Willoughbys. Farewell, Neville.
Drive safely, everybody. It's nuts on de road, nuts in de parkin' lots at de malls -- everywhere. Let's all drive safely.
Drive safely, everybody. It's nuts on de road, nuts in de parkin' lots at de malls -- everywhere. Let's all drive safely.
Monday, December 18, 2006
The Pursuit of Happyness
It's a pleasure to see a father showing his son a real-life example of the struggle to better himself and to be a buffer from life's harsh realities. His son will recognize the priceless benefits of that when he grows up & remembers what his dad went through." -- A review of Will Smith's new movie: The Pursuit of Happyness
Watch it
Watch it
Watch it
Watch it
It's more than worth de ticket-price.
Watch it
Watch it
Watch it
Watch it
It's more than worth de ticket-price.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
De Carol that Brought de Pork Some Christmas
Here's Your "STUPID" Sign! (Bill Engvall, Chorus sung to"Jingle Bells")
I took my son to the mall the other day to see Santa Claus
The woman in line behind me says, "Hey is that Santa Claus up there"?
I said "no ma'm, it's a Kenny Rodgers stunt double. Here's your sign!"
The other day I bought a wreath to go on our front door
As I was walking out the store a man stopped me and said
"Hey, are you going to hang that on your door?" I said:
"No sir, it's a Christmas toilet seat cover, got the idea from Martha Stewart"
(Chorus) Here's your sign, Here's your sign, Here's your STUPID sign
You acted dumb, so have some fun and wear your STUPID sign -- Oh!
Here's your sign, Here's your sign, Here's your STUPID sign
You lost your mind, so pay the fine and wear your STUPID sign
I hung the little Christmas lights on my house, the ones that blink on & off
My neighbour comes over and says
"Bill how do you get those to blink on and off like that?"
I said "I've got my son inside plugging and unplugging it,
-- plugging and unplugging it. Here's your sign!"
I took my family to buy a Christmas tree the other night
When we walked onto the lot this guy walked up to me and says
"Hey, y'all here to buy a Christmas tree?" I said,
"No sir, my son needs to go to the bathroom and these trees looked really inviting. Here's your sign!" (rep. Chorus)
Have no fear when you're spreading cheer during Christmas time
And finally my wife and I were in a grocery store the other day
And I heard a woman ask the clerk
"Do you know what time Midnight Mass starts on Christmas Eve?"
And in the holiday spririt I walked over and said "Here's your sign!"
(She earned it on her own!) Happy holidays everybody!
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Maybe Beta's not Better
What's up today?! Am findin' it dang near impossible to comment on blogs like Crankputz', Island Girl -- all de beta type blogs. We'll see . . .
Monday, December 11, 2006
Quick Review
This year's effort was nice -- more cooperation & participation this time (fewer self-proclaimed Jordans & more Pippens). Anyway, even as hubby geared up engineerin' early on, he pondered this year's music mix, but turns out we had energetic variety an' some blessed voices ministerin' to us all. What a praise & worship time! All praise & thanks to God. As de soloist sang: Whatsoever things are Godly, think on these things.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
5 Things
OK, so Stunner of de irie island photos has tagged me wid de "5 Things" meme, and am in an unusually "postly" mood right this minute, so here goes:
Here are 5 things U didn't know about me, de Melody Piggy Moppet:
-- Am compulsively private, but find that it makes people more likely to pry and be curious than they would be with someone who's less private and more willin' to share -- go figure.
-- Am not a fan o' gossip, & therefore have indulged in that extremely infrequently -- only when ah got ticked off at people pryin' an' decide to turn de tables on dem. Have found that many people luv gossip, an' therefore ah don't trust dem an' ah feel comfortable havin' very few friends.
-- Am not de gregarious type. Same way mi stay pon de blog until mi get accustomed to a blogger: am most likely to blog an' back off when ah meet blogs, thus givin' de other blogger a chance to reciprocate (which is kinda de only way for dem to quietly express, "Yeah, mi waan blog wid yu," or "No, mi naw really feel your blog perspectives.") It's a simple analogy to mi everyday approach to social life. Most 'fun time' interaction is wid mi husband & child -- am devoted to them. Want to always be there for them no matter what.
-- Have always been seriously attracted to mi husband (mutual attraction -- God is good). Anyway, he's aware of this and sometimes winks at me in a very knowing way in de midst of goin' about mundane things (while he's bucklin' his belt as he gets dressed for work, or even while we're in traffic waitin' for de light to change). This amuses him, 'cause am essentially a shy person, so de effect of this always momentarily "sends" me a bit.
-- Am admittedly somewhat old fashioned -- wha yu expect, mi grow wid mi granny! So much so, that de difference between casual & formal is ponytail or bun -- or maybe blue jeans versus black jeans. Of course, bein' old fashioned and excessively domestic doesn't mean not having aspirations -- ah do often consider goin' back to school for a doctorate (nutten to do wid mi journalism or business studies, a doctorate in suppem totally different that ah won't write on de blog right now.)
Awright, Stunner, that's it. Shared as much as ah could in that 5 things topic. Now, Jdid, U've been tagged.
Here are 5 things U didn't know about me, de Melody Piggy Moppet:
-- Am compulsively private, but find that it makes people more likely to pry and be curious than they would be with someone who's less private and more willin' to share -- go figure.
-- Am not a fan o' gossip, & therefore have indulged in that extremely infrequently -- only when ah got ticked off at people pryin' an' decide to turn de tables on dem. Have found that many people luv gossip, an' therefore ah don't trust dem an' ah feel comfortable havin' very few friends.
-- Am not de gregarious type. Same way mi stay pon de blog until mi get accustomed to a blogger: am most likely to blog an' back off when ah meet blogs, thus givin' de other blogger a chance to reciprocate (which is kinda de only way for dem to quietly express, "Yeah, mi waan blog wid yu," or "No, mi naw really feel your blog perspectives.") It's a simple analogy to mi everyday approach to social life. Most 'fun time' interaction is wid mi husband & child -- am devoted to them. Want to always be there for them no matter what.
-- Have always been seriously attracted to mi husband (mutual attraction -- God is good). Anyway, he's aware of this and sometimes winks at me in a very knowing way in de midst of goin' about mundane things (while he's bucklin' his belt as he gets dressed for work, or even while we're in traffic waitin' for de light to change). This amuses him, 'cause am essentially a shy person, so de effect of this always momentarily "sends" me a bit.
-- Am admittedly somewhat old fashioned -- wha yu expect, mi grow wid mi granny! So much so, that de difference between casual & formal is ponytail or bun -- or maybe blue jeans versus black jeans. Of course, bein' old fashioned and excessively domestic doesn't mean not having aspirations -- ah do often consider goin' back to school for a doctorate (nutten to do wid mi journalism or business studies, a doctorate in suppem totally different that ah won't write on de blog right now.)
Awright, Stunner, that's it. Shared as much as ah could in that 5 things topic. Now, Jdid, U've been tagged.
Not Quite Yet
In your mid-30s, people at church might start seein' U as a likely candidate to help counsel in women's ministry, so they nice U up for de women's retreat -- U can give good advice to younger sisters (late teens and twenties, who are single or just married). Not necessarily advisable.
What I've noticed:
* Some think because they're more experienced they know more about every-ting than U do. How can U help "to call any play," when they've been playin' de field an' sure they know de 'game' more than U?
* These retreats can seem like an unpleasant juvenile slumber party when U check de ratio of "younger" vs. "older."
* No matter how other counselors warn U, an' U research in advance an' feel sure de "younger" can't take U aback wid "hardcore" topics, there are always some who try to discomfit U wid graphic questions about de church's views on this or that. Maintained mi composure an' offered de followin' advice on de topic of someone wantin' to re-ignite de marital flame by doin' rectal whatever: "U just married recently, U shouldn't need to 're-ignite' nutten already, if U want to do suppem nice & spicy for your hubby, cook him suppem wid pepper in it, no need to get drastic an' start ruinin' your personal plumbin' just because of any-ting U read, saw, or heard."
* Not sure if "older" seem condescendin' to de "younger" but some "younger" can seem condescendin' when U advisin' them. U print out all kinda info from de centre for disease control & various websites (from ob-gyn to pastoral counsel site) an' is like dem nuh appreciate none o' your efforts to arrive at de sessions prepared to help dem.
* Parentin' is seen as a task that some definitely not eager to embrace.
* Some younger ladies there are really nice. They worry about "simpler" matters, stuff we've prob'ly all contemplated at some time or other, an' can relate to. E.g., a young lady was worried some folks countin' de months to know if she conceived before or after de marriage. Was quite forthright wid all o' dem. Told her how ages ago some folks said ah was just rushin' to wed so that ah could have sex -- de snide unspoken part was: "And that is if you two aren't already fornicatin'." (Sometimes older brothers & sisters in Christ put pressure on younger ones or even de newly converted -- thru gossip, etc. -- without even noticin' how they alienate people.)
* Memorable: Sister "E" and her empathetic advice to a lonely sister, to whom she's prob'ly now a mentor in general. Sister "E" says without rancour that she waits on the Lord since all will be done in His own good time. Almost in her 60s, she's got more maternal instincts than many, and cares for likkle boys an' girls like they were her own. Her advisee let others in on their discussion, which was good, considerin' de closed door nature of most o' these sessions.
* Am not yet necessarily 'fittin' de role (to counsel an' minister) to many who need it.
What I've noticed:
* Some think because they're more experienced they know more about every-ting than U do. How can U help "to call any play," when they've been playin' de field an' sure they know de 'game' more than U?
* These retreats can seem like an unpleasant juvenile slumber party when U check de ratio of "younger" vs. "older."
* No matter how other counselors warn U, an' U research in advance an' feel sure de "younger" can't take U aback wid "hardcore" topics, there are always some who try to discomfit U wid graphic questions about de church's views on this or that. Maintained mi composure an' offered de followin' advice on de topic of someone wantin' to re-ignite de marital flame by doin' rectal whatever: "U just married recently, U shouldn't need to 're-ignite' nutten already, if U want to do suppem nice & spicy for your hubby, cook him suppem wid pepper in it, no need to get drastic an' start ruinin' your personal plumbin' just because of any-ting U read, saw, or heard."
* Not sure if "older" seem condescendin' to de "younger" but some "younger" can seem condescendin' when U advisin' them. U print out all kinda info from de centre for disease control & various websites (from ob-gyn to pastoral counsel site) an' is like dem nuh appreciate none o' your efforts to arrive at de sessions prepared to help dem.
* Parentin' is seen as a task that some definitely not eager to embrace.
* Some younger ladies there are really nice. They worry about "simpler" matters, stuff we've prob'ly all contemplated at some time or other, an' can relate to. E.g., a young lady was worried some folks countin' de months to know if she conceived before or after de marriage. Was quite forthright wid all o' dem. Told her how ages ago some folks said ah was just rushin' to wed so that ah could have sex -- de snide unspoken part was: "And that is if you two aren't already fornicatin'." (Sometimes older brothers & sisters in Christ put pressure on younger ones or even de newly converted -- thru gossip, etc. -- without even noticin' how they alienate people.)
* Memorable: Sister "E" and her empathetic advice to a lonely sister, to whom she's prob'ly now a mentor in general. Sister "E" says without rancour that she waits on the Lord since all will be done in His own good time. Almost in her 60s, she's got more maternal instincts than many, and cares for likkle boys an' girls like they were her own. Her advisee let others in on their discussion, which was good, considerin' de closed door nature of most o' these sessions.
* Am not yet necessarily 'fittin' de role (to counsel an' minister) to many who need it.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
There but tor the Grace of God . . .
There's a woman who's been residing nearby my cousin in NY. She married a Floridian, who filed for her, so it's just a matter of time before her younger children (those still in J.A.) will migrate to live with her -- or with whomever.
She comes across as friendly and helpful, and might have no problems getting hired as a nanny, etc. When you first meet her, you'd most likely say to yourself, "She's so nice and pleasant," or as old-time people would say, "She have approach, eeh." Don't be fooled.
Her daughter who attends a traditional high school is on the verge of dropping out, and has twice attempted suicide. The woman was alerted of the situation, and has got sympathy from those around her. "What a wicked girl," she and they say. "Who goin' to look after her brothers an' sisters if she ever succeed?"
The woman confided to my cousin that she's heard that the girl's father has proven incestuous whenever he manages to show up to pay school fees and drop off maintenance money. (People residing on the same lane have seen and heard some of the antics in the overcrowded hut that is the child's home.) At least one of the other children's "fathers" has shown conspicuous interest in the girl -- if he hasn't struck by now. "That's why she want to tek off an' abandon the children," the woman complained. My cousin told her off, and hasn't seen her around since -- she fears my cousin might alert de gov't here. My cousin hardly knows de woman's proper nickname much less the woman's proper name.
Every time I hear of the hardships that people in squalid areas go through, it angers me. It angers me because it is so unnecessary. It angers me because there is always someone facilitating the oppression of precious children -- and every child is precious. When did people living in squalor cease being individual human beings and become only "they" and "them"? I say this all the time, and people might not understand how serious I am: It would be more merciful to execute them all if you as a government, as a "better-off" or a have, hate them so much that it doesn't pain you to see them being tortured, being killed slowly just one indignity at a time. If you must allow their spirits to be killed -- and this happens mostly before they're adults, then understand that you want heartless monsters around you and don't friggin' complain when dem come a yu blasted house come shot up yu bumboh!! Don't say you didn't do them anything. You did: you chose to look the other way. Imagine, some of the girl's teachers were among those "turning up nose" at the atrocity called a hairstyle that dysfunctional adults bestowed on the girl's head. (In hearing of so many similar situations, it seems the first thing the oppressors do is a hostile "cut and color" that leaves the young girls looking fit for nowhere other than a dancehall. Self-esteem gets cut along with the hair, self-consciousness creeps in, and what do some teachers do?? Look down on the student. Maybe 2 out of every 200 teachers might intervene and offer to help.)
I remember reading about the abuse in children's homes, and about how some children got there in the first place. A little boy's grandmother made money from having men violate him. His aunts had no problem with it. His mother -- a go-go in Kingston -- had been similarly abused and had started her dancing career at 13. The boy, much younger than that, had run away and was hustling in HWT, meeting men in the daytime by offering to wipe windshields and then selling himself to them for food and money after dark.
Someone said before, "You can tell a lot about a society by how it treats its children." (Suffering Haitian children are a prime example of that statement.) Are we satisfied with how J.A. treats its most vulnerable children?
Consider your life differently. Say you never had responsible parents -- say you barely knew who your parents were -- if at all you knew. Say you had no high school education. Say you had no choice in the matter of when, where, and how you gained sexual experience. Say you lived with broken people who didn't understand that exposing you (a small child) to pornographic material and graphic conversation is itself abuse. Say they were similarly broken and are driven (as they invariably compulsively are when they get no professional help, which most don't), and they need to get you out and about sexually as soon as possible to ensure that you don't deviate from the blood-thirsty mores (promiscuity, baby-fatherhood, teenage pregnancy, etc.). Say you survived by bathpan and standpipe, and could only dream of the luxury and dignity of a proper private toilet. Say you bounced from squatter land to squatter land and gunman-ridden yard to gunman-ridden yard. Say you knew the bitter indignity of night-time hunger merging into lunchtime hunger held captive in the aroma of classmates' lunches and determined to stay at school until the end of the schoolday -- as unreachable as day's end seemed. No, don't think we got all the places in high school because we were just brighter than "they" who live in "those communities" -- consider everything I've written so far. Say you managed to pass your exam for J.C. (as Lexus did), but couldn't enter the high-school because your single mother explained you were too poor to afford it (as his mother did). Wouldn't that have stomped on your aspirations -- on your spirit? Wouldn't you have had a tough time rebounding from the missed opportunities even as he rebounded? In all of this, say you knew what it was like to eke out a precarious existence on the extreme edges of society, how long could you hang on to your dignity -- to your sense of who you are as a human being? Say you had no memory of ever having been a child, but had always carried the overwhelming burden of your own care on your own little shoulders.
You grew up with adults who care about you. Many children grow up with con-people around them. I know. I've tried to help on several occasions, but found that people were using "de pickney dem" to con money out of the altruistic. Now, nobody can't tell me nutten -- helping one or two children with the guidance of my aunt is enough.
I would like my country to start seeing these children as people, and to treat them accordingly. Stop allowing them to be destroyed. It is wicked. It is heartless. And it is totally unnecessary.
She comes across as friendly and helpful, and might have no problems getting hired as a nanny, etc. When you first meet her, you'd most likely say to yourself, "She's so nice and pleasant," or as old-time people would say, "She have approach, eeh." Don't be fooled.
Her daughter who attends a traditional high school is on the verge of dropping out, and has twice attempted suicide. The woman was alerted of the situation, and has got sympathy from those around her. "What a wicked girl," she and they say. "Who goin' to look after her brothers an' sisters if she ever succeed?"
The woman confided to my cousin that she's heard that the girl's father has proven incestuous whenever he manages to show up to pay school fees and drop off maintenance money. (People residing on the same lane have seen and heard some of the antics in the overcrowded hut that is the child's home.) At least one of the other children's "fathers" has shown conspicuous interest in the girl -- if he hasn't struck by now. "That's why she want to tek off an' abandon the children," the woman complained. My cousin told her off, and hasn't seen her around since -- she fears my cousin might alert de gov't here. My cousin hardly knows de woman's proper nickname much less the woman's proper name.
Every time I hear of the hardships that people in squalid areas go through, it angers me. It angers me because it is so unnecessary. It angers me because there is always someone facilitating the oppression of precious children -- and every child is precious. When did people living in squalor cease being individual human beings and become only "they" and "them"? I say this all the time, and people might not understand how serious I am: It would be more merciful to execute them all if you as a government, as a "better-off" or a have, hate them so much that it doesn't pain you to see them being tortured, being killed slowly just one indignity at a time. If you must allow their spirits to be killed -- and this happens mostly before they're adults, then understand that you want heartless monsters around you and don't friggin' complain when dem come a yu blasted house come shot up yu bumboh!! Don't say you didn't do them anything. You did: you chose to look the other way. Imagine, some of the girl's teachers were among those "turning up nose" at the atrocity called a hairstyle that dysfunctional adults bestowed on the girl's head. (In hearing of so many similar situations, it seems the first thing the oppressors do is a hostile "cut and color" that leaves the young girls looking fit for nowhere other than a dancehall. Self-esteem gets cut along with the hair, self-consciousness creeps in, and what do some teachers do?? Look down on the student. Maybe 2 out of every 200 teachers might intervene and offer to help.)
I remember reading about the abuse in children's homes, and about how some children got there in the first place. A little boy's grandmother made money from having men violate him. His aunts had no problem with it. His mother -- a go-go in Kingston -- had been similarly abused and had started her dancing career at 13. The boy, much younger than that, had run away and was hustling in HWT, meeting men in the daytime by offering to wipe windshields and then selling himself to them for food and money after dark.
Someone said before, "You can tell a lot about a society by how it treats its children." (Suffering Haitian children are a prime example of that statement.) Are we satisfied with how J.A. treats its most vulnerable children?
Consider your life differently. Say you never had responsible parents -- say you barely knew who your parents were -- if at all you knew. Say you had no high school education. Say you had no choice in the matter of when, where, and how you gained sexual experience. Say you lived with broken people who didn't understand that exposing you (a small child) to pornographic material and graphic conversation is itself abuse. Say they were similarly broken and are driven (as they invariably compulsively are when they get no professional help, which most don't), and they need to get you out and about sexually as soon as possible to ensure that you don't deviate from the blood-thirsty mores (promiscuity, baby-fatherhood, teenage pregnancy, etc.). Say you survived by bathpan and standpipe, and could only dream of the luxury and dignity of a proper private toilet. Say you bounced from squatter land to squatter land and gunman-ridden yard to gunman-ridden yard. Say you knew the bitter indignity of night-time hunger merging into lunchtime hunger held captive in the aroma of classmates' lunches and determined to stay at school until the end of the schoolday -- as unreachable as day's end seemed. No, don't think we got all the places in high school because we were just brighter than "they" who live in "those communities" -- consider everything I've written so far. Say you managed to pass your exam for J.C. (as Lexus did), but couldn't enter the high-school because your single mother explained you were too poor to afford it (as his mother did). Wouldn't that have stomped on your aspirations -- on your spirit? Wouldn't you have had a tough time rebounding from the missed opportunities even as he rebounded? In all of this, say you knew what it was like to eke out a precarious existence on the extreme edges of society, how long could you hang on to your dignity -- to your sense of who you are as a human being? Say you had no memory of ever having been a child, but had always carried the overwhelming burden of your own care on your own little shoulders.
You grew up with adults who care about you. Many children grow up with con-people around them. I know. I've tried to help on several occasions, but found that people were using "de pickney dem" to con money out of the altruistic. Now, nobody can't tell me nutten -- helping one or two children with the guidance of my aunt is enough.
I would like my country to start seeing these children as people, and to treat them accordingly. Stop allowing them to be destroyed. It is wicked. It is heartless. And it is totally unnecessary.
Friday, October 13, 2006
This Noh Right
What seemed most noteworthy to me today was a report that someone (possibly gov't worker) had leaked Golding's tax return to The Gleaner, ostensibly to inform the public, but most likely as payback for his exposure of the questionable contribution. Woulda blogged just about that, but then ah read this.
OK, so a 7-yr-old girl was raped by five 9-yr-old boys at a primary school (Dunrobin). Five boys admitted that they dragged her from the bathroom when she was there washing her hands, and took her to an abandoned building where the assault took place. NOT ONE OF THEM WAS PUNISHED. School officials then not only proceeded to hide it, but also started smearing the girl even further by implying that she's "mental." Then they further assert that she's in the wrong school, that she should be in a 'special' school.
No, brethren, somebody head woulda haffe roll.
Some study has been done by a clinical psychologist recently which allegedly showed that many J'cans have 'low emotional intelligence' & that this was why empathy was all but extinct in some circles. Mi noh know. Maybe him right. All me know, somebody head woulda haffe roll.
OK, so a 7-yr-old girl was raped by five 9-yr-old boys at a primary school (Dunrobin). Five boys admitted that they dragged her from the bathroom when she was there washing her hands, and took her to an abandoned building where the assault took place. NOT ONE OF THEM WAS PUNISHED. School officials then not only proceeded to hide it, but also started smearing the girl even further by implying that she's "mental." Then they further assert that she's in the wrong school, that she should be in a 'special' school.
No, brethren, somebody head woulda haffe roll.
Some study has been done by a clinical psychologist recently which allegedly showed that many J'cans have 'low emotional intelligence' & that this was why empathy was all but extinct in some circles. Mi noh know. Maybe him right. All me know, somebody head woulda haffe roll.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Bein' Joyous at Others' Good Fortune
IMHO, this is generally not difficult: bein' joyous at others' good fortune. What if de person in question is Hitler Foley Amin? Understandably, mi opinion would change -- no joy for them. It's about justice & fairness. Ah found out someone recently tried to block mi blessings. They say "friendship" so easily, but feel no joy when their "friend" enjoys an achievement. Mi noh like smutty-mind people, yu know. Worse, de ally from church glosses over de smutty-mindedness by sayin, "It's just a Jamaican poor-people trait, a survival skill, so even after life improves the attitude still obtains." Whatever. Dem better don't come back come lean pon my fence, 'cause a macca dem woulda lean pon.
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