Dear Daddy,
My first memory of you is a time when you came to visit us in Trinidad after you had moved to New York. There were smells of chicken and roti, rice, beans, and bottles of Solo waiting for you. You entered through the front door like a celebrity, much better dressed than a prodigal son.
It’s been 23 birthdays since we lost you and sometimes I pretend that you are still living in that prized house in Miami with the enormous swimming pool surrounded by the pebbly Chattahoochee, expansive lawn, suicide door Cadillac and the Dansyl patiently moored in the circular driveway. I can picture you now with your striped button down shirt slightly straining that third button above your belly, colorful Bermudas complemented with brown socks and dark shoes; totally rocking the immigrant look, as you zip by on the riding lawn mower.
I reflect on all the things that you taught me:
- Be adventurous and hopeful, move to a different country or state or town in times of uncertainty and opportunity
- Be unapologetically bold with colors and clothing. Be a Sagaboy and wear that gold tooth cap driving the orange car
- Embrace new job opportunities
- Approach life with a sense of humor; dad jokes are always funny
- Go big; a little is good but more is always better
- Alcohol can change you from a kind, loving person to a …
- Dance; don’t be afraid to move your hips
- Enjoy loud music and share it with your kids; especially when they’re trapped in the car with you
- Spend money on luxuries and be generous
- Put sunblock on your bald head
- Keep learning and teaching yourself; any appliance can be repaired
- Don’t pay retail prices; negotiate
- Always have a battery tester
- Socialize; meet your neighbors, try new foods, travel everywhere
- Enjoy every meal, eat with enthusiasm and bring your own hot sauce
- Improvise, improvise, improvise
Your best piece of advice, or maybe a glimpse of your bravado, was when I had started a new job and was living on my own and confessed my anxiety to you. Your response, “You can’t be afraid of anything, you are MY daughter.”
I remember how you used to tease me that, because of the skin discoloration on my leg, I was the only one of your children that came in Technicolor. Our last conversation was a few weeks before we abruptly and unexpectedly lost you. Normally we would exchange a few quick words across the miles and you would pass the phone on to Mammy; but this time you stayed on and as we talked you remarked, “I’m so proud of you, you are a daughter after my own heart.”
I wish we had you with us longer. You should see your grandkids; you would be so proud; they are so successful and good and beautiful and everywhere! – California, Colorado, Delaware, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Florida and New York!
Did you send those butterflies when we spread your ashes in the bay? I hope you did; keep in touch 🙂
Love, Luxo
unbecomingjane 