Young Men

Whenever I make a promise to my children I keep it…in other words I deliver on my promises. If I cannot deliver on a promise, I do not make it. Last week I realized that my second son needed a hair cut but we never got the chance to go to the barber partly because he is now very busy with “tracks” after school and I happen to be a forgetful mother (what can I say, the truth is the truth).

Yesterday, around 4:30 pm my son called out from his room, ”Mom, what about the hair cut?” I had promised him that he would get one before Monday morning. 

I replied, “Ok son, get ready. We will leave in half an hour.”

We both got dressed and he went outside to wait on me.

“Mom, what happen to your tire (tyre)?”

I had forgotten that my husband picked up a nail earlier in the day. The tire (tyre) was flat to the rim. I called my husband who was working a just few doors up the street to ask him if he could leave the work site to take us to the barber shop. He said, “No, I cannot leave here now.”

I was about to tell him that we would walk down the hill to Liguanea and take a taxi on our way back when I remembered that there were two men working on the old VW in the backyard…we could not leave them there as we had to ensure that the gate was locked after they left.

I stood on the exit staircase wondering how I was going to fulfill my promise to my son when his favourite barber shop was already closed. My son sat on the concrete bench looking at me with his dad’s eyes for a solution. 

By this time I had laced up my sneakers in anticipation of the one mile walk to Liguanea. Just then I decided to ask the men in the backyard how much longer they would be working on  the VW mini-bus. They told me that they were just about done and would be leaving in a few minutes.

I was relieved.

Just then I decided to ask the young university professor what he was going to do with an old VW bus. As he started to reply, the mechanic he had brought to work on the van revved up the engine and filthy smoke gushed out of the tailpipe forcing the young professor to step backwards.

“Oh, I need it for…”

I could not hear his response because of the loud noise coming from the engine and the exhaust.

I decided to ask the professor for a ride to Liguanea in his car. He obliged.

As we entered Matilda’s Corner, I realized that he wanted to ensure that we arrived at our precise destination, so I asked him to take us to the “Upper Cut.” As it turned out, that was also his barber shop.

“Upper Cut” was closed of course but I was determined that my son was going to get his hair cut. The young professor was very kind and offered to take us to the next barber shop I had on my list. He followed my instructions and drove into the Texaco Gas Station at Matilda’s Corner. We both thanked him. 

My son and I walked briskly towards our “second choice” barber shop. A dark-skinned young man met us as the door and smiled. He knew what we wanted. We did not have to ask.

As the young barber cut my son’s hair, I admired his outfit. Everything he had on was dark brown, from his dark coffee-brown shirt to his dark brown suede shoes; this guy was looking quite sharp in full brown. I admired my son too as the tiny waves on his head became noticeable. 

As we exited the shop, we noticed a familiar figure approached us. It was him!

“Hey Tracks (not his real street name)!”

He spun the bicycle around and smiled with us. It was the first time that we were meeting him outside of my car.

“I saw you walking and looked for your car but I did not see it, so I decided to come over to you.”

Tracks was looking good. Damn, his hair was freshly barbered, his shirt seemed new and he was wearing a raincoat. His bicycle also appeared brand new.

I held out my right hand and offered to give him a “fist bump” like the one Michele Obama is known for. He returned the greeting.

“So what have you been up to man? Are you still working at …? How’s school? Are you still going to your classes?”

He smiled the way he always did whenever I met him on the street corner wiping windscreens. Actually it was his boyish smile and promising eyes that drew my attention to him the first time I saw him on the streets. And ever since that day, my son and I have been hoping and praying silently for a change in his life.

“Well I can’t complain…Actually I am still in school and working too…You know, it is another good lady making the contacts for me…”

I suddenly realized that Tracks was speaking pretty good English.

We spoke for about half an hour about his life while he tried to apologize for any scent of … that I might have sniffed. He started to tell me more about his life as my son listened intently.

“Mi smoke …, mi nah guh tell yu no lie…do whole heep a tings but neva …” 

“Bless the Lord for that…is alright man. I know about life at all levels. ”

“Yeh.”

“What happened that day when di man dem rush yu pan Mountain View? Mi did a wonder ’bout dat.”

As Tracks told me the story of how he dealt with the situation, I held out my right hand and he held out his, still smiling. We shook hands twice. His hands were rough like the pavement on which we were standing; mine as soft as a wife’s hands are expected to be. My son waited his turn and then held out his right hand to Tracks. What a moment!  

As we prepared to go our separate ways, I could not help but ask about his mother. Immediately his countenance changed. 

“Yeh, I saw her the other day in … and she asked me for a money.”

He did not want to say much more about his mother. Instead he concentrated on telling me about his hopes of being on the “Ian Boyne” show very soon. 

We all smiled. We were all hoping for the best outcome.

He has been transformed from wiping windscreens. Praise God! Positive things are happening in his life. He now looks like someone’s son, someone’s brother and someone’s future husband. And I know he is going to go places, very soon. I can see it in his eyes. While he did not say so, I can tell, I can feel the vibes and the energy…that he was given a promise and she (that lady) is going to keep that promise.     

Dear God, Please be with him as he rides off on his new bicycle to his new home. Help us also to deliver on our promises to our children and help our children to appreciate what they have in life. For Father, we mothers know that, “ Man nuh dead, nuh call him duppy.” We have seen this story unfold so many times in Kingston City that we have to  believe it. Another set of feet have been transformed from the mean streets of Kingston onto a new set of wheels. We pray for him as well as his Saviour, Dear God. Amen!

As resilient as a Jamaican girl.

“You can use this door.”

I thought I heard him explaining that the side door led to the stage and would save some time instead of walking out onto the temporary entrance facing Tom Redcam Drive. We entered the reading room and found the waiting audience ready for another night of good theatre. 

The good seats were all taken so we moved towards the rear of the room with me ahead of my husband hoping to find two vacant and adjoining chairs. The room was quieter tonight with fewer pre-teens and while the scent of popcorn filled the air, I did not notice the usual line of excited children waiting for their treats. I removed a chair from its original space in the rear and placed it in our favourite spot just about six rows from the screen and away from the lights. 

As we settled into our seats, I was drawn to a group of teenage girls dressed in blue skirts, white blouses and blue neck ties. The uniform was familiar but I was not sure of the school. Then I saw a slim girl (maybe a 4th former) wearing the school crest on her left bust. I could not mistake that crest, not even in my sleep. They were from my high school! Rusea’s! All the way from Hanover! I turned to my husband and asked.

“Can you imagine they came all the way from Hanover to watch this movie?” I was elated. Just two days ago I thought about the need for these movies to be shown across Jamaica and actually posted a comment on the United States Embassy’s (Jamaica) Facebook page in reaction to last week’s American Movie Classic, “The Wizard of Oz.”

Please do not stop now. Every library in Jamaica should have access to these and other classic films…How many of these children know that movies were only available in black and white? As a child, I remember placing colored plastic over our TV in Cascade, Hanover. That was about 1974 when my sister migrated to the United States and left the TV with us.”

As soon as I was sure that the students were from my alma mater, I drew my chair closer to the group and to a young woman whom I suspected was their literature teacher. 

“Are you from Rusea’s?” I asked knowingly.

She replied, “Yes, we are.”

“And you came all the way to Kingston to watch this movie tonight?”

“Oh, yes! When I heard that the movie would be showing in town, I said I had to take my students to see it. I watched it when I was ten years old and I have never forgotten it.”

It is a long way back to Hanover.

My heart started to melt as my mind went back to the early 1980s when I was a 5th form student at Rusea’s. I was preparing for my Caribbean Examinations Certificate (CXCs) amidst all the confusion in the school and in my personal life. Sixth form was already defunct, a major indicator of the school’s general poor performance (in my view) at the time. Literature was one of the nine subjects I took that year, a decision made primarily by me. I do not recall getting any useful guidance in selecting my CXC subjects that year. 

I decided then and there that I was going to connect with the teacher sitting next to me in the Tom Redcam Reading Room. I wanted to let her know that she was special. After all, I did not notice any other “country” school represented in the audience.

“That is just so good that you took these students all the way from Hanover to see this movie!”

“Really? You think so?”

“Yes, of course. That is a long journey for you to take.”

“Well I am so glad to hear you say that. You are the only one who thinks that this is good.”

I leaned my head over to the teacher and whispered. “I need to get your contact information…you are special.”

“So, did the school sponsor the trip?” I asked, being fully aware of the high cost of transportation and the meager budgets of high schools in Jamaica.

“No, the students had to pay out of their pockets.”  

We exchanged telephone numbers and e-mail addresses while we waited for the second part of the movie to start. 

Oh, how I wished there were more teachers like this one!  Her students will never forget this movie because she placed such a high value on it. They had to drive over one hundred miles over a typical four-hour trip to see “Gone with the Wind.”

As I drove home, I thought about the discussions they must have had in their mini-bus on their way back to Hanover. I am sure they talked about Scarlett because I heard how they reacted in the “theatre” whenever she cried for what she wanted. I hope they talked about Scarlett’s resilience too, and “her choice of power over sex and romantic love.”  I pray that they had the chance to review every violent scene and make the connections between the old Atlanta and the new; the old Scarlett and the new. But most of all, I ask God to help those girls to love their fathers in spite of all their shortcomings.  

You are indeed special Miss Dawn Dawes. We are now connected! My husband says you are a blessed woman.