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Re: Here's the Letter ...
<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: J kid</div><div class="ubbcode-body">Growing up inna JA many of us have been through worst. Some of us may have forgotten how to survive after years on easy-street. </div></div>I know its two different countries, different times, but I need not go too far than our family's own situation.
We were four kids growing up with bank accounts, insurance polices and allowances, even though we were poor. Then my dad tricked my mom to come home to Jamaica bring taking our sister who was born in abroad whilst he stay and earn a living to take care of the family.
Unknown to us he was living La Vida Loco, a separate life in a more exciting time zone, when he got deported to Jamaica he really did not want my mom, but he was married <span style="font-style: italic">(all of this came out over a decade later)</span>. To make life as uncomfortable for her as possible he cut off our entire lifeline, no insurance, no bank accounts, sometimes no water, and sometimes no light. A television in every room (luxury at the time), but we could not watch it.
This was the 70s; outside of our very private home the world was crumbling, shootings, fires, strange refugees moving in to the Community, etc. My mom had to go back to the grind with not one of her kids of working age, except her oldest daughter <span style="font-style: italic">(my half-sister and his oldest daughter and son who barely or never lived with us and was never counted in the four)</span>. All this time my dad was known as the kindest man in the neighbourhood who would give his only shirt off his back to strangers but not to us.
Staples was scarce in the 70s but my dad had connections, he was a builder to rich, he had store room chocked full of goodies that we were not allowed to touch, in fact most of it literally rot inside that storeroom. The rest he bestowed on his peeps in the neighbourhood, including two of my schoolmates who often remarked, that they would have starved if it were not for my dad's kindness.
We still went to school, still had among the best attendance records, smell like we took and bath and used kus-kus, shoes shine, hair, <span style="font-style: italic">(until I broke ranks)</span>, greased and combed.
All the while Jamaica wad burning and my mom never even told us to broke papa's storeroom door down!
<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: J kid</div><div class="ubbcode-body">Growing up inna JA many of us have been through worst. Some of us may have forgotten how to survive after years on easy-street. </div></div>I know its two different countries, different times, but I need not go too far than our family's own situation.
We were four kids growing up with bank accounts, insurance polices and allowances, even though we were poor. Then my dad tricked my mom to come home to Jamaica bring taking our sister who was born in abroad whilst he stay and earn a living to take care of the family.
Unknown to us he was living La Vida Loco, a separate life in a more exciting time zone, when he got deported to Jamaica he really did not want my mom, but he was married <span style="font-style: italic">(all of this came out over a decade later)</span>. To make life as uncomfortable for her as possible he cut off our entire lifeline, no insurance, no bank accounts, sometimes no water, and sometimes no light. A television in every room (luxury at the time), but we could not watch it.
This was the 70s; outside of our very private home the world was crumbling, shootings, fires, strange refugees moving in to the Community, etc. My mom had to go back to the grind with not one of her kids of working age, except her oldest daughter <span style="font-style: italic">(my half-sister and his oldest daughter and son who barely or never lived with us and was never counted in the four)</span>. All this time my dad was known as the kindest man in the neighbourhood who would give his only shirt off his back to strangers but not to us.
Staples was scarce in the 70s but my dad had connections, he was a builder to rich, he had store room chocked full of goodies that we were not allowed to touch, in fact most of it literally rot inside that storeroom. The rest he bestowed on his peeps in the neighbourhood, including two of my schoolmates who often remarked, that they would have starved if it were not for my dad's kindness.
We still went to school, still had among the best attendance records, smell like we took and bath and used kus-kus, shoes shine, hair, <span style="font-style: italic">(until I broke ranks)</span>, greased and combed.
All the while Jamaica wad burning and my mom never even told us to broke papa's storeroom door down!
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