A Boy and His Daddy

This past week I went to Barbados on vacation. I went expecting to spend a lot of time on the beach and to support my father in his quest to reconnect with his long lost uncle. His uncle Vernon left Guyana when my father was 2 years old; so my father never knew him.  I went on vacation and I got so much more.

I don’t really know much about my father’s side of the family; and I guess I didn’t really know much about my father by extension. My father has always been a mystery to me. He was an immovable force that, until now, has been a tough nut to crack. I was deeply honored that he asked me to join him in Barbados to re-connect with his uncle.  To hear him tell it, he has been meaning to visit his uncle and connect with him since he came to America 20 years ago. It was one of those things that he was “planning” to do, but never got around to it. I don’t know what made him decide to do it this year, but I am glad he did.  I am glad because I saw my father differently on this trip. I also glad because I know he would have been truly hurt if Uncle Vernon died before he met him, knowing he had all this time to do so.

On the day we set out to visit uncle Vernon, I could tell something was different about my father. At the time I didn’t know what it was. There was pep in his step; there was a different air about him. He seemed more relaxed than I have known him to be. Our friend, Jermaine drove us from our lodging to the quiet street in Saint Michael, Barbados. The house stood out in that it had a very tall, not-so-green evergreen and a public phone booth in the front yard (weird combination). As we exited the car and walked up to the house, I didn’t know what to expect. We rapped at the door and young lady who I didn’t know answered and let us in without really knowing who we were. It was as if she recognized that we were family.  The ‘New York” in me was cautious, though.

We entered the home and a shirtless man, named Oral, emerged from a back room holding a baby. The woman that answered the door was his wife, Crystal.  There was a 3 year old boy in is underoos running about and playing; I later learned his name was Caleb.  My father’s uncle came out from the kitchen area looking very much like a man who had spent some time in the Caribbean.  He had on a loud orange, short sleeve buttoned-down shirt and plaid shorts. He was barefooted, of course. The resemblance to my father was uncanny. He had the same hairline as my father and the same shaped forehead.  My father, a man who I have always known to be stern and stone-faced, lit up like a kid on Christmas day. A small tear welled up in my left eye. My father had always seemed to keep his emotions in check and wasn’t known to me to be loose with his affections. But here he was, excited to see a stranger as if he had known him all his life. It warmed my heart to the point of tears.  I was proud to be there for my old man. Those who know me know that have a savior complex.  My daddy needed me, and I was there.

We sat down and talked. Before we came, my father told me that his uncle was in his 80’s and didn’t see or hear well. There was also the implication that Uncle Vernon may have mild Alzheimer’s.  None of that was evident this day. My father and his uncle sat and carried on a conversation about the family bush (our family is a bush not a tree) and long lost relatives. Uncle Vernon’s recollection of past events was spot on and I think that made my father even happier. I think knowing that his uncle remembered the same family and places he knew solidified the kinship my father felt. I almost forgot that my father had these types of feelings.

There were several moments where my father repeated how glad he was that he came and met Vernon; a rare moment indeed. I took many pictures of them conversing, but most of the time I was playing with little Caleb. He likes being upside-down. Some time later I asked my father what his favorite moment was of our little vacation. Not surprisingly, he said his favorite moment was meeting his uncle.  For him, the vacation was over; he did what he set out to do.  I was touched to hear my father describe his feelings about the trip that way. For so long I had thought I had our dynamic figured out. As my parent, he was supposed to be there for me. It never really occurred to me that there could be a time that I could be there for him, to support him in one of his life goals. I tell you, I have never felt closer to my father as I did then. For the first time, he wasn’t just my daddy; he was Gladstone, a man looking for a connection to his family and to his past. In that moment, my father seemed more human to me than I had ever known him. 

Thank you, daddy. Thank you for allowing me to share that moment with you. Thank you for showing me that side of you.  I love you.