My Father’s Son
Now that I think about it, I never really knew him. I never really knew the pain and anxiety; the resentment and fear, I never really knew who he was. In fact, those closest to him will tell you that they themselves did not know him. You see, he was many things; smart, caring, fun loving, feisty, emotional, arrogant but most of all he was afraid. Yes, he yearned to be at peace with himself, he yearned to bridge the two worlds which existed within him. Unfortunately, there was very little he could do; he was, after all, my father’s son… PAIN… His life began in the early hours of an unknown day, of an unknown month some 22 years ago, in an unremarkable room at the Victoria Jubilee Hospital in Kingston, Jamaica. A young woman has just given birth to a baby boy… HOPE… There are no family members present except the woman’s mother… LOVE… Weighing in at 7lbs 8 ounces with dark hair and brown eyes, the child is at best average. The attending nurse will recall, though she does not know why, that the on the first occasion the child is slapped he makes no sound, he simply stares at the occupants of the no doubt strange environment… LIFE… When last I heard, he’d grown up and become quite the man. Proving them all wrong, one by one. And though he lives, I still do not know him. And though he is, I still do not see him. I long to sit with him, to know who he is. If you ever see him, tell him I’d like to meet him… but wait, do you even know my father’s son?