Remembering Daddy

It's been roughly a year and a half since my dad passed. That was after 4 months of end-stage cancer. I've had lots of time to analyse and bring closure to the wonderfully complex relationship I had with him.

I haven't.

Instead, I've been remembering the things I loved about Harold Walton.

• Daddy had a KILLER sense of humour. Whenever I remember him, I remember a broad grin and booming, roaring laughter... that usually followed some joke at someone's expense. His conversations with Mummy were a particularly rich source of entertainment. Here's one of my favourites:

Mummy: Harold, what time is it?

Daddy: Ten to!

Mummy: Ten to what?

Daddy: Tend to yuh own BUSINESS!!!

• Daddy had a BEAUTIFUL tenor voice. And he was ALWAYS singing - a real chirper. He could harmonize on a dime. In fact, when I was a little girl, we did that all the time... we'd sing all kinds of songs together, and take turns singing the harmony. He took pride in the fact that I could sing, and would often embarrass me by commanding me to sing the high notes of "Handel's Messiah" for visitors. And during the last year of his life, he fretted that his high notes weren't quite up to scratch.

• Daddy was a bookworm. If he was quiet, the most likely reason was that his nose was buried in a book. Whether political works written by Norman Manley, or gun-toting fiction by Louis L'Amour, or the latest issue of Reader's Digest... If it could be read, Daddy was reading it. That's where he got all his 3-syllable words from... and that's how he indulged his love of language. He would often throw out some fancy word in casual conversation... like "circumnavigate"... then pause, pat himself on the back, and say, "Big wud Harold, big wud."

• The second most likely reason for Daddy being quiet, would have been that he was plotting mischief. Daddy was a prankster, and my poor mother got the brunt of it. One of his most memorable pranks: Daddy's home sick, sleeping late, and Mummy's rushing off to work... but can't find her shoes. She searches everywhere to no avail. It suddenly strikes her that Daddy's snores sound slightly staged. She shakes him. He grunts sleepily. She pushes him away from his pillow, which she lifts off the bed... and there, wrapped in newspaper and plastic bags, are Mummy's shoes.

• This part of my Dad I know the least - he was a born leader. At home he was easygoing, laidback. At work, apparently, he was an innovator, a mentor, a leader who was always ready to teach and was un-selfconscious about his own brilliance. He was a career policeman, always stationed in rural parts, and I never saw Daddy in uniform, never experienced him at work. But at his memorial service, so many of his colleagues came forward to paint the picture of a man who was universally admired. I came away from that funeral with renewed respect for my father.

Dad, the memories of you are as brilliant today as they have ever been. You are, and always have been, loved.

Serious Business: Women Aren't ALWAYS Right

I don't think it's completely fair to say that it's a man's world. I believe there are issues in which men tend to get the shaft. At least, here in Jamaica. Discussions about men's and women's issues tend to be one-sided - from the woman's viewpoint.

Take for instance, domestic abuse. It is ALWAYS, ALWAYS wrong for a man to abuse a woman in any way, be it physical or emotional. It's never right to do something wrong.

I believe that if a man feels he is getting to a point in his relationship where he will have difficulty controlling his anger, he should walk away. Battering his partner CANNOT be the answer. A man should NOT hit a woman; and if he does, he should bear the consequences.

On the other hand, what we don't hear as much about, is the man's side of the story. I'm not talking about the man who is abusive and needs psychological help (that's another discussion). I'm talking about the fact that there are women out there who inflict emotional and yes, physical abuse on their men.

Many women think nothing of screaming at, swearing at, punching, kicking, throwing sharp objects at their man during an argument.

It's just as wrong for a woman to be abusive, as it is for a man.

There are other areas of inequity. How many men are out there who are unknowingly raising children who are not their own? Who are being denied access to their children as the spouse's means of retaliation for a broken relationship? Who are dragged into court for child support when they've lost their jobs, even though they had been faithfully providing for the child while employed?

We need to even out these discussions a bit. It's always wrong to do the wrong thing, whether it's a man doing wrong... or a woman.

Shooting Things of Beauty

I am trigger-happy. Yup, put a camera of any sort into my eager hands and I'll immediately point and shoot.

And, of course, post to Facebook. But that's another story...

Now I love to point & shoot people. Candid shots preferably. I am committed to immortalizing that moment you're cramming about 3 serving spoons' worth of food into your mouth at once. That's an event that should be preserved for posterity.

But what REALLY moves me, is beauty. I love beautiful old buildings and nature scenes: oceans, mountains, trees. I am moved by grand and and shabby bridges, stormy skies, cotton-candy clouds.

I'd like to share some of my beauty shots with you. Enjoy them with me and marvel at the creativity of God, and His generousity at sharing His creative genius with us mere mortals.

A Dog's Life

If I believed in reincarnation (and let me make it clear: I don't; I believe the Biblical statement "It is appointed unto man ONCE to die"... but I digress)...

...IF I believed in reincarnation, I would want to come back as my dog, Coco.

Now, Coco is a 6-yr-old Rotty mix. VERY mixed. I've had her since she was 6 weeks old. She's had me from 'Woof'. And we've been together long enough now for me to be slightly - but only slightly - envious of her.

First of all, Coco is a very happy person. Uhm... Dog. Sure, when she wakes up she's a little slow, but give her 30 seconds and WHAM! She's Happy Dog. Every day. If it's sunny or overcast, if she got less than her usual ration of food the night before - doesn't matter. That dog's got deep Inner Joy.

Me now? I have deep Inner Melancholy. I wake up with a sinking feeling in my stomach and spend minutes mentally fast-forwarding through my day, until I find a reason to be morose. And if I don't find it for that day, I mentally go through the whole week.

I want to be Coco.

The other thing about my doggie: she is very secure. Almost every morning when I open my door, she bounds inside to where I'm sitting and looks at me happily and intently. And if I don't pat her head right away, does she slink away feeling rejected? Nope. She KNOWS I love her, so she rests her head in my lap and waits patiently.

Very secure, very strong sense of self.

Me? Ignore me for 30 seconds and all my rejection issues are triggered and I begin to mope and sulk.

There are other traits of uprightness I admire in my dog:

• Keeping it simple. Coco ain't complex: she eats the same thing every day and is enthusiastic about it almost every time.

• Neighborly. Coco has made friends with several of the neighbours who regularly walk past my house. The fact that I acquired her to be a vicious guard dog has apparently eluded her. Or maybe it's that darn sense of self - she's secure in who she is, so she's not hampered by my ambitions for her.
  

• Straightforward. Coco doesn't DO hidden agendas (agendae? agendix?) There's no guile in this dog. She either likes you or she doesn't. She's hungry or she's not. And if she doesn't want to respond when you call her, she simply doesn't.

All these things, in addition to the fact that she's cute, pays no bills nor taxes, and doesn't struggle with her weight, makes me want to be Coco in my next life.