In The Swim: CARIFTA Swimming Championships 2010

My musings on the just completed Carifta Swimming Championships in Kingston, Jamaica, were published by Ian Bourne on his Bajan Reporter website today. He also published several photographs I took during the first three days of the events.

Gave Instead Of Lent 31-34

March 22: Gave up my night's sleep to be at the airport for a family pick up. But, it was worth it to sit in my car in the pouring rain.

March 23: Gave acceptable breakfast service to my house guest, who then appreciated the drive through the bucolic Barbadian countryside to Codrington: he enjoyed seeing stands of mahoganies and other trees, which are very rare on his island.

March 24: Gave thanks to the British for the quirky things they do and did and what they have left behind as traces of their time here as colonial rulers. The post box in a wall is one such sign.

March 25: Gave my morning to searching for my child's school folder, which she left somewhere. Poor dear had brought home another child's. When asked if her folder did not have her name on, she replied "Yes, but it was upside down." The prosecution rests.

Gave Instead Of Lent 19, 20

March 10: Gave a guarded reply to a pertinent question. The question was not "Are there 12 days in Lent, Daddy?"

March 11: Gave our doubles tennis opponents the chance to be gracious in victory, while we were gracious in defeat. Goodness gracious!

Gave Instead Of Lent 15

March 6: Gave my daughter's violin teacher credit for her patience and perseverance when her young student was 'not in the mood' for violin class today. Ten minutes of lying on the sofa watching her father being taught seemed to do the trick and the latter part of the lesson went well.

Gave Instead Of Lent 14

March 5: Gave my little daughter a cookery and decision-making lesson. She wanted to make everyone breakfast, but we agreed that as it was a school day, she would cook her own scrambled eggs. She thought they tasted very nice.

Make More Of Your Life

When a friend sent me a message "I'm happy to announce that I've been published in More Magazine's on-line website. I'm very excited as this represents another achievement for me." I felt more than a little pleased. Lisa lists herself as an expert in "Nothing in particular but willing to discuss any topic." I can vouch for her ability to discuss.

In her piece, reproduced below, she wrote: "My life has been renewed in my forties because I did not hide from my passion to pursue physical and mental achievements. Improving the world means creating a safer and more prosperous environment for struggling populations and future generations." They say that life begins at 40, and when you reach that milestone, if your life has not started you certainly feel that it had better begin now, if the three score and ten years life expectation is going to play out. But, many adults need to find a new push at that point in their lives.

Her story may inspire you on many levels. For me, I focused on how an adult's life can be transformed by the arrival of children. This can be a blessing of many magnitudes. I don't use curse, because the difficulties that having children pose to adult life are challenges and adults should be able to adapt and profit. Within that view lies many a discussion, I know.

Read and enjoy Lisa's story of personal transformation, which is beginning and nowhere near its end.

Discovering My Passion To Transform

by Lisa Pitt•More.com Member {View Profile}

Forty years after I was born, I found myself giving birth to my third child in five years. “Now what,” I asked in September 2006 while surveying my world with many children to raise and goals to complete. The answer came a year later… in a supermarket. While standing at the register, I read a magnet quote that said, “Be the change you seek in the world”.

Reflecting on those words enabled me to see that I had to follow my desire to be a socially responsible global citizen who wanted to create economic opportunities in the developing nations of Africa. Lofty goals for a woman with a cart full of youngsters standing in a checkout line, but then I transformed from that point. I became passionate about fulfilling personal goals. My mantra was to focus on obtaining a fit body and educated mind.

As a lifelong athlete, I have always valued my physical fitness. The last of my three pregnancies had me tipping the scale at 170 pounds, so I knew it was time to get into shape. My mental resolution quickly turned into action as I started exercising and losing weight. In April 2008, I joined a gym and began running, cycling and swimming while mastering racquetball and rock climbing. And that was not enough because I soon reinvigorated my love for yoga, pilates and aerobics. By January 2009, my momentum enabled me to run in my first 5K race. I knew that after shedding over forty pounds, this would not be the last finish line I would cross. Becoming fit was essential to preparing me to meet my next challenge.

Although this is not the choice of many forty plus mothers with young children, I applied to business school and was accepted. This fall, I will become a full time MBA student. I now have the satisfaction of knowing that I’m no longer putting off graduate school. I will never say, “I should have done it!” The first steps are finished and I’m on my way to the next chapter in my life.

My life has been renewed in my forties because I did not hide from my passion to pursue physical and mental achievements. Improving the world means creating a safer and more prosperous environment for struggling populations and future generations. I want the impact of my life’s work to benefit my children and other families, not just me directly. Unlike many women in developing countries, I have the pleasure of watching my offspring grow up. They keep me company and motivated even though many ask how I continue to reach goals with such a young family. My response, “I’m changing because I’m passionate about change.”

First published October 2009

Triple Greetings

Triple greetings.

To my little daughter, the first, the second and the third sister, happy 6th birthday today.

To my Muslim friends and acquaintances, enjoy the celebration of Eid-ul-Fitr, for the end of Ramadan and the breaking of the fast.

To the world for the International Day of Peace, also celebrated today.

That constellation of events will not happen often. Grace!

Tell Me A Story: How Children Rule The World

Rhian asked me to write a story about her this morning. So, she pulled up her chair beside me, and started to eat her bread and salami, and drink her cup of Lipton's tea. "Go on, Daddy. Write my name and see how the story grows." I started to write her name and look, the story is already growing. What fun!

She then asked if the computer could say the story: she knows that a little button on the blog will let a computer voice become the story teller. She said "Hey! I want that to happen." That is all of the story. Do you like it? Rhian said "Yes!"

Daddy Says

On her way to school yesterday morning my little daughter sent me a message. She does not have her own BlackBerry so I assume that she had tied up her mother and rifled the device from her handbag. My little pearly sent "I love you Daddy". That's always a good piece of fruit for my cereal. I replied "Love you too, blimp." The airwaves went dead and I presume she got to school alright. Later in the day, when she was having her usual Friday sushi lunch with her mother, I got another message from 'BlackBerry Annie': "Why am I a blimp?"

The child has been encouraged to ask questions and to think about what answers mean. Now, I had to challenge all the little learning she had. I could not figure out how to send her a picture of a blimp, so I wrote: "A blimp is a balloon, like you see at the tennis or big shows. They fly freely and are filled with a gas called helium. Helium gas makes you laugh. So you are my little blimp: a free-flying little bag of laughing gas :-)" I then sent the message to her big sister, who was dosing herself with Percocet and Ben & Jerry ice cream, asking that she makes sure the little Einstein had the words for later in life. Big sis assured me that it would go into her photos folder. Of course, Big sis is well accustomed to the nicknames her Dad gives--it's a real Jamaican thing, too, so she took her cue and asked me "Why do you call me EBay?" I had to laugh to myself. I explained that it was a weak play on her name, Eleanor, and 'baby', and it had been concocted during those days when I was playing with selling pens on eBay. We both laughed at that in our messages, not least because if you write (b) it creates a dark sun glasses-wearing Emoticon.

There are many ways that parents interact with their children and having them separated by nearly 20 years puts that interaction into some interesting contexts. Fortunately, my approach has been broadly the same ever since. I have modified based on what I thought worked well with 'mark 1' child. One thing I get lil sis to do is to tell stories, but also to learn the important flaw that people have of distorting stories. Kids disagree over all sorts of things and often run to an adult saying "X was mean to me." I asked my little one to try to deal with the wrong herself but if she came running to me the story had to start "I did .... then X did ...". She found it odd at first, but as we tried it with one of her playmates, who also had to follow the same rule we got a better idea of what was going on. So, I heard "I pushed Matthew then he was mean to me back." That's better. Now, I could figure out what to do. The kids now understand this is how I operate. No one does things in isolation, but often out of provocation. One has to see what was the provoking moment.

It's All Good. But You Have To Dig A Little.

Regular readers know that this blog is many things. Amongst them is its role as a mental note pad, that can be as simple as a place to acknowledge how I feel as well as somewhere to pay tribute to some one else. Today, I'm going to hit that mode, but not in depth and not with any sense that I will follow up on any point. It's flows as I write, and in so doing the image I have will be a tribute to Clint Eastwood.

The Good: I just called my little daughter as she was having breakfast: I always sit with her in the mornings, and we talk and joke and get the day off to a calm start. She told me that she had made her own tea, pouring the hot water herself, using a kitchen mitt. I was impressed and told her that I was also having a cup of tea. She wanted to know when I would be back, and regaled me with how she would take my bed space while I stayed away and when I came back she would still want that space. I should have said that I would sleep in her room but I save that.

I also went for a walk yesterday and found myself 'loved' by some waitresses in a little cafe. They told me that I could have a snack then brought me a meal that made my ordering dinner seem gluttonous.I also found a young man in a computer store who was so honest about the product that he told me its virtues and just let me decide if it worked for me. We looked at my blog and he did what many people fail to do; he remembered the address perfectly just on seeing it once. He was paying attention to someone else: a rare attribute these days. Try to see how much of what you say to some one today they remember at the end of the conversation.

The Bad?: A cousin sent me a message last night. "Hi. Give me a call. It's urgent." I sent back a message "If it's urgent why not call me." Urgent and urgency are the words used in bureaucracies to get people to jump. Rarely, in fact never in my experience, has any urgent matter been such. It might have been high in a person's consciousness, but it was also something that if left for a day or longer would not really have had any different outcome. He called me and told me that an aunt had just died (a sister of our respective mothers), and that it was a mystery what had been wrong. He told me how he had had an urge to visit the aunt recently and she had mentioned no problems. I told him about 'coincidence' and how this time the message had not been passed. While I was upset to hear of the death, it was a fact and had happened many hours ago in Jamaica. I had tried to help her and her son set up businesses but that had not worked and I had wondered about how some people do not manage to get their dreams to be real even with all that is necessary in place. I still do not know.

But he's not off the hook yet. He told me that he had been trying to call me on a US number but could not get me. Eventually, I asked him to check if he had the right number. He cited a number that was good but had had to be given up when I left the US several years ago. He has all my numbers for where I live now and has spoken to me often using those numbers. Why not send me a message to confirm the number he is trying? We each have BlackBerries. I answer messages promptly. I asked him why he persisted with something that was not working when he had something that he knew works well. I always say if it makes no sense then it's nonsense.

So, the urgency was what? His need to tell me? His need for me to know? His need to get my phone numbers right? I'm not sure. If I could have saved my aunt's life with a phone call, then that would have been urgent. Last weekend he had had to rush back to Jamaica to deal with a need to operate on a patient. That's urgent. But, I try to put things in a positive light. Urgent matters are about life and death, so when a person has died there is no urgency regarding them. "Urgency" is one of those bully word that people use to get others' attention. I try to avoid it, and it cost me a bit when I worked. But, I will hold my view.

The Ugly?: I am travelling in the USA. The ostensible reason is that a chance meeting in Barbados led to the suggestion that I make a trip to see a sports event. Never done it before. Seemed like fun. Took the offer. But, like a scam I was left holding a bill and having no goods to show for it. Well, not the offered ones.

But, I did get to use Wi-Fi while flying. Whoooo!

I got to visit a city to which I had never been before. A lovely piece of America's history that has people who know what loyalty means to country, to industry, to sportsmen. They have done their parts and with the amazing success of their sports teams the city's head is always in the clouds. Nice.

I got to take up an offer from two friends to visit them, though neither turned out to be in town when I arrived: that was just bad luck and one friend (a Jamaican, whom I met in Guinea through our work) has given me his apartment and car for the days I am here. Ironically, he had to head to New York City, which I had just left!Having had my fill of tennis there, he was now going to do Daddy things like get his six year old into school...and try to see some tennis. My other friend, an American lady, with whom I had worked on saving from economic ruin some former Soviet Union country, and like me has now resigned to do her own thing, had to travel to Europe. But, in all that, we found that these two friends are virtually neighbours. The suburb where they live is a place where back a few decades they could not have been neighbours. No way. But look now.

I want to come back to visit both of them and make a trip with my daughters, big and small; in fact 'big Miss' just had an operation on her shoulder and as Percocet was kicking in she was begging me to drive to see her. I had to say no as it would be half a day of driving and only a few hours of loving. She understood, but I hope that that decision was not a bad one.

Today, I will try to do in a day what should be tried in a week. I will visit downtown and soak up all of its history. Who am I fooling? This city has some of the most famous universities in the USA and a walk around one of them would be a day well spent. But, I will just drive by. I will walk to the riversides and look and think back through the economic fortunes that have been seen and lost. I will hope to carry the image of my aunt and my cousins in the front of my mind and see them all as proud members of one side of a family that has so many different stories to tell.

I know that every day I am lucky to have the experiences that I do. So, all is good, no matter how it may seem at first or on the outside.

Must We Chew The Fat?

One of my beefs with many Bajans is their inability to see that their national interests can be improved by those who are not nationals, leading them to treat foreigners at best with suspicion and worse as 'enemies'. The stance means that the national interest is more geared toward separateness than integration. But put on a different plane it begs the question of how nationals can engage non-nationals except on foreign soil, when Bajan patrimony is at stake?

Through a mutual contact, I got in touch this week with Walter Edey, a Bajan now living in Brooklyn, New York. I know little of his background. His book, Sweet Dumplings & Saltfish Stew, has been reviewed by Amazon (see link), and reads as follows:

Walter Edey was born in the Barbados. His literary work and style are mostly fuelled by inspiration and ignited by natural events. His crucible - a career path as an educator, trainer, service and for love people. His pen (pestle) - simply the experiences of travel. Edey,a published poet and short story winner, has contributed editorials to newspapers; wrote articles for magazines and newsletters; designed and produced journals. Edey is a UWI Natural Science Honors graduate who prior to relocating to the USA, was a secondary school and community college math teacher and chaired the Board of Management of an all girls school. Currently, Edey is a New York JHS teacher. He has received several awards viz: New York City Comptroller - Allan Hevesi for distinguished leadership as an educator,administrator and community activist; National Association of Barbadian Organizations Award for service among others. Edey loves cooking and enjoys writing.

Our immediate point of contact was over views on how to move from the current malaise with West Indies cricket. We agreed to meet in Manhattan and have a talk and share some hamburgers as the iconic Shake Shack in Madison Square Park. Last year American Express had set up a large screen to show live coverage of tennis from the US Open and I had hoped for the same this year, but no such luck. Poor me, I did not see Roger Federer, who was playing at 11am, when we were due to meet and eat. We ate and did not mention cricket. I hope we will meet again.

The story of the meeting is as told by Walter.

****************************
By Walter Edey

“You’re British.” I said.

“Nope.” Dennis said.

“Get what I mean Eleanor?” Dennis continued.

Dennis and Eleanor (his daughter) were also caught in the prejudice web.

Separated by the filter of perspective but connected by blood.

I had no strong suit. Dennis and I were Internet bloggers, yet strangers.

Our birth certificates showed Dennis as Jamaican, Eleanor British, and me (Walter) as Bajan, I was tempted to ask: which is more important to a cup of tea? The tea, or the water? And add some more fuel to the fire. But we had gathered for a hamburger not a debate.

The location, Shake Shack Hamburger place – Madison Square Park at Madison/East 23rd – set in the heart of New York City, caged by high - rise apartments, cooled by aged trees and entrapped in history, was perfect for our meeting.

“But why would one shout in public?” Eleanor continued.

Thankfully, it was time to order our Hamburgers, Milk Shakes and share fries.

Freshly made hand-shaped beef patties, covered with melted cheese and served in a Bajan bread minus the stone oven crust.

Minutes later, we felt moreish. By then the line was thirty persons deep and our digestive juices were enjoying a morning’s work.

Two hours later, the Shake Shack line was as deep as our conversation. The blinds of division had quickly receded. Dennis the Griot – like father, like son – had invaded our minds and reflected upon his world.

We had visited Jamaica, Wales, Mexico, Guinea, spoken in several tongues, and honored family.

By the time we reached Barbados, I was now wishing for puddin’ and souse and pickled breadfruit. Indeed, I was in Britton’s Hill, part of Sir Lloyd’s former constituency, at Ms Grant’s Shop, waiting for fish to come off the grill.

In one fell swoop, at least in my mind, the Caribbean sea had receded enough to expose the land beneath that makes us one.

Without doubt, as our conversation flowered, the butterflies came and danced.

****************************

Walter and I found another one of those points of common interest in that we both enjoy the same eatery in Britton's Hill. Quite extraordinary.

Walter gave me a signed copy of his book, which I will read with joy in coming days.

A Child And Money. Is That A Happy Combination? Thoughts Of A Concerned Parent

One of the benefits of social networking is that many friends and acquaintances can be made aware of a personal problem and weigh in on how to deal with it. Of course, advice is there to be taken or left. One of my friends, has had a lot of advice and a lot of thinking to do about how to deal with childrens' demands and if money can help resolve the issues. The following is her story.

**************************

By Lisa Pitt

Recently, I was walking through the store with my daughter who has come to be my shopping companion. This is mainly because she is the only one of my three children who acts partially civilized in public, at least when she is not under the influence of sibling pressure to act out. If you've ever walked by me and witnessed my blood pressure peaking as my offspring peel off clothes, spin around on the floors, and enthusiastically instruct each other in high pitched screams to conduct full throttle mayhem, then you will understand that this is as good as it gets for me. But lately, a problem has developed.

As we wheeled through the aisles, I perused and price checked, listening half heartedly to her chatter. She started grabbing items of necessity only to her, and then found her way to the floor after I refused to put her within arms' reach of shelved merchandise. "Mommy!!! I want this... I need that... ooohhhh, I want one of those.... can you hand me that...." I incredulously replied "No" to each request but then wondered silently if I was the source of this behavior. I've gotten into the bad habit of purchasing her little low cost items she puts in the basket. I do it so often, it's an unconscious habit. Now she has the expectation that I WILL buy her something whenever we run to the store. I've created a shopping monster and self replication is obvious down to the genetic level.

So how and why has this generation of children become adamant consumers? In the past, we could blame commercials. But in fact, there may be even greater influences in the home. Dennis made an excellent comment in a recent discussion that made me reexamine the issue. Children are mimicking our behavior to a much greater degree than what they see on television. In fact, it is quite ordinary to see an infant attempt to use a credit card swiper. While it was once said that imitation was the highest form of flattery, it can also be the basis for a lifelong bad addiction.

Contemplating this question, I returned to our recent discussion about the value of material possessions to children. The conversation started out of my frustration to get my children to move their bikes and scooters into the garage. Each evening, I found myself indulged in the task of caring for their things by putting them out of harm's way. My anger erupted and I concluded that perhaps their things should disappear for a few days and then they'll value their possessions a little more.

Thus, our discussion began. One friend replied, "Good Luck!" while another responded "Sometimes that worked for me. Sometimes, I just moved on to different stuff." I soon found myself in good company as a friend commiserated, "OMG, this sounds like our world and it just makes me crazy. When threatened with the possibility of losing their stuff, their attitude is *shrug* I'm sure someone will buy us another one....arrgh.

As adults, we work to acquire things that we have to pay for with money, not smiles and hugs and good behavior, but hard earned cash. To that notion, my friend's son responded, "I don't get it. That just doesn't make sense." From a child's point of view, is life filled with brightly colored every abundant Monopoly and Pay Day money? To that Dennis remarked that I should make bringing in toys a condition for next activity. He added that he is not keen on bargains like this, but they may work. Another friend chimed, "Are they old enough for an allowance? My parents used to dock mine when I did stuff like that; quite effective as I recall...wait, did I leave my scooter outside..."

Dennis took them all on in his response with the following: He asked one friend:

"'Threats' are of course confrontational; kids figure it out quickly and faster than most adults, who get caught up with values that kids don't have. Money? What's that? Most adults don't understand the relationship between income and spending. Need I mention the US personal debt/credit card 'crisis'?”

To me, he noted that “Most actions flow based on seeing clear benefits. What ever that is for the kids, that's what will work best. It may be that they care less about the bikes than you do, so logically YOU should show you care. You define failure as achieving what you want but with your effort not theirs. How have the kids defined 'failure' or 'success', if at all? Think on...Whose gain/loss is more important? Economics IS about choice. On allowances, it's very funny for people who did not live all of their lives with a lot. Kids in say sub Saharan Africa with not much at all also give problems--but different ones. But money cannot become a factor in solving that, because 'spare' money is not available (US$1 a day does not stretch far). Interesting exercise: think how you would solve a problem if you did not put a price on it. Strip it to its essential. When money enters a relationship does it not get tainted? If not, what is the issue with...You know where I'm going, right?”

There were many things to contemplate in his response. But I noted that children DO know things cost money and that adults have to pay for the items, either party needs or wants. That's why my children ask if I don't have enough money when I tell them I won't buy something. So I guess it’s already part of the equation. What's funny is that they don't see cash that much because I always use debit/credit cards. In reviewing the responses I noticed that people were providing anecdotes on a theme Dennis raised. What is the value of money or the worth of objects to children? Can they get their material desires fulfilled by people other than their parents, will it hurt their prospects of buying more things, or will they even care the next day given the abundance of personal items possessed by little people today. Then Dennis asked an interesting question, "Do they really know the difference between $10 and $1000? Can they point to things and say "That costs $x"? If so, send them to work for the US Federal Reserve or the US Treasury."

"What a kidder Dennis is," I thought. But then again, perhaps more can be said about the relationship adults have to money and how it influences children. I recalled a millionaire who had to tell his children he would not buy them expensive toys after purchasing a high priced luxury vehicle. Do as I say... not as I do applies here. And similar to children, adults can cherish items that have little or no monetary value. So what do we make of how pennies are worthless to adults and prized possessions in the hands of child? And how many instances can one recall of a child unwrapping a present and playing with the paper not the toy?

Another friend weighed in that she was giving her children allowances because, "I wanted them to understand what $$ is worth in their own terms...so they have to save half towards a goal, and they can spend half on WHATEVER they want to (although if it's junk food, I don't let them eat whatever they want...that's another story). Now when I want results I attach financial penalties to noncompliance and you should see them jump!!!"

I think that children want money just like adults because it allows them to have the material and necessary items they desire. They witness the joy we have when acquiring new things and the dismay we show when we can't afford something. The Mini Me rebirthed in a shopping cart. In recalling last week's shopping trip, my daughter's comment that I should just ask one of the other shoppers for money in order to buy her something that I stated I could not afford seems to make her an excellent candidate for employment with the US Treasury. Hmmm... works for me as well.

Ants And Sugar

You should be familiar with the fact that ants like to find sugar. When they do, they take the little grains back to their nests to do ant-like stuff. This week, I fell onto the wrong side of two little children (a boy and a girl), aged around 8, whom I had only met the week before. But, let's call it a 'fatal attraction'. I really like the kids, both of whom are of Jamaican parentage: the girl lives there, the boy has lived in a variety of places including Barbados and the USA. Each is quite different, but similar, nevertheless. It started badly when I first met them and the boy asked me a set of "Why are you here?" questions. I explained, I thought politely and gently, that I was there to see his mother and that it really was not for him to ask me the question more than once. I got his girl cousin to explain to him, as my attitude is 'typically Jamaican'. She did and I thought all was cool. But, back he came again. I tried to give the message again. The two kids went away to the pool, but were hovering around me again in minutes. I can understand the curiosity that comes from a first meeting.

But, then, things took a bad turn. The boy's mother returned and he said in a flash "He's been mean to me." I took a breath and told him to hold on. I asked him to tell his mother what had happened and for his cousin to back up or correct his story. He told his side. I then told the mother my side, and said that I thought the boy should be very careful when making the kind of statement he had. All seemed cool, again. But I heard that the mother had to spend some 30 minutes calming her son who was now very upset. Fast forward.

I met the children again and we did a few fun things together. I went along to the house they were in to help lower stress with the arrival of a moving van and its contents. I was really doing that and trying to do my usual business, but in company rather than alone. After the first moving day, I passed by the next day, when the movers were due to assemble some large items and the mother needed to leave the house. When I met the children, they quickly reverted to "We're bored." I remembered that I had a wad of cash that needed counting and asked if they could do that for me. They agreed. I gave the girl a smaller wad and the boy more bills--it was just how the money had been, and I had no clear idea of how much was in each bundle. I just asked that they take care and not let the bills fly away. They sat nearby and started to count.

The girl 'finished' first--they say girls mature faster, so no surprise, I thought. She told me "57 dollars," and handed me the bills. I looked puzzled. I saw a 100 dollar bill in the pile. I asked, "Is 50 less than or more than 100?" She got it right in a flash. "How then can this be 57, when there is a 100 in the bundle? Have another go," I told her. In another flash, she said "166." I did not take the bundle. I asked if she was sure and she nodded. I then asked "What is the difference between 166 and 157?" She paused then gave the answer 10; then 12; then a series of other numbers. I then asked about the differences between 17, 27, 37, 47, 57, 67, etc. She got most of them wrong! We did a bit of elementary arithmetic and she seemed fixed. So, I asked her to tell me the difference between 167 and 157, and she was right with 10. I asked then for the difference between 167 and 166. Again, 10. Wrong! We did more maths and used more fingers and got to 1, eventually. I had by then had the housekeeper come to witness and she had tried to help by going over the fact that difference is subtraction. The child knew the process but just could not apply it.

Then, to the boy. He had been riveted by his cousin's task and had made no progress. So, I asked him to start and let me know his total. After a few minutes he got up and left and did not get back for about 10 minutes. I asked him if he had finished. He said he had not and started to count again. But then went off again, and he and his cousin came back with 'noodles' to play with in the pool. I looked at my money, lying on the chair, but said nothing. After some splashing, Noodle and Doodle came back. I went to the matter not-in-hand. My money had blown around and was lightly strewn. I picked it up and counted the bills. "1015 dollars, US" I said and wrote it down on a newspaper. "Let your mother know what happened when she comes back," I said. Then, I made a terrible error. I added "And please don't go crying to her about what happened." I realised that I needed to get off and try to write an article and that my mind was not going well with the elves.

The mother and I did not talk until way into the afternoon and she told me that she was very unhappy with how I had treated her son. I let her eat my head and apologized. My saying that there was no way that I would let her son fall into being a possible victim at school in a foreign country because he was known to run and tell and cry sounded good to me, but was not going to sway a mother. I would try my best to not let it happen again. She wanted me to show the boy that I had a good view of him too and I told her that I had done that, though not when she was nearby. I saw the boy again the next day and gave him nothing but lerv. He was pucker and chipper and full of fun with his cousin and another boy his age, all three curled on a sofa with some American cartoon playing. I think we are cool. But I have a task on my hands, of a sort.

When I retold the story to some people they said that I had intimidated the children and that they clearly could not function as a result. I begged to differ. They had said they could do the task--and I take children at their word. The first set of arithmetic mistakes made no real sense except that the child would not apply what she had learned. She even used her fingers yet found 10 fitted some many wrong situations. The boy was another story. He had been forgetful and that happens. But having forgotten he had done nothing else once reminded of what he had agreed to do. I do not see reminding him of that is intimidation. However, if one does then therein lies some interesting days ahead with children and people. There is history here, however.

The people who had seen my actions as intimidation were also the people who had not seen fit to correct a child's behaviour that they had found offensive, arguing that it was not their job to do that. I had extended that discussion to say that the uncorrected child would then find a very angry adult one day and get the chewing out that was avoidable. They also saw it as 'taking the law into your own hands' to do something to make another driver stop at a red light. I had told of how at a four-way traffic light, with all lights flashing red, I had arrived first, stopped, then moved my car into the junction and paused. My argument was that the oncoming bus, racing down the hill was obliged to stop first before it proceeded and I should not have been in danger. In fact, the real situation could have been that my car had stalled. Routinely, vehicles do not stop for flashing red lights in Barbados. People understand static red, but think that flashing red means roll on. I told of one instance where the bus had rolled on and a motorcycle cop on the other side had just roll in the opposite direction with nary a glance back. They had asked what if the bus had faulty brakes. I had replied that was no issue as the forensics would show the truth, and also ask any survivors from the bus if it had stopped anywhere along its route. It would be amazing if the bus had gone from depot to town with no stops. I had concluded by saying that the situation you live with is the situation you allow to exist.

I am not going to lambast any one in particular, but I will state my view. If you tolerate what you deem intolerable, please explain to me what you think you are doing.

I Love You, Daddy

Fathers Day was nicely sandwiched between the birthdays of two friends and fathers. Nice, too, that the first born of the second wife had brought her crew from New York City to spend a splash and sand and sup weekend with us: for them, Manhattan is not just a place. It was hard to hang with them, so we did not. They were good troopers and supported the little one at her gymnastics show, but were then ready for grilled fish at Oistins. No need to think about early wake up, eh? Their energy levels were not limitless, but they seemed to party long, sleep long, drink lots, sun bathe by the pool a lot, tour around the island, hang off a catamaran, and still have time left over in 24 hours to text messages.

We're pretty hospitable folk, so all of this naturally gave my minimalist partner all she needed to head off to bank to get another loan so that she could go to the foodstores and arrange a lil' t'ing. Grill master Flash could, if he so chose, take charge of the one place a man knows a woman loves to be so long as she does not have to get her nails and hands mussed up, and offer the usual advice. He can stand and swig a cold brew, yet work and watch TV at the same time. She will come by and utter "Mmm. Smells good down here," and not mean the scent from the T-shirt. Or "Let me just check that this piece is cooked." Her offspring, always ready to mimic an adult, will also pass by and beg for just a little drumstick. She will then head back upstairs with her sticky lips and fingers and proceed to water the plants, without realising that the water was pouring down on Flash's shaved head. "Hey! Stop that watering!" So, with Tiger swinging to the corner of one eye, and ribs and chicken legs and fish kebabs simmering in the corner of the other, neo-metro-sexual man, Flash, was nearing another bliss point.

But, credit where it's due. Team work is all about give and take, and whatever Flash could do would only be the icing on the cake for the housekeeper who did the preparation. Truth is, I have my way of doing things but I know that only one hand can stir a pot. But, who was it standing in the sun for three hours? Do I love people, or what?

Those people know that I am a great defender of the unwashed father: men like myself, who have thrown away a love of unnecessary finery and now revel in their pyjamas until deep mid -morning. But, not insignificantly, in the modern era of the 'career mother' ("Where's Mummy, Daddy?"), we are also the ones provide some essential domestic glue. We pad around at night at the slightest cough from the child and try to make sure that she goes to the potty; we eat breakfast with her every morning and help her read the newspaper. My two friends who were celebrating are not disappointments in that regard. Neither seems to stay in his pyjamas very long, however. One, McDonald, utters things like "I can't do that early because I have to see my personal trainer." This is the mantra of the 'gym father', and I wonder if he is in fact buffing himself so that his lovely wife will realise that her prize catch is still a fish wriggling on the hook. He hopes that she will be like an alligator to his duck and just snap him up? The other, The Persuasive One, bless his hunter-gathering socks, is so often off the island seeking fodder in Europe for his brood, that I wonder whether his wife is now searching Amazon.com for a permanent replacement, or at least one that can be regularly by her side. But, when he's around, he does take care of the twins...well, sort of. I've heard that he does not cook, but is not hesitant of take them for a lunch.

So, it was a great idea to have the children at the BBQ offer up something for their Dad, ahead of our gracing the food. Miss Bliss stepped up, with her usual confidence, and belted out, in glossy pink:

Rose are red
Violets are blue
Sugar is sweet
And so are you

After that, I felt truly in the pink myself, and had to show her some love with a huge hug. Not to be outdone, another blissette, Emmsie, played a tune on the piano for her Dad. Our little neighbour, Lizzie, who is in class with Miss Bliss, talked about how her Dad takes her to the beach; her little brother, The Rustler, just asked for his dessert. Others got stage fright, but their Dads knew that they were brimming with love.

Most adults don't ask for much, but if what is offered is genuine, then take it, and hold it and love it to death.

When Is Father's Day?

"When is Father's Day?", my little one asked me just before I put her to bed tonight. "I've no idea. I never celebrate it," I replied. "But everyday is kids' day." On that we agreed, and so to bed, as Zebedee would say.

Several lady friends have told me that the trouble with men (we always have trouble) is that we keep things bottled up. I tell them that this is hogwash. It's that men don't necessarily talk about their problems the way women do. "Let your frustrations out," they say, nevertheless. "I do," I retort, "But not by yelling at people or going on an ice cream eating binge." Agreed or not, we move on.

Yesterday was on of those days when I let it all out, and the poor victim was a woman. Her sin? She treated me like a father. Put another way, she treated me the way many women treat fathers when mothers are present. She ignored me when discussing my child. "On no she di-n-t?" Oh yes, she did. Imagine that I had brought my child to the dentist's office. Let her say her name; she does not miss any of the forenames, and makes clear how to pronounce the first of them correctly. I answered the initial questions. I got my five year old to sign a form--a first--and with lovely legible writing. Kept my child amused with some reading books, albeit while I had an ear to the cricket on the coverage playing on the TV. Then in walks her mother and the fun begins.

"Let's look over the form," says the receptionist, as she sits next to my wife, turning her back to me. Blah-blah-blah. "And this is Daddy here?" Well, I took a deep breath as I heard a six being blasted over the boundary by a South African player. "Yes," I said. "The same one who brought in the child without her mother and who now seems to have become invisible." My point was made and from then on, all the interaction changed as "Mummy" and "Daddy" appeared as new separate but relevant entities. Wonderful.

The lady called me this morning to check how my daughter had been since visiting the dentist. "Your wife gave me your number," she said. "I understand that she is travelling." I told her that all was well, and that no trauma seemed to have occurred after the visit. But, I took the opportunity to explain myself. I let her know that one of the problems that Dads have is that women especially seem to think that it's mothers who care for children. She explained that she had just had a father who was unable and unwilling to fill out the forms, saying, "It's my wife who deals with the children." I quipped that I was sure that if my wife had taken our car (almost like a child in some families) to the garage for a check up and I then arrived later, and the mechanic had immediately started to ask me questions about the car, she would have railed and gotten a bit nasty with a few "You men are all the same!"

Now that this is off my chest, perhaps I will accept the offer to do a radio program discussing stay-at-home Dads. I hope that it will be a call-in and that I get a good crop of questions on which I can chew.

Cap And Gown

My first born had her day on the stage this morning, in Montreal. She was very excited that it was all over, after four years of good study, including a year in England. We had been through this a year ago, when my wife's first born graduated in New York. Then, it was a sweltering day and we melted and sweated and were desperate for water, but plenty was on tap. This time, it was cool, and truly spring-like, as in England: the sun knew it was due to be out and about, but was not ready to come to work today. We had a good showing of all the extended family: the parental units, and the grandparents from Nassau; Jamaican and English grandparents were not well enough to travel--a great shame.

But, we tried to make it one of those days to remember. We found each other before the ceremonies and took some pictures, with little sister getting her first chance to wear the mortar board. Then we sat down and settled in for the presentations. All went well, and we got a good chance to see the celebrant as she got her degree. She was a bit miffed because of another McGill-style administrative snafu, that meant that her 'great' distinction got down graded to 'distinction' moments before she went on stage. But, she did not really care as she knew that really she had excelled and it was all she needed to know: lots of As and A-minuses.

The graduate's little sister surely has her work cut out to match her older siblings. I hope she can stay the course as well as they did.

We then went for a very leisurely French lunch, which filled us, and now we are just ready for rest. A long day, but worth every moment.

Whatca Watchin' on TV, Dad?

Who else but my little daughter would provoke me to do this? A few afternoons ago, while she was watching Hi5, she piped up, "What did you watch on TV when you were a boy, Daddy?" I had to confess that I did not watch a lot of TV, as it was fairly new and we did not have the money to buy one in my parents' early days in England. But told her that when we got a TV there were lots of programs on with puppets. She giggled, thinking perhaps that back in the day the kids did not have much. But I went on to use the teaching moment, and say that the programmes for kids used to be ones that encouraged children to think about magical things and fun, and that the way that the characters spoke was never rude or disrespectful. This goes to a cartoon series she had been watching on Nickelodeon, in which the word "Stupid" came up so many times in five minutes that I told her that I was changing the channel. "But it's just acting." she pleaded. My ears were deaf to that, and I replied "Acting or not, those are rude words and I don't think you should be encouraged to use them."

This morning, during my breakfast in St. George, I got talking about growing up in London, and reminiscing about a few things, not TV programs, but food, places I went, and things I did.

So, during this hot, May afternoon, the two notions came together and I did a little search on YouTube. What I found and include below show something about TV life in the 1960s in England and life before Nintendo, Wii (Fit or not), Pokemon etc. If you have the time to watch all at once, go for it. If you get the chance to watch with a child under 10 years old, I'd love to know their reactions. Have fun.


Sara and Hoppity (Twiddley Dee, Twiddley Dum)



Torchy the Battery Boy



Supercar (I love Mitch the monkey)



Then there was Fireball XL5

Who Is Keeping Score?

My father is officially 80 years old today, March 24. Many people could, however, celebrate his birthday on April 13. In Jamaica, being precise about dates of birth did not used to be that important. His grandmother mixed up the birth registration for her two daughters' infants and for most of my life I thought that my father's birthday was in April. He never told me the right day until he was much older, retired, and past caring whether he was born in March or April.

He has had more than his three score years and ten, and now he has gone for four score. Amazing!

When he had a stroke in late 2006, I was sure that he would be at death's door if things worked the way they usually do in rural Jamaica. Like in many poorer countries, we have limited medical facilities to treat even routine ailments, and people die for loss of time more than lack of treatment. Luck and some contacts mustered up an ambulance and he got to the main hospital in Kingston--a two hours drive--where a cousin is a neurosurgeon, and he was at least saved some of the worst ravages of the stroke trauma.

Having lost most of his freedom of movement, he seems to compensate with freedom of thought. Many contentious issues he has seen and experienced over the past 60 years now get a full diatribe.

He has taken on the "lying and thieving politicians": his bitterness was highest when he talked about the myth of free education, that meant that women like his mother never went far in school because her parents were not connected.

He never had time for gangsters and criminals and now even less, given the way that they have taken over so many parts of downtown Kingston that he knew and loved through the 1950s and 1960s. They have turned them into 'political garrisons' and crime 'war zones'.

He loves to remember the Kingston of those years: walking around Parade, going to the theatre, and going dancing. He loved his work, at the mental hospital, proud that a 'small boy with a good brain' could do good work to help other people.

When he returned to Jamaica, after some 30 years in England, he quickly returned to the land, even though he had not had to farm for four decades. He planted oranges, which grow superbly in the hills of Mandeville. He planted cassava, yams, corn, sweet potatoes, gungo peas, and callalloo; he reaped enough to feed him and my mother, and have enough to share. In return, as life had it, he got avocados, mangoes from those who could grow them, ackees (Jamaican!), sugar cane, coconuts. Whatever, someone had to share; or nothing in return but good neighbourliness. He built a fowl coop, and bought himself some chicks; he became a chicken farmer.

A hurricane destroyed most of the country's chicken industry, but his fowl coop stood strong. He was not in the business of making business, so changed nothing: he sold to those who had always been his customers, and barely raised prices except to cover the higher cost of feed.

He got into the local Anglican church. He started taking exercise regularly, joining an aerobics and yoga class: he was the only man in a sea of middle-aged women. Bliss! He walked regularly to town to the gym, becoming as well-known crossing the golf course as any of the people actually playing a few holes.

I remember how he started to be the barber in his street, where several other returning families had moved. He encouraged some of the 'wayward youths' to get a haircut and look decent, telling them that they could then walk up to someone and ask for work. He had a string of young men, coming for a trim. His shears clipped and the young men were sent off neater, free of charge. Some of those who had the early trims are still in my father's life, as a gardener for him and neighbours, as a driver, or as a frequent visitor, when time from steady work allows.

Fast forward. His life was never one of great travel, after the great journey from Jamaica to England in 1961. For that reason, I treasure the efforts he (and my mother) made to visit me and my family several times in the USA. I really stand amazed that he visited me in west Africa, not once but twice, a few years ago; even learning a few phrases in French and some local languages during his stays. He loved having to drive through barricades of burning tyres and rocks being hurled at our vehicle after we came from a long road trip to find that the capital of Guinea was under siege by its youths. By contrast, his trip to Barbados in 2008 would seem like a breeze, but of course it is not when you can hardly walk.

These are mere snippets, and things that pass through my memory easily. After a long life such as his, I would be joking to try to capture it in a few sentences.

But, the day should not pass by unnoticed by me and my off springs, who are also his off springs. I hope that all the fruit fall close to the tree.

I have to give God thanks for carrying him this far.

Holding My Breath

Several things are making me gasp and hoping that I can hold on to the air. This is a pot-pourri in no particular order.

• The number of adults in Barbados driving in the front of cars with their seat belts firmly attached, while their children do not wear belts in the rear. In some cases, you see the children hanging onto the door half out of an open window. As I said to a couple yesterday as they drove from the school car park, "When the car hits something, what do you expect is going to save the child?" They looked at me with such blank lack of understanding that I have to conclude they are morons.
• Amazement that the Barbados national secondary schools' championships were not televised by the Caribbean Broadcasting Corporations. Reports indicate that 'negotiations' are still going on. The championships started on Monday and finish today. Finger pointing by CBC indicates that they had not received permission from the organizers to broadcast the event live and that it will be shown next Tuesday. If Barbados wants to figure out why it does not excel at athletics, think about this farce as reflecting one element.
• Caribbean black men really are scared of physical contact with each other. So, go figure what is going through their minds when they see their beloved cricket team doing well.
• Caribbean women need to back off criticizing men of being on the down low. That's low down and lame and save you thinking seriously. Women cavort around hugging and kissing each other and freak out when they see two men showing close friendship. Figure out who has a problem and show some respect.
• Bewilderment at Madoff and his decades' long robbery of friends.
  
• Bewilderment at a father who would imprison his daughter for years and father seven children with her.
• My daughter's school principal lamented publicly last year how some parents are showing a tendency to 'disable their children' by doing everything for them. If you learn to do nothing when you are young how will you do anything when you grow up?
  

Bigging Up The Little Ones

My little daughter has a great sense of who she is. She has some very clear moods. She can be blue--meaning sad. She can be red--meaning she is mad or angry. She is yellow--when she is happy, and full of light like the sun. She can be grey--when she feels alone. When she is pink, she is very, very happy. She thinks that she is prettier than her class mate because she has a better singing voice; she displayed this to me early this morning. I think her facial beauty is much more than that displayed by her voice, though.

Confidence and self-respect are attributes that comes from regular reinforcement. Even while being upbraided for spilling juice and tea and cake crumbs all over my office desk, she needs to be left with her confidence in tact. So, she gets her lesson in tidiness, but gets praise for the quality of the clean up she does. She felt so good about that, that I later saw her going around with a large broom sweeping up a floor.

Insults are not part of the building blocks for making confident people. Parents who curse their children are just like Bobby Knight--the renowned basketball coach at Indiana University, famed for his foul-mouthed diatribes against players. They may produce people who perform at a certain high level, but at the cost of a lot of psychological damage, that may not appear until much later. Many adults lack patience when it comes to children, and are more likely to want to stop what they see as 'foolishness' rather than figure out that a 3 year old has only a limited way of expressing itself. Children's logic is different, and need not be nonsense.

Self-confident children are often ready to take on a task because they have not been forced to live with punishment for failure or less-than-perfect results. They see mistakes as natural and part of learning how to be better. Parents' focusing on the missed 3 points out of a 100 rather than the 97 gained is the stuff of much despair for children. They also understand well that not having something is part of life, whether you give away or lose something you like or never have something at all.

We are watching Barney and a story about Franklin (the tortoise), who was supposed to be digging potatoes for his mother, but got distracted playing with a spinning top. His mother reminds him of his chore, and he goes off to find a spade and fork. He digs for the potatoes for dinner and comes across a fossil, a trilobite. His father encourages him to build a little museum. He goes off with his friend to play but meets Mr. Mole, who is an expert on fossils. What should they do? Give him their newly found fossil? Mr. Mole solves the problem and tells Franklin to keep the fossil and learn about the history that is in that hardened object; how it used to live in the sea and more. He decides to charge 2 cookies for entrance. Some of his friends think that is too much to see rusty nails, and pictures of grandma, or even a really old fossil. They collect a boxful of cookies, but get a bunch of upset friends who really don't care about the fossil. So, they give the fossil to Mr. Mole, who really can appreciate it...

Another day of building and learning ahead.