Fond memories

I was a good girl really, but I was mischievous and I liked to have my own way, after all I was daddy’s girl.  Well I soon found out that daddy’s girl or not my father was serious and he always kept his word.

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Well one day I was being very mischievous. I think I was bored because what happened  to me next was unnecessary.  My father was drinking his steaming horlicks and on the table  he had his pattern cutting.  I started fanning the smoke from the horlicks my father warned me three times to be careful that I don’t knock over the mug.  He stated that if I knock it over I would be in trouble, well this just spurred me on, like I said maybe I was bored. This is because I now started poking the mug with my finger, the mug kept moving closer and closer to my father but he  would continued to ignore me. Finally, he smiled a smiled that suggested he was becoming angry. That didn’t stop me though not even when he said I would be going home to my grandmother’s house.

I didn’t believe that, anyway it was dark, you could just about see the house in front.  My grandmother lived around 800 meters  or more from my father’s house for a little  six year  that was  far.  I knew my father was joking because it was oh so dark.  In Jamaica once night fall there were no street lights.

Just setting scene for my reader to imagine the darkness!

well I continued to tease my father; fanning the smoke from the mug of horlicks then stupid me something in my head said knock it over and guess what?  I did it.  Oh my goodness the look in my fathers eyes told me I was in trouble.  This was the father whom had never smacked me, I was his princess yes by far I was his favorite and didn’t I know it.

well what happens next and until today makes me shiver, for two reasons firstly my father smacked me and secondly I had to run 800 meters myself to my grandmothers house.

 

As soon as the mug of horlicks fell over I made a dash as I knew what was coming.  I dashed  down the hilltop past the trees, over the hill a small one as fast as my little legs could go, my father was gaining ground quickly, I jumped the fence, then I saw them… The grave stones I was terrified to say the least.  I didn’t know if I should stop and take my punishment or run through the graveyard.  I recall the urine getting hot between my legs. Yep I peeed myself.

 

I stopped dead in my tracks and walked towards my father, I really thought he would forgive me instead he smacked me across my head and told me g”go home to your grandmother.  Well he actually said in Jamaican patois, “gallang  ome”.  I pleaded to no avail. I beg my father not to send me through the graveyard.

In Jamaica it is usual for the ancestors and immediate family to be buried in the yard and so they lined the track from my father’s house to my grandmothers home all 800 metres or more.  My father turned back up the hill I was sure that he was sad or even felt guilty but he wasn’t budging, so I ran and I ran and I ran and I did not stop until I reached my grandmothers home.  I was certain that the ghosts were following me and laughing, I cried all the way home.  When I reached I couldn’t tell my grandmother what my father had done neither could I tell her what I had done, but I knew from that day I would never test my father again.

 

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