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Excerpt from Chapter 8

Life With My Family

The home we establish depends largely on the one in which we were raised. I have shared with you the home setting in which we grew up. Discipline was the order of the day but we were not robbed of self-expression, nor did we have to smother our laughter.

    Ours was a house of laughter and with the presence of a piano which we were all taught to play, it was also a house of noise. My mother was a good teacher; however, she had the unpleasant habit of hitting on the knuckles with a ruler whenever a wrong fingering was used. When I left home for high school, I got rid of such unpleasantries but I learned to play by air, specializing in jazz.

I would take charge of the piano on Saturday nights banging hot stuff with my siblings around. Instead of being just a jazz session, it became a noise session. So much so that Papa, trying to concentrate on his message for the following day, would have to appeal to us from the lower floor; but we were never denied the joys of childhood.

When I was 20 years old, I went to live with Uncle Eddie and Aunt Winnifred. The measure of discipline was not as rigid as what we were accustomed to but there were rules to be respected. Something happened one night and Uncle laid down a rule that the doors to his house would be locked at 9:00p.m., and who was outside would remain out. The mistake he made was to enact the rule without exemption.

It so happened that one night, he arrived home some time after 9:00p.m. to find his house locked solid. As “man o’ yard”, there was no need for him to walk with a key but that night, the need existed. He knocked on the door and expressed ridicule of a man being locked out of his own house. Uncle was a lovely man, a man of the ‘cloth’; but never let him become angry. Whoever did would feel his wrath. His children were aware of that so they opened the door but hastened to remind him that “we were only carrying out orders”. He was gracious in his non-response. In those days, I never thought that one day I might be a father in charge of a family.

While in Savanna-la-mar (1947-48), I had boarded in a home along with two young ladies. We were from different parishes and worked for different entities. I was the new kid on the block. I took one of them to the movies one night and, by the next morning, the whole town knew what I had done. I realized I was not in Kingston but in a country town where everybody knew everybody’s business. As the Customs Officer, I was in charge of Customs Guards, many of whom were my senior in years. Before the day was out, the Senior Guard took me aside and told me that when I am looking for a lady, I must ask the Lord to give me one who had never known man. I thanked him but at age 23, I was not looking for anybody; yet his remarks opened my eyes. He knew more than I did. I had just come on board. He had been there for years. From then, I exercised discretion and, after eight months, was transferred back to Kingston unattached and unscathed.

The Baptist church in Jones Town was not short of young ladies but I learned not to be in a hurry. Enjoy the fellowship and allow things to evolve. A young miss caught my attention. She was very involved in the church’s ministry. She sang with the Junior Choir, was superintendent of the Junior Sunday School, active in Christian Endeavour, always had children around her and was pleasantly attractive. We both had similar interests – singing and elocution; it was, therefore, not difficult to establish an acquaintance. We became friends and would attend and participate in concerts across the city. That was as far as it went.

During the first Baptist Youth Camp, one of the campers had a mishap. He dived into the swimming pool, evidently without properly closing his mouth and broke a tooth; so I rushed him to a dentist. While there, I was asked to take a telephone call. I wondered who could be calling me at the dentist’s office. It was my friend who was a member of the Camp Faculty. She seemed more concerned about me and my responsibility as Camp Chief. I was taken by surprise. I interpreted that to mean that I meant more to her than just being a church brother.

I mentioned discipline in the homes of my father and uncle. I will now give you a glimpse into the home from which this young lady, Mavis Samuels, came. In those days, it was expected that any young man with proper upbringing would not extend his visiting time beyond 9:00p.m. One night, I committed the unpardonable sin of exceeding my time by 15 minutes. On the following morning, my dear Mavis called me in distress. She was given a proper tongue-lashing and begged me to go and talk to Mother Sam. I was there in a flash. I realized that to win the daughter, I needed to win the mother. By the end of my visit, I had won them both and we remained friends for life.

On another occasion, during one of my visits, it rained heavily and I could not leave at 9:00p.m. In addition, I had not ridden my bicycle that night. I quietly rejoiced that I had an excuse to go beyond the sacred hour. My joy was short-lived. Father Sam, a member of the Constabulary Force, presented me with his bicycle and a water-proof raincoat. The message was loud and clear: ‘Time to go home’. So among the things we had in common was the background of a disciplined home.

When I realized that I was heading for a serious relationship, I wrote my mother and informed her accordingly. I told her that a beautiful, virtuous, charming, Christian young lady who was very involved in the church, lover of children and music had captured my heart. Her reply was quick and encouraging; she assured me that it was the mind that masters the man. Mavis Samuels and I grew to love each other and on July 19, 1952, we made the commitment “until death do us part.”

Remembering the advice of my Chief Customs Guard, I thank the Lord for giving me what I did not deserve. I was blessed with a lovely, loving caring and devoted Christian gem. Our love grew stronger with the days and because we had a lot in common, it was easy to adjust to living in our home.

In the course of time my slim-bodied wife began to gain weight – so much so that when a neighbour saw the difference between the bride and the wife he exclaimed, ”Who says that man isn’t medicine?” My Mavis was pregnant and I was going to be a father. On June 4, 1953, we welcomed our first child – a healthy baby girl, Jeanette Angela Marie. She brought a new dimension to our home and to our relationship. We shared in taking care of her and enjoyed our new role as parents.