Memories Don't Live Like People Do...

My grandfather turned 65. People think he's my father and often assume him to be 20 years younger than he actually is. This is no exaggeration. When asked at the party what his secret is, he scowled (as usual) and said something like, "Nuh badda me wit nonsense. Mi nuh ave no be-you-tee (beauty) secret like di white people dem. Mi jussa work hawd man. How yuh a call me fi pawty, and nuh feed me yet? Feed mi 'ungry belly nuh!"

My memories of my grandfather exist in sayings. Sort of like those village tales where the details of the story aren't remembered so much as the moral. I remember at the old house, when people used to knock on the door to visit him, he'd say "come in if yuh ugly", and if the person walked in, he'd laugh hysterically at them taunting them about their ugliness. If they stayed out, he'd lock the door and look at them through the front window laughing (yes, hysterically) because he'd managed to keep his Sunday afternoon a quiet one.

That was my grandfather. To the point with that disregard or irreverance(is that a word?) for all things politically correct.

Today as I was at my grandmother's house preparing for his surprise party, grandpa walked in had 2 beers and said "mi nah go nowhere" after my grandmother tried to convince him to help her drop off some food she prepared for a "friend". He knew she was throwing a party for him because every time she tried to be slick and ask him to go to the party venue with her, he'd scowl and say "mi nah go nowhere!" and then look at me and laugh. It wasn't a belly laugh, but rather the kind that shook your shoulders like you were shrugging really fast (yeah, go ahead, try it. You can do it! I won't tell.)

Since I became a grown up and moved downtown, I haven't spent much time with my folks. So, after being clowned on twice (read the posts below) about not knowing anything about Jamaica, I thought that today was the time to ask. Plus who knows when I'll make the pilgrimage up to the land of nothingness (read: urban sprawl suburbia in the middle of nowhere... or at least feeling that way when I look across the street and see a barnyard)

Although I had already found out, I started by asking my grandparents about the JLP. The both smirked at me with eyebrows raised:

Grandma: You mean the Jamaican Labour Party?
Me: Yes
Grandpa: You mean the one in Jamaica?
Me: Of course
Grandpa: Why you suddenly tek a interest inna dis?
Me: I met someone who too pictures of Eddie Seaga, and he was making fun of me for not knowing who he was
Both: [laughter]
Me: What?
Grandma: That's a long talk to have. Yuh see how Trudeau was good fi Canada? Well, di JLP was like dat, but betta. Only ting is di leadas was not too good. But still, in politics yuh get dat. So yeah, di JLP was a good ting fi Jamaica.

My grandmother had NEVER spoken to me about politics before. Im am ashamed to say that my elitist Canadian privilege led me to assume that my grandparents had no understanding of politics or the ways of the world. I still wanted to find out some more, so I changed the direction of my line of questioning. I asked my grandpa about growing up.

I found out that my grandfather is from West Moreland. I don't remember the district or the surrounding districts because I became consumed in the stories he was telling me about when both him and grandma took me to Jamaica the year before his father died. I was 3. While I don't remember the entire trip, he couldn't believe that I remembered the scary incident with what I think were tarantulas and cockroaches all in the house and me screaming at the top of my lungs as I watched them crawl around me. We went on for 5 minutes about that, and another 15 about his childhood. Grandma in the meantime was rushing around trying to get ready, standing in her walk-in closet complaining that she had nothing to wear.

Later, at the party there was a "lifetime trivia". I was too busy filming the festivities and helping with food to participate, but I found it interesting that most of the questions asked, I had only learned the answers to only a few hours ago. How many brothers and sisters does he have? Where was he born? When did he come to Canada? What was the date and year that he was born?

Today, I'm thinking about what I learned about Grandpa and thanked God that I everything I learned was done around the anniversary of day that he entered the world and not the day he left.