Early one afternoon, as a young child sitting in my front yard, excited to see the army march passed our gate, I would grow up to become a soldier, I told myself. In great numbers singing songs in unison, such impressive pageantry moved me. On this particular day, as the soldiers marched passed our gate, I turned to my Papa and asked, “Do soldiers die?”
My Papa, very slowly, turned his head in my direction, looked down at me, and with the strangest of expressions, DID NOT RESPOND!
My Papa has since died and, to this day, never answered me. It was sometime during that period of confusion, I decided I would become nothing in particular until I could determine if they would die. Simple things, and perhaps not.
On the road to becoming a better writer I have learned the balance between speaking one’s truth, not all truths are to be spoken and the value of politically balancing the relevance of a topic with one’s own political center. Today’s prompt has stuck the cord of silence, the cord of vehemently spiting political fire and the sound of reason for the platform of this performance.
I have never liked that word,
Equally so, it took me decades to understand why anyone would leave their well furnished home, travelling to a cottage, a place more furnished than what was my childhood home. I’ve learned that no one travels on a vacation to be preached to about local living conditions. A timely silence is better than an untimely opinion
Breakfast is an exciting way to intersect with strangers
Truman G Capote’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s was the very first movie to convince me that breakfast was an easy way of bridging new friendships. The comedic banter between Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard while not directly relatable, for those having read my earlier submission about films in my life then, it is an easy transition to see how this relates. Movies, if properly sequenced, would be my autobiographical epithet.
Many within my circle of life would quickly inform you that Soccer, hands down, is my favourite SPORTING activity. However, very few would know that touring the world one breakfast at a time would be my “die and went to heaven” dream of most favourite outdoor activity. In every country visited so far an outdoor breakfast was a must.
Many will write about getting away, today, I find myself wishing for the opportunity to return. To be clear, I have spent longer now in my new home than I have in my birth home and I would never turn my back on the flag of my adopted home or family. Still, the thought of spending one weekend in that place where I would best find solace this coming weekend, hands down would be
PORT ANTONIO JWI
Yes, it boasts a rich history of sugar and rum. Its rumored history of pirate’s gold is still unfound and its real history of Errol Flynn’s home and my ancestry of Huie having painted with Canada’s group of seven. But being there would truly be in heaven