So many times over the years, I overheard my mother telling her sisters in proud yet whispered conspiratorial tones, “Wait until you see what I’m leaving for Mary.” Of course she was talking about when her time on earth would be no more and I never really dwelt on those words since she’d given so much already – the excellent food, beautiful clothes, private school, summer vacations, pocket money, care packages, and the laughter. Still, she was a crafty one.
It was always amazing just how many hiding places there were for her to reach into and pull out some previously undisclosed trinket from her days in New York during the Harlem Renaissance, or some treasure from a Saturday morning Shaker Heights Estate Sale. She had such good taste.
Who knew what would be mine?
My mother passed away in January 2001 and I inherited my father.
No one saw that coming.
For the next six and a half years, my dad and I would create a life together, getting to know each other all over again. Between he, me and my dog, Mr. Chow, we would have some very interesting, mostly entertaining times;
some, not so much.
It is here that I will share with you the stories of “me, me daddy, and me doggie” as I came to refer to us over the years. Most of my friends and family heard about these things in real time and even now I am sometimes asked to retell the story of a particular incident or something my father said. I will do my best to write in a manner that reflects his very lyrical, cultured British West Indian accent. Your imagination will help make that come to life as you read the accounts.
Trust me. You can’t make up the stuff I have to tell you.
I’m happy to have been able to share my father with so many of you who were able to collect your own stories about him based upon your encounters. Some of those incidents will be recounted here as well.
Wish me luck and thank you for indulging my memories.