Month: October 2015
I drove near little Haïti yesterday morning to shop for some fresh veggie. I was surprise of the surge of energy I felt suddenly. All along, my eyes were constantly tickled, while my lips played hide and seek with an ease smile.
I knew partially why. Perhaps, it was because I was in my bain. In the veggie isles, while I smelled the cilantro, parsley, thyme, habaneros peppers, I was pampering the fresh plum tomatoes, and red bell peppers in my hands. It felt like an endless love affair.
Yes, I love to cook. In fact, the culinary ecstasy which I became familiar with, since my youth, has been the only husband I’ve managed to keep so far. Gladly to say, we still interact like bread and butter.
“Listen!” I usually tell him. “I’m the one cooking here, and you know very well I don’t like to use measurements!”
“Ah bon! YOU berder makre me taste goord, ann look enticirng too!”
“You are so conceded, with your French accent!” I would yell back.
“Bien suuure! Don’t you kneur who I’m R’AM!” (“Of course, don’t you know who I Am!”)
I would turn, while shaking my head to reply: “Who are you Mr. Culinary. Have you not realized, you are nothing but dirt?”
He would be furious of course.
“DERT! How darre yuu! I R’Am the arroma everrryone long for worlwide. “Irr, Irr, satisfy evveryone culinary buzz DAILY. And, you darre call me dert?”
“Big deal Culinary breeze! But, technically, you are dirt. Therefore, before you raise your nose so highly, keep in mind, all your “Arrroma” ingredients are from the ground. The dirt. So for once in your lifetime, try to master the art of humility.”
By then he would calm down. Then answers pensively: “RAh! I nerver thought of that. “Good thing I R’Am from France then! Thank you mon Amour (My love) for pointing this fact to Meu!”
So, as I continue to peel my potatoes, I would acknowledge this fact: Yeah!” I must admit. The perfumes from France are among the best inventions!”
Raging: “Allo! Wrat do you mean by theirrr Parfum – And about the Art Culunaire- La patisserie???”
“You know what I meant my love!”
At last, as we both smiled, once again, “It would be love at- first- sight.”
So my Papy is back in town. Yes, I’m referring to my Father. I’ve told you before how he was a character. Haven’t you read my story entitled “Am I the one to be most pitied?” That story was about a love note I had received from a certain Romeo during my pre-teen years. While my Step-Mom thought it was ground to lock me up at the nearest convent. My father on the other hands took the time to examine all the facts, before he finally released his verdict. Of course, I had to reassure him I was not the one who forced the young Romeo to write me. And he agreed with me. So, he boldly voted against my mother’s request. Honestly, that was a first. Usually, even if my Mom started fussing from New years til Thanksgiving, my father would remain silent. At last, in order to get my father to react, my Mom would say: “You see this Passite? You see what I mean?”
Her first attempt would fly right over my father’s head. Papy would keep eating, with his head hung down, his eyes focus on his plate, while he carefully performs a triage. At last, after another annoying plea from my mom, he would finally say: “Mhn!”
You heard me right. “Mhn!” Would be his answer. Then he would keep on eating.
Now you are probably wondering what was the crime we committed. Or, perhaps I should clarify when I said, “We” I meant to say, what my poor siblings, and “not so poor me” committed?
Most of the time it was NOTHING. Occasionally according to her, we were not sitting properly on the table. Oooptidoo!
The most common one was after she forced us to eat the nasty foods the maid prepared, she would asked us “If we wanted another serving?” A simple answer “No thank you” was like saying: “Hell no! We don’t want this nasty food!”
Well! Let me be clear on this one. My siblings probably didn’t mean to say “Hell no!” But, I certainly did. In fact, most of the time, the detestable look on my face was enough to condemn the maid, and anyone who dared talking to me to hell. My younger brother was very good at detecting those historic moments, so he would profit from annoying me. He also knew he would better remove anything throwable as far away as possible from me.
My Step-Mom on the other hands would give me the look, before she asked me again:
“What wrong with your lips I said?”
“I hate cornmeal for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Why do you even cook this stuff?” Would be my blunt answer.
After she turns her face toward my Father, expecting a reaction, she would say: “Oh yeah! Passite, you heard your daughter?”
While Papy’s body was seating on the chair by the table, his mind was traveling all the way in Spain, therefore, he apparently did not hear my answer. So the poor woman would have to make another plea to him. That’s when he would force his mind to lend back in Haïti, in our dining room area. He would then give me a passive look, one can easily read on his facial expression “So what?” By then, my lips would be hanging across the table, could hardly be scrapped off my siblings laps.
Which would make it apparent for Papy to notice my discontentment. “What’s wrong with your lips?” Papy would finally ask me.
“NOT-TYING! I would answer. With my mouth still stuff with the cornmeal I was being forced to eat.
“So you understand what I’m trying to say here? My Mom would deliberately yelled just to get a reaction from my father. Perhaps she would hope he would swing his hands across the table and grab a hold of my lips. Unfortunately, this happened only once. And that day, I think it was probably because he hated the nasty food too.
For prior to his explosion, we all heard him murmuring “Chhhrr! Chhhrr!” Which was his way to show his discontentment on the table. Perhaps, when he realized I had beat him to it, he decided to teach me a Lesson. “The honor to rate the nasty food served in this house is mine, and not yours.”
After he had pulled my lips that day, I had to forcefuly restrain myself from saying: “Shuut!You’ve been complaining about her nasty food since the day you got married, with no positive result, about time you let me handle it!’
But, being the angel that I was, I didn’t want risking spilling the cornmeal still stuffed in my mouth on my beautiful dress. After dinner, my older sister and I had some major plan. (I know you want to know what we had planned. So I will tell you. But keep it a secret. We were going to sneak out of the house, catch the tap-tap to the the Rex theater in the ghetto neighborhood, so we can watch Sissi L’Imperatrice, by one of my favorite actress, Romy Schneider.) Of course we were forbidden!!! Why else would we be sneaking out of the house? Gosh! Do I have to clarify EVERYTHING TO YOU! Trust me, it was all worth it!
Ok, so back on the table. I decided to shut my mouth. Besides, like I said, I could not speak anyway. My mouth was still stuffed with the first spoon of cornmeal, and I didn’t touch my plate since. I figured, all I had to do, was to hold it in my mouth for thirty more minutes, by then, my father’s anger would cool off, and if my step Mom even attempted to make me finish the nasty cornmeal, Papy would then say:
“Oh-Ooh! If she doesn’t want to eat, let her be!”
And yes, it occurred AS-I-PREDICTED! I was home free. Didn’t have to eat one more plate of cornmeal!
So what was the purpose of this story?
Well! I said earlier, my Papy has been back from Haiti for a couple of days now. But, now he is so old, whenever he is eating, he falls asleep. I have to wake him up.
“Papy, wake up! You are still holding your bread in your hands, try to eat!”
“Oh-Ooh!” I forgot!” He answered back with a smile.
Before I know it, he is closing his eyes again. So, I have to remain on the table next to him, to make sure he eats his meal. While silently I remind myself, “My Papy was not always like this. Now, he seems to be the child, here I’m the one watching over him; cooking and feeding him.” I’m so thankful for this honor.
All along I hear him whispering: “This food is nasty!” I laugh. Because with his taste bud impaired, he can’t taste anything. So EVERYTHING TASTE NASTY, for him.
When he is finally done, I purposely asked him: “Papy, how was the food?”
“Mchhrr! Mchhrr! Good! Good!” I knew then, he didn’t want to hurt my feeling.
So I just smiled then thought “After all, he’s giving me a taste of my own medicine!”
I went to get my eyebrows done today. But, during the whole time, all the ladies were speaking their native language. The only English word I heard, was when she asked me “Just eyebrows?”
“Yes.” I answered her with a smile.
But, she was already saying “Chunyoungching,” to her two partners.
I gathered they must have been talking about someone by the name of “Chung.” Because the conversation went somewhat like this:
One lady said: “Chungching-chiiiiiiiing!”
My helper answered “Dongdonngdondond H’r! Chungchinggg-rrrrrr!”
The younger one was eating from a bowl. As she got up, she said, “Honnnng-Hing-hin-ghing rrrrrrrrrrrr-Chunghing!”
I don’t know how she had managed to say all of that, with her mouth full. But, she did. NO, I’m not lying.
Ok. So I’m lying. The truth is, she didn’t exactly uttered those words, but what I heard sounded just like them.
Of course I felt compelled to participate. So, that’s when I said “Hongggg-HING-rrrrr!!!”
The three ladies remained silent for a few seconds as they starred at each other. Then I heard:
“Ohmyguy-youthink we’re fo-rom China! We are fo-rom Viet-Naame. Not China!”
Although I understood what she meant, I thought I would tease her. “You’re from Viet-Naame? I heard of Vietnam, but where is “Viet-Naame?”
“Naaaa! We fo-rom whereyoujustsid! “Viet-Naame!” The older one answered.
I responded back, “Ididnotsid “Viet-Naame.” I sid, “Vietnam!”
While shaking her head, she said:“Yah-yah! There-there! Youuu-Justsidit!”
Finally the younger lady turned around, after a glimpse, while laughing she said, “Hayhoyoooow-YING-hoiyyy!” To the other two ladies.
Without a doubt, I knew she had just said something about me. So, to scare her off, I slowly uttered the following sentence: “I – would – be – careful if I were you. I speak Murong- Chinese-Tay-Nung-Hmông and French!”
What they heard almost caused them to stop breathing. They yelled together: “Hunnnngg! YOU DO?”
“Ah-ha! So you ladies WERE talking about ME-weren’t you?”
After they all laughed, the older woman told me, “Hunnnngg, you so fon-ny! You kom back again, we give you diss-Kont. “You Kom back, Ok! Wa-yourname?”
I answered, “My name is Nad…”
“Wa? Hunnngg – yournameis-wa?”
“No. My name is not “Wa.”
After she laughed her heart out, she said again, “You so fon-ny!”
“Really?” I answered her. “I’ve been told the contrary.”
“Hong?” She said with a serious look.
“Never mind.” I answered her. “I will be back in a couple weeks. But next time, can I pay with my jar of pennies?”
“Pen – hunnngg! Letseee!” She turned to confirm with the other lady while speaking Vietnamese.
The middle aged lady looking frightening started to walk toward me. “Waaaaaaa? Pennies? How much?” She asked me.
I answered, her “About if I bring you ladies a five gallon jar full of pennies!”
“FYYY GALLON? Hooooooong!”
“Got you!” I said. While I laughed my heart out.
“Hunnngg – you so fon-ny!!! “See you net-time, ok!
“What? You want to set the time?” I answered her.
“Nonnn! “I said “Net –time. Net. Net. Not appoint-mend!”
While I walked out, I just had to say: “No appointment? Then, let’s forget about the net. I will just bring the fish.”
“Hunnngg – You so fon-ny!”
I honestly had one of the best time of my life! Therefore I know I will definitely go back.
I sought for humor but tears showed up. I yelled, “Where are you my cherished friend? Come here! Come and help me stop this hailstorm falling like lava spring from the wound.”
Humor answered, “Sorry dear. I’m having my own crisis today!”
“Are you serious? But you are humor, what could possibly be wrong with you?”
“The thief stole my laughter box, then glued my lips.”
“But, you are talking…”
“This is a recording, DUMMY!!!”
So my God-mother came to live with me when she arrived here, in America. Although I felt honored, the decision was not mine. On Thursday afternoon, I received a call from my mom. When I answered, “Hi Mellie, how are you?”Yes, this is my Mom’s nickname, which I gave her. So, after a brief pause, she answered me.
“Listen, get ready to pick up your God-mother. She’s arriving here from Haiti tomorrow afternoon, and she’ll be living with you.”
Mind you, I was living with a “husband.”
Yes, I said a “husband,” simply because we were legally married. Need I say more?
“Ok!” I answered my mom. “By the way, thank you for the extended notice.” I think if she knew how to say “My pleasure!” She would have. Instead she answered, “Good, call me once she arrives!”
My childhood memories with my God-Mother are nothing less than pleasant. So I was looking forward to seeing her. Therefore, if it meant for me to sign a divorce paper, I would have gladly done it, considering the bumpy phases during our relationship, divorce was already projected.
Unfortunately, he did not object when I gave him the news. In fact, he only made one complaint “You could have given me enough time to get drunk one more time, without having an old lady staring at me!”
Mind you, my God-Mother lived in a Town about forty-five minutes from the City. During the Duvalier Regime, they had running water, electricity, beautiful waterfall; I even recalled a nice aquarium. Unfortunately, when the “Other” regime took over Haiti, over the years, they had managed to sell everything our country owned to foreign investors. The civilized neighborhood have to rely on their diesel inverter. Therefore, for the majority of the villages, the people could not afford this commodity.
By the way, keep in mind, my childhood nickname was “Foufoune.” Somewhere in one of my post, I told you guys what my nickname meant. Believe me, no child would wish for a nickname which stands for “Virgina.” So My god-mother calls me “Foune” instead. Thank God for mercy.
I on the other hands, call her “Ninn” For God-Mother.
I arrived at the airport with great excitement. From a distant , I saw a pretty round face, dark skin old lady walking toward me, with her hands over her eyes. I recognized her by her fair long grey hair. Once she saw me, for a brief moment, she stared at me, she hesitate before she said.
“Oh, my Foune, is that you “Pitit-Mwen?” Meaning “Is that you my child?” All along, both her hands were hovering over her eyes, as if she was annoyed by a midday-sun.
“Ninn, yes it’s me! I’m so glad to see you, been over ten years.”
“Yes, my child. Been asking for you, but no news. So I called another child your name. I often tell her, “You’ll be my Foune number two, just so my heart wont’ continue to bleed!”
All along, I couldn’t help wondering why her hands was still covering her eyes, so I asked her:
“Ninn, why are you covering your eyes!”
“Can’t deal with all this light, Foune. I almost went blind when I stepped out of the big boooom.”
As she laughed, she reminded me of the little old lady from the “Looney TunesTweety Bird.” In fact my children said the same thing before they started calling her “Ninn” as well.
“Ninn, what is the big boom, are you referring to the airplane?”
“Yes Foune. The big car. I saw the sky while I was inside. “When they told me to get out, I thought I was going to walk in the cloud. Look at all this light – why don’t they send some to Haiti?” Oh my God, look at this!”
“Ninn remember we had electricity in Haiti when I was younger!”
“We had what? What is tri-City?”
“E-lec-tricity; we had light, even at your house.”
“Oh! Yes, we did. But now, we only see the light when lightning strikes. Yap! We’re going backward! No water either, all the rivers have dried up, now we have to buy some fish, and the plantains look they suffer malnutrition.”
“Wow, Ninn – that’s unbelieable! Why are you stopping Ninn? This is called an escalator; try to step on it, and it will take us downstairs. Just stand on it, don’t walk.”
“I am not stepping on this stuff!”
“Ninn, you have to. Just step on it, and stand. Don’t move.”
She answered, “Now, folks told me about those crazy stuff in this country, but Foune, I’m over a century old, Am not about to step on this crazy thing, moving like a river, but don’t see no water; can’t fool me! I’m over a hundred years old now.”
Nin, you are not over a century old, Gando was older then you. You are probably in your seventies now. And try to stare at the light for a moment, they won’t hurt your eyes.”
“Yes they will. Many people came back to Haiti, wearing some brown or black thing over their eyes. Because they said, the light from here, caused them – There you go! You see that woman over there, she’s wearing one of those stuff.”
“Oh, you mean the sun glasses Ninn!”
“Sun? Why they call them Sun?”
“It’s a long story Ninn. Let me just give you one pair to wear.”
Thank God I had a pair of sun glasses in my purse. After she wore them, she started to laugh.Yes, my Godmother was wearing a pair of Sun Glasses at eight O’clock at NIGHT, because of the light.
“Now look at this! The whole world is dark now! Those white folks sure know God, to invent something like this.”
“Ninn, by the way, those glasses were probably made by a black man, working in the factory.”
“No child, can’t be. This thing must be from the white man. Just like the big Boom and all the cars in Haiti was made by them.”
“No Ninn, in this country black people invent things too. Anyway, let’s walk on the escalator.”
But, she was too busy turning in circle, with her eyes upward, starring at every light. Myself and everyone else could not stop laughing. Just when I though I would look for an elevator, a young Haitian man CARRIED HER down. She held herself like a little baby, while all along she was saying, “Now son, don’t you drop me. Am about a century old now, haven’t fell not once!”
People stood still, to listen to my God-Mother telling me, “There is no way in this heavenly Country she was going to step on something that just slides like a river, but she could not see the water. She would have felt much better riding on a donkey instead!”
I could not stop thanking the young man who carried her down the escalator. With a smile he finally answered me:
“Trust me, I’ve been there too. This was my first trip to Haiti because I wanted to meet my Mom’s family. My grand-mother made me eat, drink and bathe me with so many herbs, by the time she was done, I thought I was a tree!!!
To be continued
Friday night has always been a special night for our family. Growing up In Haïti, whenever we heard my Mom screaming, “Get in the car, I said!” My siblings and I would run to my father’s Ford, station wagon, while we pushed and shoved our tiny bodies, just so we can occupy the best seat. Because we knew, it was movie time. Yes, my father would drive us to the local, or should I say the ONLY drive-in theater in Haïti.
Now that we are older, both my sister and I continued with this fun tradition with our own children. Every Friday night, we would meet at the Regal Theater. And, quite often, we arrived there about an hour earlier, just so we can enjoy a scoop of ice cream prior to the movie.
You heard right, for our family, it was all about the ice cream, not popcorn. So let me explain the ice cream selection process for my family. Or, should I say particularly for my sister. Because for me, it was just a matter of pointing my finger toward the same flavor I normally chose every Friday. No, I don’t like adventure when it comes to my ice cream. Food and wine, yes. But, once I find my comfort zone with a certain flavor of ice cream, I can pretty much order the same one throughout eternity.
However, my sister, my niece and my daughters, waiting for them to select a flavor, was like watching the movie previews.. I always made sure I ordered first, because I knew I needed something to preoccupy my mind and my mouth, while the rest of the family start traveling aboard through their imagination. So, once the clerk would hand me my boring vanilla/chocolate or Rum raisin ice scream; he would say:
My loud mouth daughter Cassie would step up, then say: “Which one are you getting Tatie, I don’t know what I want!”
My sister would answer: “I don’t know. This week I want something exotic, darrrre-rrring typppe!”
My niece: “Wow Mom, look at that orange looking one!”
My sister, shaking her head, smiling like she was a child watching a Disney show:
“Mm! Must be a new fla-vvvor; about that “grreeeeen leeeeking – one over there – Looks daring, you think?”
Meanwhile, I’m imagining the poor young clerk thinking “For God’s sake, when those turtle creep are going to order?”
“Turtle creep?” I would answer, as if I was reading his mind. “For your info, they are the three stooges!”
As if they were oblivious to all the other customers waiting to be served. They don’t even realize how the poor boy was wishing he was from another planet.
“Is that a new flavor? “My daughter asked as loud as she can be.”
The clerk forcing himself to smile, raised his right arm before he made a U-turn toward the opposite direction.
With his fashion flair, one would assume he was a girl. Pointing at the light green flavor, he said:
“Are you referring to “thisss” One?”
“Yap!” My sister answered.
Suddenly he was excited. As if that particular flavor reminded him of a pleasant love affair.
“Wowww!” He whispered with a nice smile. “D’you like to taste?”
His body posed like a model in a fashion show. He continued, “This is one of our new flaaa-vor!! Mm-Mm! Like it! Let’s see! Haaa-yes! It’s the “ Mustachio- Jumbalaya – Meringue –Salsa – Domingo – La Vida flavor!”
The three stooges as excited as the clerk, totally surrendered to his enticement. So I groaned though my teeth, “Oh my God, here come Cinderella wicked step mother, and her two villain sisters!”
After he gave my sister a tiny spoon to taste. She yelled: “Yes, yes, yes!” Oh Yes! I’m in Heav-ven!!!”
“Really Tatie, it’s that good!” My daughter responded.
“You like it Mom?” My niece replied.
“Like it? I love it! Give me two scoops!”
Then, just when I thought my torture was over, my niece pointing her finger, “But Mom, what about that hot pink, almost red one, all the way in the corner over there?”
As my sister starts walking toward there, she said, “That’s an inter-res -tinggg color! What’s the name for that one?”
I answered: “Murder, she wrote!”
While the clerk smiled, our brief eye contact confirm our silent torture. Just then, he finally realize the name of the game. So, he placed his hand on his chest, as if he was tenderly caressing himself, while the other hands was held on his hip, over his blue green paints. Then he said:
“You know, it’s interesting you should call it “Murder, she wrote.” Because, I thought it was something like “The Bloody Mary – Dracula type flavor. But the name is actually “Vengeance.” “How-e-vveeer, for you ladies, I will call it “The silent killer.” What do you think?
“Awwww!!!” My niece replied. “In that case, give me a scoop of that one too!
I would follow up with “Me four!” But, mine is the same rum raisin you served me earlier!
“You so boring!” They would say.
If you think watching them brainstorming the names of the ice cream was painful, wait until you sit among them, while they dissect the flavor from the two scoops of ice cream.
Of course, the expression on the older angel face is totally me, although in reality, I’m the younger sister.
While I’m the naïve – inquisitive-troublesome addicting type. My sister on the other hands, is the disciplinary – knowledgeable about everything my brain could never comprehend.
Yes, I’m the artist, and she’s the handy man special. She’s aware of every talent I have, points out all my abilities, while I have to remind her of hers. But one thing for sure, we have so much in common, it’s almost unbelievable.
For instance, I will show up at her house with the same exact dress, or jewelry she just purchased. with the exception, while she may have shopped at Macy’s , mine would be from the thrift shop. Sometimes it’s the other way around too.
I will pick up the phone wishing to tell her about a movie I just watched, while she’s texting me the following message: “Sis, you have to see that movie I Just watched!” Lo and behold, it would be the same movie.
I recalled when I brought a couple Louis Second chairs, my sister sit there and assembled them without a drop of sweat. If it were me, after five minutes, the whole box would be in the trash. That same day, she changed my door locks, after she assembled my wood bed. I asked her, “Sis, why don’t you exchange your nursing job for a post at Macy’s, in the Furniture department?
She gave me what I call “The look.” Yap! That look is her special signature. Even my children are familiar with it.
One day while we were cooking together, I asked her, “Sis, I have a piece of land, do you want to build the house there for me?” She knew I was serious, so we both busted into laughter.
We were not any different in our younger days. We always enjoyed each other’s company. Early in the morning, we would sneak out of the house for our nature walk. We would climb the grass hills, breathe the fresh air, smell the flowers, and sit on the ground, just for the heck of it. It was like a natural instinct we shared. We didn’t’ really have to say much. Just like my father. We had that gift to remain silence whenever we choose to. “Well, for me, it could be challenged when I’m angry!”
Quite often after my volleyball practice, we would sneak out of the house to go watch the classical movies. At the old theaters, located where my father referred to as the “Peuple area” (The commoners area). Although we were forbidden to wonder there, it didn’t make any difference to us. Because we truly enjoyed watching the older movies featured there, instead of the Friday night drive through event, our other siblings looked forward to…
Honestly, I think I was sent on earth to annoy my sister with my genuinely strange questions. For instance, one day I thought it was Ok if I asked her:
“Sis, do you think this herb is really poisonous?”
The look she gave me was as if she was about to chew me, after she would sprinkled some salt and hot pepper, plus some lime juice over me. I told you about her signature look! The she said:
“WHAT DO YOU THINK NADÈGE – What does it say in the BOOK? “Don’t you see, POI-SO-NOUS!!!”
Another day after I read the story of Charles Manson, I asked her:
“Sis, was Charles Manson Racist? How come all his wives were white?”
My sister answered: “Nadège, Would you like me to drive you to see him, so you CAN ASK HIM THAT YOURSELF?”
Me: Sis. “Do you think I have a disability? Sometimes, I think I’m retarded.”
Well, If you really want to know how my sister responded to this one, check out the younger angel facial expression. Seriously, that was her, asking God, “Why me dear Lord – “Do I really have to be my sister’s keeper?”
On the other hands, my facial expression would look just like the older angel. You can tell I’m the busy body type, can’t you? I think I was asking God “What trouble can I get myself into next – Or perhaps what would be my next career I explore?”
To my surprise, before I knew it, I realized she heard me. “Nadège, I don’t care what you think, but you need to take some writing course. “And “YOU,” hé-é-é, need to go back to school and earn your degree. PERIOD!”
Yap, that’s how she talks whenever she gets aggravated with me. I used to feel hurt whenever she gets angry, but I realized not too long ago, other than my father, she’s the only family member who genuinely can put up with me. And I know she’s the only one who truly loves me also. That’s all that matters to me.
Ok. So now I’ve told you I’m practically the driven force behind my sister constant angered brainstorming toward God. Yes, I’m known to annoy the crap out of her; not willingly. This is just the way I’m.
My inquisitive mind is always storming and frowning, it never rest. Believe me, I wake up in the middle of the night just to wonder, “Mm! I wonder if I sit in front of this plant, if I could witness its growth.” And this is probably the type of question I would ask my sister if she was awake!
You see, I read all the rules from the book, “ How To Be A Self Made Pain In The Butt!” Don’t’ tell my sister I told you so!
I hope you understand what I’m trying to convey here. Just in case you don’t get it, let me give you another example. I’m also a pain in God’s butt. Yesterday, since my sister was tired, I realized I couldn’t annoy her. So I turned my focus on God. I thought with all the craziness going on here on earth, I should definitely figure out a way to help him out.
So I reasoned, “Most people don’t believe in that hell “boooo” anyway! But, I bet you there must be a way to get them to believe God truly exist, and even cause them to fear Him.” Who knows, the world may become a better place!
Immediately this brilliant thought crossed my mind. So I said:
“God, since we are living in the last days, I figured a way which you can convince all your children that you are still alive and worthy of reverence.”
“REALLY? “ God answered.
“Yes Lord! But, did I sense I little doubt in your voice?”
“He answered, “That’s because I thought I was the one with all the answers! Nevertheless, go head my child; creativity is highly welcomed in my realm.”
“Creativity?” I yelled back at Him. “Are you kidding me? I’m talking about brilliance here!”
When He realized how annoyed I was with His tone of voice, He kindly answered: “Go head my child!”
“Well Lord, you said in your word “You ordered the sun to shine on both the just and the unjust.” Bad mistake!
“You think so? “ God asked me.
“Of course Lord. Why do you think they take you for granted?”
God replied: “So what are you suggesting dear?”
“Wait God, don’t be in a hurry! Besides, you shouldn’t be anyway. You have eternity ahead of you. “By the way, don’t you get bored God?”
“Never mind your excellence! “So this is my suggestion:
“Block the sun from shining on the unjust. If you could cancell their electricity as well, even better. (If I were you, I would even turn off their water as well. But, those fleshly spoil brat will need to bathe.) Then, on the third day after a few major lightning from you, (make sure to strike their window, ripped off the roof from their house too) yes, let your thunder be heard so loud, even 50% louder than what you accustomed to. “And I bet you, even the most stubborn atheists would start peeing on themselves. Yes, they will scream their lungs out, “OH GOD! Oh God HELP US!”
I thought the Lord was so proud of me when suddenly I saw a beautiful rainbow shine forth. So I said, “Wow Lord! Is it because of my suggestion, or the South Carolina Flooding?”
God answered me: “No dear. Your country was my next judgment site. But with your brilliant idea, I sent the rainbow, in order to remind me to hold off the flood gates against the land. I will use your idea instead. See you soon!”
“What? Well, Lord, in that case can I bring my sister with me?”
“No dear. She already did her penance during her lifetime with you!”
“Oh Lord! Is this how you repay me? Shuuut! Next time I will keep my mouth shot!”
Then my sister answered: “That would be a first!!!”
I once heard the following quote: “Your sister may drive you crazy or inspire you!”
In my defense I will say: “I inspire and drive my sister CRAZY!” Right Sis?
Ok. I must be right. She just gave me “The look!”
“Hey, stop laughing! I proudly live up to my title!”
Didn’t you hear me calling you? “Come and get dress I said!” It was a couple months prior to my sixth birthday.
“I couldn’t careless!” I whispered to myself, while I sit on the floor, playing with my favorite doll.
Yes, that was my mother’s voice. She was holding a sleeveless couture, yellow polka dot dress. Just then, I concluded, I was doomed. Wearing that dress would make me look like capital sin. I don’t know why she had managed to convince herself, it was a special day, because, I dreaded “Picture day.”
Yes, that dreadful day took place once a year. Both, my brother and I were dragged to Abraham’s photography. Where, I swear, if my mother could figure out a way, to have our lips permanently glued, while she was yelling: “Sourire, sourire!!!” She would probably confine herself to a convent, and later on, lived to be a Saint.
“Sourire” meant smile in French. Apparently, while we were still in Haiti, my father who lived in New York, looked forward to my mother’s relentless form of torture. As you note, I was not the only sacrificial lamb. My older brother was also part of the yearly ritual. But, while I looked like a yellow warbler, my brother was the black crow.
Don’t’ get me wrong. I didn’t have a problem with the event itself. It was all about the dress. First off, all my couture dresses were sewn above knee length, and I hated showing my knees. Furthermore, I hated the fact that the dress was also sleeveless. She knew I didn’t like showing my tiny arm, so you think she would take my feeling into consideration? NO!
“Did you hear me calling you, or NOT!” She yelled again.
With both of my arms on my hip, I responded, “Is – this – a – sleeveless dress again?” Fortunately for me, that day my mother only gave me “the look.” She didn’t even say, “You owe me one!”
At last, when I was dressed, she said, “Sit, and don’t move!”
Yes, you heard right. Don’t you remember how the adults back then felt they had the legal right to torture us children? They would tell us to sit steadily for over an hour. Are they for real? With my attention spin?
Are you frowning, as if you’ve never heard that before? Ok, you’re probably not from the Caribbean then.
First off, it starts with the bathing process. After they are done with us, our skin usually feels like an aluminum pot, which had just been scrubbed with Brillo. Seriously, if anyone were to slide one of their finger upon our skin, it would make that, “Grub-grub,” sound.
Lastly, as if they didn’t feel we went through enough humiliation, they would tell us, “You better glue your butt on this chair, and don’t’ move till I tell you to!”
Is that so? I can’t speak for the other children, but usually, I sat still long enough, till my genius cells take total control of my mind. I recalled that day, when I heard, “Why don’t you re-design your ugly dress?”
Oh! I forgot to tell you. I was a seamstress from my toddler years. In fact, I believe the day I popped from my mother’s womb, I’m sure I had a needle and thread, stuck between my fingers. Because, by age six, I would already been in the hospital at least four times.
1. I was trying to sew in the middle of the night, when I accidentally sat on a needle. My mom had to be called from a party, in order to rush me to the hospital, on a donkey. Well! What a girl to do? She didn’t want me to sew during the day, so….
2. A needle almost permanently sewed my hand on my bed, because I had forgotten it was hidden under my pillow.
3. I almost had my thumb sliced and diced a couple months later, after I poked my finger with a needle. Since, I was afraid to tell my mom, my finger eventually turned blue.
4. I forgot the last incident. But it was so bad that my mother banned me from touching anything from the needle family.
Needless to say, with my history with needles; Oh! Now I remember the last accident. Too embarrassing, I can’t share that with you. But, still, if you were in my place, would you let those insignificant experiments stop you? Of course not!
So, I thought: “Why not cut a piece from the lower back of the dress, to patch it above the hemline in front, in order to cover my knees? I didn’t need the back of the dress for the picture!”
Therefore, once I executed my brilliant idea, I patched the dress with a red thread. It was hanging like a table cloth above my knees, and I was thrilled!
I had to think of a new strategy for the sleeves. So I cut another piece from the side of the dress, but when I realized it was not enough, I cut an additional piece. By the time I was done cutting the back of the dress, only the shoulder had remained from the back.
Meanwhile, it still did not dawn on me, how my whole butt was going to be exposed. And, just when I was about to sew my version of the sleeves over the shoulder area, there walked my mother.
She walked in the dining room, dressed like the Queen of Sheba. But, when she saw me taking care of my business. My needle and red thread held tightly in my tiny hand, while I kneel on the table, with my shoes scattered on the floor, sweats dropping off my forehead, like hell storm invading Haïti.
I honestly don’t know how to describe her facial expression to you all.
I could say, “She looked like Cruella De Vil.” But, it would be an understatement!
Of course I got a butt whooping!!!
To be completely honest, the whooping was followed by an exorcism, in order to permanently ban these three words form my memory: “Needle, thread and scissors!”
The following day, I cut my new sock to create a new invention for my doll. Ha! I bet you she learned her lesson then.
No wonder Halloween is celebrated in October – This is the Month when the witches show their true colors!!!
PARENTS, I FEEL YOUR PAIN.
Trust me on this one. I gave birth to four witches!!!
Honestly, I strongly believe my third daughter must have been the ruler of hell during her past life.
And, I must have been her partner!!!
God’s sense of humor never cease to amaze me!