True story - The Obedient Son (True Story)

                                                                                     Malique Graves Palmer

It was a beautiful sunny Sunday morning; it seemed as if the sun shone brighter than normal. It was a perfect day to go to the beach. Sunday was always a special day for Malique who was only three years old and I; it was the day of the week that Malique looked forward to most, with curious anticipation. Sunday was also the day the enthusiastic child got to spend all day with his father.

The two of us always engaged in lots of fun activities. Malique was sure that his dad had some wonderful adventure planed for the day. After breakfast Malique noticed that I was cleaning the car. The energetic child decided to join me in the task of preparing the car for the day’s activities. Although Malique was of little use in the task at hand I love and I was happy just to have him around, even when he got in the way.

“Daddy, what are we going to do today?” asked Malique as he looked at me with searching eyes. I did not think it mattered what activity I chose; what was important was, he got to be with me.

“We will be going to the beach,” I said in reply to his question.

Immediately a twinkle of excitement appeared in Malique’s eyes. He ran into the house and to his mother, and with a blaze of enthusiasm he shouted, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Daddy is going to take me to the beach, can you help me get ready?” Malique's Mother Maria was only too happy to help her dear son get ready for his adventure.

With all the commotion the young boy was making, you would have thought that the beach was the most wonderful place in the entire world. It was my custom to take Malique to the beach very early in the morning, when I was off duty before school, Yet he was as excited as ever.  

The beach was two miles away, Indian Bay was a small white-sand beach; it was just about 250 meters long. There was not much room for playing, for there was a retaining wall one-meter high with a one-and-a-half meters security wire fence erected at the top of the wall. This structure was designed to keep picnickers off the private property that bordered the beach.

About 20 meters from the shore there were two small islands that acted as a shelter for the beach. Immediately in front of the beach was the smaller of the two islands; this island had a few trees growing on it and there was also a humongous white cross erected in its center the Tomb of Mr. Defraitas. Hence the reason I called the island Cross Island. Cross Island rose about five meters above the level of the sea. This Island acted as a little challenge for people who had just learned how to swim; to swim to and from Cross Island was quite an accomplishment.

On the South-East of Cross Island were the second and the larger of the two Islands. This island was very high rock. This high rock was about 40 meters from the shore. It was a very large, barren, and dense volcanic rock that had many ridges and cracks. This rock stood about thirty meters above the level of the sea. To swim and climb to the top of the big rock was an experience, but the challenge was to jump and plummet into a free-fall landing into the deep blue sea that spread out like a carpet below.

Finally it was time to leave for the beach. The duo got into the car and off we went. The beach was half an hour away. I was as excited as my son was. I anticipated having tons of fun at the beach with my son. It was my plan to start Malique’s swimming lessons when we got to the beach.

At the beach my son and I had tons of fun; we frolicked and swam, they built sand castles or what they called sand castles, which was washed away by the wave that regularly bathe the shore and in whose part they were erected. Malique had his swimming lesson. All of the activities wore out the young child; he was tired. I saw an opportunity to go for a little swim on his own.

Malique was sitting on a stone; he was exhausted but excitement still gleamed from his eyes. I walked up too and spoke to the tired child.

“Malique,” I said, “I am going for a swim. I want you to sit on this rock. I don’t want you to move, no matter what happens. Do you understand?”

“Yes, daddy,” the shivering child said.

I knew that Malique could not swim, and if he ventured into the water unsupervised he could drown. That would be a tragedy. The death of a child is one tragedy no loving parent would like to have in his or her family. I had to make sure that my son understood me before he ventured out for his swim.

Malique sat on the stone and watched as I swam back and forth. Malique wanted to join me in the water, but he was too tired to join in the fun. I swam to Cross Island and back, and Malique made no attempt to leave his very comfortable seat on the rock.

All appeared well Malique sat on the rock and he looked quite comfortable, he did not once attempted to come into the sea. I decided to take a swim out to the high rock and climb to the top of the rock. I jumped from the top of the rock into the clear blue water below. I did this several times. This activity was very exhausting. Finally I climbed to the top of the high rock and took a seat to rest. From this position on the top of the island I had a clear view of my only son sitting comfortably and undisturbed on the stone. Malique could also see me from his seat. I could imagine that Malique hoped for the day when he could join me on the top of the high rock.

While on the top of the High Rock, I noticed that something strange was happening on the beach. I noticed that everyone was running to and fro, but eventually everyone ran into the water. Screams could be heard coming from the beach. 

From where I was perched, I searched the beach with worried eyes and I wondered what could be happening. I began to panic because I was concerned for Malique's safety. My heart pounded with fear; I feared for the safety of his beloved son. I knew there was danger on the beach but I was totally unaware of what the danger was.

 I looked at his son and noticed him still sitting on the rock looking in the direction of the people as they ran and screamed. I was tempted to jump off of the large rock, but I still did not know what the danger was. It would have taken me a few minutes at the least to get to his son. The swim seemed as if it would last an eternity.

Just then I saw a large vicious-looking Rottweiler running along the beach unleashed. Now the powerful, angry and ferocious bark of the dog could be heard, and there was a man running frantically behind the dog with an unattached leash in his hand. Now, there were only two people on the shore: they were the man with the leash in his hand desperately chasing the dog that have gotten off of its leash and Malique. I was petrified  when I saw the dog ran toward the helpless little boy: my son, who my responsibility. As a result, I felt a large lump in my throat, that made him feel as it I was suffocating. I was not suffocating but I was terrorfied by the thought of what could probable happen.

 I helplessly felt my heart pounded harder and faster than ever before. Although no harm has come to the child as yet; I blamed myself for anything that might happen to my defenseless son. I was helpless and a sense of hopelessness overtook me. If I was there, using my bare hands I would have ripped that vicious dog to shreds to protect my son, but there was nothing that I could do from where I was. There was nothing Malique could do, there was nowhere for the frightened child to run. If he ran into the sea he would drown, since he could not swim, and if he followed the last instruction I gave him, he would be mauled by the vicious dog. It was a hopeless situation. I knew that Rottweiler and children were not a good combination, as this breed of dog is known to be very aggressive toward children.

Just then I said, “Lord Jesus, you are the only one who can protect my son. Please keep him safe.” I never once took my eyes off the events that were unfolding on the beach, even whenI uttered the prayer for his son’s protection.

The vicious dog ran faster and faster toward Malique and as he got closer to the unattended child, who was still sitting on the rock, the frightening growl of the angry dog could be heard even louder. The people in the sea watched with horror as the ferocious dog approached the helpless child. When the fierce dog got close enough to launch an attack, he stopped, looked at the child, smelt him, then turned away and went toward the sea and continued to bark at the people in the sea.

I breathed a sigh of relief and dived from the top of the high rock with his hand outstretched and pointing down at the sea. The anxious father hands made contact with the sea water first, then his head, shoulder then his whole body was swiftly submerged into the deep blue see. I hurriedly swam to the shore, dispensing every bit of energy I had in my effort. When in anxiety I got to the shore, the dog had already been put back on his leash and was removed from the beach. I was thankful that Malique was safe. I ran up to where my son Malique was. he was still sitting on the rock where I left him, as if nothing had happened.

“Are you Okay, Malique?” I nervously asked him, trying his best to reflect the level calm my brave and obedient son now exhibited

“Yes daddy,” the child answered, with a sense of calm in his voice that was seen on his face and that which his demeanor now reflected.

“Were you afraid of the dog?” I calmly asked.

“Yes daddy” Malique replied.

“Why didn’t you run like every one else?” the father asked, anxious to hear his son’s answer.

From the way Malique looked at me, I could have tell the lad was puzzled by the question “Daddy, you told me not to move from here no matter what happened,” the lad replied with a naïve childish innocence.

 I then held my obedient son close to his heart and squeezed him. Under his breath I said thank you Jesus.

True story - It Pays to be nice! St. Croix Experience

                                                                                  Pic of the actual Boat - different operator

While on the Island of St. Croix visiting friends, there was not much thing to do, but there was lot to observed. Being one who loves and enjoy nature, I will enjoy the beautiful scenes that unfold before me; scenes such as the boats floating by, the birds as they get their morning meals, the changing patterns of the tides and the human activities of people going about their business. This was not only relaxing it was very enjoyable.

I can remember the very first morning, I went to that dock in the little town of Christiansted. The boat man or the ferry operator (a native of St. Croix) made his way from Island on the Cay and came to where I was sitting and as his custom is, he asked me if I am going over to the island. As the ferry operator he was expected to take the hotel staff as well as guess of the hotel and patron of the popular bar to and from the little island on which the Hotel was built. This island is about fifty meters from the town of Christiansted.

I politely informed the ferry operator, I will not be using his service today. He proceeded to take the few passengers who had assembled on the dock to the luxury island. Each day from Monday to Friday I will religiously travel to that very spot. At times the boat operator and I will exchange a glimpse, a nod of the head a passing mumble but rarely did we never had a meaningful conversation.

It was Wednesday 26th November 2008, the day before thanksgiving; My friend went to work and I was left alone to enjoy the day doing whatever I felt like. I went to the dock as was usual, while there, I noticed the same ferry operator performing what was his regularly expected duties. However, today he had very unattractive bulky looking vessel; with which to take guess, workers and bar patrons to and from the island. 

When the boat operator docked, I bid the boat operator good morning, and then I inquired about the regular vessel. Ferry operator ignored my greeting as well as, the question I asked. As a matter of fact, he refused to turn around and acknowledged my presence. I repeated the question louder, I was of the impression the boat operator did not hear what I said. Once again, he did not answer and neither did he acknowledge me. The man who was busy as he fiddled around with some item, which in his mind, helped him justify ignoring me. A few passengers came; as a result, he got them boarded and he went about his assignment as normal.

On his return to the dock where I was still sitting, As is his custom he manuvered the boat close to the small whaft, he got off at the stern of the boat and he used one rope to hold the boat to the whaft. This was convenient for the purpose for the following reason, the boat is never at the dock for any significant period of time and the island provided shelter for the small dock and the wave was not as such to negatively affect the boat.

I took the liberty and I repeated the question I asked him earlier. Not being as smart as other people are, it was only after I asked the question for the third time that I realized the ferry operator was ignoring me. The Ferry operator was excercising his rights; and there was noting I could have done about it. As a result, I smiled at his strange and impolite behavior. Once again he was trying to justify ignoring me by fiddling with the ropes on the vessel. He stood on the whaft as he continued to fiddle with some rope that was attached to the boat.

After I realized the ferry operator was ignoring me, I turned my attention to something else. I do not know what caused my attention to return to the ferry and the ferry operator, but when I looked in the direction of the ferry; I could not believe what I saw. I noticed the bow of the boat has swung way from the dock; the ferry operator was dangling from the molding that join the deck of the boat to the hull. The Ferry operator was holding on that ledge with both hands, his he was facing the boat and both of his feet, up to his knees were dangling in the water.

 I quickly rushed over to where my impolite friend was in distress; I momentarily glanced into his eyes, which revealed absolute fear, could it be that the fairy operator was unable to swim? The fear in his eyes, alerted me of the seriousness of the matter that confronted the ferry operator. The ferry operator needed my help but he was too ashamed to asked for help.

The bow of the boar was not to far from the whaft, as a result, I maneuvered myself as to take hold of the helpless ferry operator by securing my hands under his arm pit. I did this by stradling the whaft and the ferry with my legs and holding the fairy operator under his arm pits with both of my hands. Even before I have securely griped him he let lose his grip of the boat and I was left to carry the weight of a man that was no less than two hundred and forty (250 lbs) pounds. I tried my very best, utilizing all of the force I could have generated in an effort to hoist the ferry operator onto the dock; but unfortunately; not even the adrenaline that such events cause to be excreted into the blood of one in a similar situation did not provided me with the required strength that was necessary to pull this man to safety. With the belief that he was unable to swim, I know I could not allow him to fall into the water.

To do so, would have immediately change the situation, transforming it from a simple slip into a fatality; which may have resulted in the lost of a husband, a father, a brother and a friend to God knows how many people. So I held onto my friend for quite a while. The force, I was putting on my legs, which was on the boat and the other on the whaft, which I did to keep the man from falling into the sea, cause the ferry to slowly move further away from the whaft. 

This created a new dynamic, to the already strange situation. However, there was a Caucasian man: a tourist with his female companion, standing some distance away from where we were. They were observing the beauty of nature like I was. The man saw me struggling with the man, whose feet was still dangling in the sea, but now he was now dangling from my arms. The Caucasian tourist quickly came over to where I was to render some assistance.

Together we tried, to get the boat operator back onto the dock, but even with the added help of this fellow it was a difficult task. Both me and the new help was pulling away but we were not getting any where. There was no change in the situation. Then I heard my help start counting, immediately and without any further discussion, we both pulled on the count of three. With the coordinated force of my helper and I, acting on the count of three, we managed to get the ferry operator onto the docks.

When he was safely on the dock, I went back to my seat and resume what I was doing before I went to the ferry operator’s aid. While there; I noticed the man who had just been rescued still sitting in the place and position we left him. For about ten minutes he sat there in silence, not looking left or right but he sat in what appear to be a contemplative mood. Then without any warning, he looked in my direction and said “thank you Sir thanks very much.”

The ferry operator left the docks with a new set of passengers and later returned carrying more passengers from the island. Once again he looked in my direction and said thank you once again

True Story - Allan Smoking weed? Or is it fake weed?

Growing up on a small island we had many interesting stories to tell. I can remember when I was still in Primary School, my friends and I would hang with the Most Coarse Rastafarians. There were Ito, Ita, Jobi and many others most of whose name I cannot remember. When they were not in the hills, where they have secluded themselves, they will move from Montrose, Bottom Town (Rose Place), The Slum (Paul’s Lot or Avenue) Harlem Edge and the other neighborhood in and around the Kingstown area; burning fire on all who represented Babylon, shaking their dread, Reading the scriptures; hailing King Selassie and burning Cali weed.

They never encouraged us to smoke or use any illegal substance (weed). However, my friends Garfield Mayers AKA Bread-head, Nigel Sylvester Nie Blue, Curtis John AKA the pip, Anthony Culzact AKA Bangalang, Arnond Culzact AKA Bam, and others, we will all grow what we called a summer Natty (Natty dread), which we were proud of. However our Summer Natty Dreads were cut on the last Sunday of the summer holiday, the day before the new school year began; when we all sported new haircuts to attend school, the next day; which was the first day of the new school year.

We all admired the Rastafarians and the movement they were a part of, although my friends and I wanted to be as real as we possibly could be to the real Rastafarians, Bread-head, and I who were best friends at the time, were not ready to use Marijuana.

Then Bread-head told me of a discovery he made, I cannot remember exactly how Bread came up with this discovery, however; Bread discovered that the dry papaya Leave when burn smells like Marijuana when it is burnt; I tried and discovered that Bread-head’s discovery was true. As a result, we purchased cigarette wrapping paper, we collected our portion of banana bark (The Rasta’s substitute for Rapping Paper) and we had our portions of untreated tobacco AKA high leave which the Most Corse used to mix their ganga with.

We will go to the Rastafarians camp where ever they were hanging out reading the bible and smoking weed. My friends and I, sporting our Summer Natty, gain acceptance with the Rastafarians. We talk the Rasta talk, and when they began to smoke we will break out our stash of fake weed AKA dry Papaya leave and light up with the Most Coarse Rasta. They wanted to know where we at our age got money to by weed from, but that was our personal secret. At time they (The Rastafarians) will try our fake weed and rate it as being good stuff; only if they knew what they was really smoking.

Consequently, news got back to my father that Bread Head and I are often seen on Nine Steps smoking Marijuana. I can remember my father called me into the shop, which he was tending, and he asked me if I smoke Marijuana, I looked him square in his eyes and told him no. He told me that people have told him they have seen me and Bread-head on Nine Steps smoking weed. He told me the people will not lie on me like that. At that age, it did not even dawned on me that, my father and the people were referring to the papaya leave or (fake weed) all I knew was the thought of smoking weed never entered my mind. So when I had the encounter with my father and I was accused of smoking weed, It honestly never entered my mind that they were referring to the fake weed Bread-head and I could be often seen smoking on nine steps whilst we pretend to be Rastafarian.

Because my father knew I was simple and brutally honest he believed me when I look him in his eyes and told him I don’t and have never smoke marijuana. However the youngest of my sisters who was about four years older than I was, became upset that I was not dealt with by my father who was a stern disciplinarian. She accused me of lying to our father and became very upset. It never crossed. It was recently, the memory of this event came to my mind, it was only then I realized that the accusation of me smoking weed was really me and Bread pretending to be smoking weed what was really fake week AKA papaya leave.

True story - A dangerous Hike - St. Andrews Mountain (S.V.G)

Several years ago, I took a large group of children on a hike to St. Andrews Mountain as part of my Adventures Hiking program. It was a very rainy day and the kids were all excited. It was a difficult hike up the hill, there were problems getting their footing, hikers were slipping back, it was difficult. Too the kids it was a dangerous experience but I knew it was safe. I got them to help each other up the mountain and we all made it out of the trail (wooded area) fine and in good time all things considered.
When we were out of the wooded area, the children were happy. We then walk up the hill, using the paved road to the very top of the mountain. when we got to the top of the Mountain, it was priceless to see the look of awe on their faces. They got the opportunity to see St. Vincent and the Grenadines from a different prospective. They got to see Vermont on the leeward course, and what I believed or “seems like” Argyle on the windward the Grenadines islands and so much more.
We sat and enjoy the beauty of the view, while we had lunch; after which, it was time to make the long journey down the extremely steep, pave road, which the children seem to enjoy. On our way down the pave road, some of the hikers suggested we use the pave road via Lowmans Leeward on our journey back to Kingstown. But I pay them no mind.
Then we reach the path to the wooded area of the hike: the mountain trail. We rested there for a while, then I give the instruction, its time to go. I had two young members of the St. Vincent Cadet Corp on the hike also. When the troops realized that I have decided to use the wooded path on the journey down the hill, it was pandemonium, some of the children began to cry, some called their parents and told their parents that I am trying to kill them while others insisted that they are not going down the wooded path and I cannot make them walk that path.
I said to them, in stern serious tone, your parents give me the responsibility for each of you; if anything happen to any of you I am responsible. I further said we are all walking the wooded path down the hill and we all walked the wooden path down no exceptions. There were children from all over Kingstown including Bottom and Town Paul’s Avenue, there were children from the leeward and the windward side of the island; there were also Primary and secondary school children on the hike.
So I led the way down the hill, and with no exceptions all of the participants of the hike followed. Before we reach the difficult area, I put them in particular order for the difficult journey down the hill. I have been watching them over the past week, I knew their strength and their weakness and who worked best with whom. I reassure them that it was not as hard as it seems, then I give them safety instructions as I always do; however, my words were not enough to quiet their anxiety, to chase away their fears or to stop the tears.

My instructions to the dismayed hikers were as follows:
1. Take your time; get a good footing before you move your entire body down.
2. In very difficult areas, help the person inform of you and the person behind you.
3. Let the person behind you know where is the best place to hold on to and to put their feet in other words coach them in to how best to move from the level you have just come from.
The journey down was long and difficult one; however, very soon the hikers stop focusing on the danger of the journey and they began to focused on their safety and helping their fellow hikers along the journey, each person providing help where they could and asking for assistance when they needed it. They were still apprehensive but they move and spoke with a confidence, I have not saw and or herd from none of them before, not even the cadet.
When the feet of those children touch the street at what marked the end of the wooded trail, I heard a big eruption, of voices, a grandiose shout erupted from among the hikers; I was shocked and very overwhelmed at what I say next. They were hugging each other, giving each other high fives, patting each other on the backs, while they all danced in the street. There were no music yet they danced. They all felt the pride and the joy of accomplishment. The music was the courage they all employed to overcome their fear; even the shy, was fearless and publicly did their version of the dance of accomplishment; they all had faced their fears, the put in the efforts and they all had triumph over that which they were afraid of.
Some of the hikers came to me and said, Mr. Palmer, I am happy that you made us walk the trail. while when asked, others said, expressed their joy of not walking the pave seemingly safe path. These children had never felt the way it felt to watch danger in its eyes, tackle it and win. They have tasted the trill of Victory.