Eggbert Missa B, Prince, Bertie, Uncle Bertie, Tibby, Ol' Man, Stick Man, (No sir, sorry I wont call yuh stick man again *rubs arm, pink from slap*)
I still remember growing up, sitting with you, squinting at the small screen of the coloured TV when WIndies had a cricket match, you at the edge of your seat, me barely following the action but excited something was happening (years later it was discovered my squinting was not intense focus, but astigmatism). Everyone would know if they did you proud (which was not always that they won) when you would then spend the rest of that day/week humming Rudder's "Rally Round The West Indies" in the sweetest warmest tenor voice I have heard on a Jamaican. it drove several persons crazy. it made me want to learn songs that meant I was happy so I could drive people crazy too - but more importantly, so I didn't have to tell them how I was feeling, but show/ sing it. this man smoked every day God send him sun when I was younger. and STILL voice was sweet and resonant, like a sunbeam touching your face with blessed heat as you sat in an air conditioned office shivering.
you were the archetype of the masculinity I hoped to personify:
- you would get up every day without fail, and take on the tasks you set yourself, with no complaint and no need for acknowledgement.
- it began with a slow, meticulous sweep of the yard. Alternating with a push broom, and coconut brush while singing, with pauses to "run" us from underfoot as we would play around you.
- Then came my favourite part: you would lay out your woodworking tools to continue whatever job you had in progress.
I was proud my Grandpa was a Carpenter, and took pride when you would carve a bed-head or make a "chester draws" (Chest of Drawers was reserved for adulthood). I especially loved when it was a bed. when still in early stages, not yet with outfitted with lathes, I would love to sit in the open box that was the frame and read or imagine myself as a pilot, ship captain or teacher in a classroom (this last one only ever in private, as my sister had a total monopoly on being 'teacher,' a game she relished in large part for the strop with which she would discipline students, and the red pen to "mark" work). you made my "big boy" bed, a sturdy no nonsense affair, made from hard wood and unadorned. That bed has seen me through moving from place to place, become awkward teen, to a mostly good man, and has supported me in many a quiet hour in reading, laughing, loss, pain, and in loving.
- you would get up every day without fail, and take on the tasks you set yourself, with no complaint and no need for acknowledgement.
- it began with a slow, meticulous sweep of the yard. Alternating with a push broom, and coconut brush while singing, with pauses to "run" us from underfoot as we would play around you.
- Then came my favourite part: you would lay out your woodworking tools to continue whatever job you had in progress.
I was proud my Grandpa was a Carpenter, and took pride when you would carve a bed-head or make a "chester draws" (Chest of Drawers was reserved for adulthood). I especially loved when it was a bed. when still in early stages, not yet with outfitted with lathes, I would love to sit in the open box that was the frame and read or imagine myself as a pilot, ship captain or teacher in a classroom (this last one only ever in private, as my sister had a total monopoly on being 'teacher,' a game she relished in large part for the strop with which she would discipline students, and the red pen to "mark" work). you made my "big boy" bed, a sturdy no nonsense affair, made from hard wood and unadorned. That bed has seen me through moving from place to place, become awkward teen, to a mostly good man, and has supported me in many a quiet hour in reading, laughing, loss, pain, and in loving.
Then there's those things that just added to your awesomeness
- You never waited on Grandma to fix you a plate, and though rarely ever having to, you could Bubble a pot! (sometimes these forays were traumatic - watching the process of making Manish water is a standout here - but you cooking was always a fun affair...until the teasing resulted in an invented nickname - always hotter than a slap)
- You always romantic in private! Poor grandma here telling us how tender you are with her, describing your earnest proposal to her, ring-less but determined to keep her...and us seeing you with your grumpy one liners and "kissin' teet" whenever she would start to retell the story. I realised, after we found the picture of you two kissing for some anniversary, that we had never seen you refuse to kiss grandma when she would try to wrestle public sweetness out of you. your resistance was always for show, and short-lived, because a peck was sure to soften the moment before you walked off.
- You always romantic in private! Poor grandma here telling us how tender you are with her, describing your earnest proposal to her, ring-less but determined to keep her...and us seeing you with your grumpy one liners and "kissin' teet" whenever she would start to retell the story. I realised, after we found the picture of you two kissing for some anniversary, that we had never seen you refuse to kiss grandma when she would try to wrestle public sweetness out of you. your resistance was always for show, and short-lived, because a peck was sure to soften the moment before you walked off.
- Your use of a nickname was a level of savagery that had us always on our toes...and rolling with laughter when not the target. I remember a step-sister once came to stay over with us, and after an hour of her incessant chatter (which had also got on our nerves by then) you gave out:
"Zazu, yuh beak nuh tired fi clap?" Fresh from the Lion King VHS obsession, the rest of us were giggling up a storm, poor Dex- I mean, Zazu. Mid smile, dazed and not knowing what had just happened. Of course, our laughter further got you annoyed, and we scattered at the shout of "Kibba unnu mout!" knowing as we did that the fresh laughter that this would bring would end in some slaps. she was truly one of us that day, Zazu, Carl-Jackass-teet'-fuss-one, Duck-head, Donna-Pretty-Cross-yeye-Duppy, Dutty-Neck, Sandy-Yellow-one-him, and Ashia (who you gave her pet name and was never given another name by you).
"Zazu, yuh beak nuh tired fi clap?" Fresh from the Lion King VHS obsession, the rest of us were giggling up a storm, poor Dex- I mean, Zazu. Mid smile, dazed and not knowing what had just happened. Of course, our laughter further got you annoyed, and we scattered at the shout of "Kibba unnu mout!" knowing as we did that the fresh laughter that this would bring would end in some slaps. she was truly one of us that day, Zazu, Carl-Jackass-teet'-fuss-one, Duck-head, Donna-Pretty-Cross-yeye-Duppy, Dutty-Neck, Sandy-Yellow-one-him, and Ashia (who you gave her pet name and was never given another name by you).
- YOU COULD DRESS!!! Grandpa, bar none, was the most put together, handsome, carefully organised man about the town. Listen! de man starch even his jeans! I think watching him dress and take care of his clothes and Clarks had more of an impact on me in my formative years than even having both my parents being in fashion design. from early years of trying to iron my primary school uniform (and creating triple and quadruple creases) to tucking my shirts into my pants (before growing older and becoming aware that where Missa B had a muscled flat stomach I had a round pot), "Uncle Bertie" was the very image of style and clean-cut dapper-osity!
Then you both moved "To Country," a whole other series of misadventures, "Grandpa-isms" and surly mask hiding warm-heartedness continued.
To the person who I am sure I in large part got my ability to find humour in the folly that causes frustration:
I miss you more than I can say, and will take a while to get used to the idea that you are no longer here. no longer a hurried phone call away in between classes when I would call your number to "speak to grandma" (when really I just wanted to hear you shout "Shirley, Tasito pon de phone," probably with a mumbled cuss that she going to done your battery now, and when you coming back down here again?), no more hurried 1-2 day visits to Manchester to reset while watching you move about tending goats, chickens and crops, humming snatches of melodies and wishing you would sing louder so I could harmonise, now older and FINALLY knowing the songs you always sang - Thanks Mr D for at least three of these - and able to join in.
"Sing Christmas Green, Poinsettia red,
for in a lowly manger bed,
a Little child was born."
for in a lowly manger bed,
a Little child was born."
