My Eight Near Death Experiences

Mi Hard Man Fi Dead
You can pick me up and lick me down
And I will bounce right back

While death will eventually have its day, I have had a number of near death experiences that has only strengthened my will to live well even as I tempt fate. The lesson I learned from sky diving is that if at first you don’t succeed, it’s not one of those times to try, try, try and try again. This is not for you.

Can you imagine strapping on a parachute, flying to 2 miles up and jumping out of a perfectly good airplane? The moment of terror that lived in my stomach for 7 days is just before the jump. My wife has died a thousand deaths over my decision to go skydiving. She does not complain, however, about the other passionate little deaths (la petite mort) I experience several times per week.

1. Hopping a truck
One of the pastimes in Jamaica is hoping flat bed trucks and getting a free ride. When this skill is perfected, a man can save a lot of time getting from point A to point B by waiting for a truck to come, run along until you are going the same speed preferably up a steep hill when it predictably slows down. They grab onto a side panel, pull themselves up and get a free ride. I grew up watching very skillful boys do this repeatedly without a problem. It actually looked like fun. The opportunity for me came when I was about eight years old on my way to school. As the truck slowed down on the hill next to Johnson's property, I went through the familiar routine and was feeling proud of myself that I got on without a problem and without the driver even knowing that I was on board. As the school is on a flat road, the truck picked up speed and was now way past my destination. As no one told me how to get down from the truck, in my panic, I just jumped off the truck that was now going about 30 miles per hour clearly expecting to land on my feet. Instead, the landing was a traumatic collision with the ground and I rolled around in the stone gravel. I was battered, bruised, bloody, crying and in severe pain. When I limped to school, Teacher Fargueson beat me and immediately sent me home. When I got home and told my loving, patient and forgiving Granny, she beat me as well before cleaning me up with an antiseptic (Detol) that turned the water white. She put iodine on the scrapes and scratches and crushed chick weed on the deeper cuts. I then went to bed and slept through the night. The bumps on my head (hematomas) that Jamaicans call "coco" went away after a week when Granny declared that I was as good as new. Did I stop hopping trucks? No. I just leaned that you have to hold on and run with the truck for a while before letting go. The trouble with learning from experience is that sometimes the exam comes before the lesson.

2. The Bees
I grew up loving to eat brains (fish, chicken, goat, and hog)hearing that it would make me smart. The other brain food was bananas. About a year after my road accident, I placed some green bananas in a secret hiding place and then went back a week later to gather my prize. As I stuck my hand in to retrieve the sweet bright yellow bananas, I instead disturbed a wasp nest. They immediately started to sting me about 100 times. Within an hour, my face arms and legs had swollen to four times their normal size. My grandmother merely crushed a cube of “blue” that she would ordinarily use to rinse and brighten white clothes and dabbed it on each bite. In a week, I was as good as new and brighter too. When it got dark one evening, I got my revenge. Because wasps cannot see at night, I poured kerosene on the nest and killed them all. The best part was that I got to eat my slightly over ripe bananas.

3. Running for my life(Usain Bolt was a boy to I-man).
When I was twelve years old, I got into an argument with a bigger boy who I accused of stealing the watch my mother sent for me. When he ran after me with a machete, I knew I was going to die. So, I did things I never thought was possible like jumping over walls, traversing a pond and outrunning someone who was the fastest runner on our Boys Brigade troop. I learned that day that Jamaicans are very sensitive to being called a “tief” and that I could outrun anyone. After that, whenever I wanted to run fast, I would get the adrenalin going by pretending that “Mad Ronnie” was chasing me with a machete. I subsequently became the sports champion on sports day at Springfield All Age School in 1958 as well as set a 400 meter track record at Madison high school in New Jersey which earned me a track scholarship to Simpson College in Iowa in 1963.

4. I was coming around the Mountain
I had just graduated from Simpson College in 1967 and while I was pursuing a master's degree at American University as well as got my first job working as a juvenile probation officer in Montgomery County, Maryland. I approached my new job with a great deal of optimism. Because I had met and studied Glasser’s “Reality Therapy”. I asked my supervisor to give me all the hard cases because I thought I could turn water into wine and delinquents into productive citizens. One of my innovations was to borrow the Paddy Wagon from the police department and take seven delinquents at a time to a friend’s cabin in the Allegheny Mountains. We would go on hikes, cook and ate together and at night as well as enjoy great fireside chats. One day, I was taking them down the mountain to buy some provisions when I suddenly came upon an unexpected sudden right turn that I was going too fast to maneuver around and the paddy wagon turned over three times before coming to rest against a tree. It all happened in slow motion. My nose was broken and cut, my ear was severed and there were several severe cuts on my neck and arms. I ran around trying to make sure the boys survived the ordeal. They turned away from me as if I was a hideous creature. It was a good thing that most of them were in the padded police wagon but these tough guys were all crying: “I want my mommy.” We were all bleeding and the problem that we were on a mountain with no telephone, no traffic and no access to help. Fortunately, in about an hour, another camper drove by and was able to go back and get ambulances. My daughter was only a week old and police called my wife and told her that her husband was in an accident. Not knowing whether I was alive or dead, she left Baby Jill with a neighbor and raced up to find me battered and bruised but alive to see another day. Isn’t plastic surgery wonderful?

5. Runaway Bay with Jillian
Jill was about five years old and we were vacationing in a villa in Runaway Bay, Jamaica. When I came back from playing golf, I quickly changed into my bathing suit and ran to the beach to get a quick dip in the ocean to cool off. As I swam out, I heard someone say “gulp” and realized that my precious daughter had followed me into the ocean without my realizing it. In the wide ocean, she was close enough to afford me the opportunity to rescue her. I call this one of my near death experiences because if I had lost her that day, I believe I would have just gone ahead and committed suicide.

6. Ocean City with Melanie
When my oldest daughter Jill was about fourteen years old and youngest daughter Melanie was about eleven, we were living in Columbia, Maryland and took our summer vacation in Ocean City, Maryland. We were very happy to be at the ocean. As soon as we got to the beach, Jill went with her mother to lie in the shade and read while Melanie (the tomboy) and I immediately ran and swam out into the ocean not paying any attention to the warning signs. We were having a glorious time but when I glanced back to shore, we must have been a mile out. A rip tide had carried us out to sea. We tried to swim back and were making no progress. I was exhausted and now convinced that the situation was hopeless, I told Melanie to swim for shore and not to look back. Just when I said my last prayers, I heard a voice yelling: “Grab the ring”. A lifeguard had appeared from nowhere and rescued both of us. He immediately told us to swim parallel to the shore to get out of the rip tide before swimming for shore. When I reached terra firma, I kissed the sand, thanked the lifeguard profusely for saving my daughter and me and went to join Jill and their mother. We decided not to even tell them what happened. About a year later, I got a panic attack as I recalled my daughter Melanie and I and this very close call.

7. The sleigh ride with Aleron
My youngest son, Aleron, was about 7 years old and we lived in York, Pennsylvania. After a lovely snow fall, we used an inflatable raft that we had used in the summer at the pool and went up and down the hill at the Water Commission Property behind our house. When we came home for lunch, I got inspired to tie “Judy Jet”, our huge husky/Labrador mix to the raft and visualized that the dog would just pull Aleron along at a nice pace like he would when we walked him twice per day . As soon as I uttered the word “mush”, the dog took off at about 90 miles per hour through the thick woods with me running behind in a panic yelling to Aleron to jump off. Aleron was holding on to the inflatable raft having a great time and Judy Jet kept running through the trees at speeds that made it impossible for Aleron to roll off the raft. My wife heard my yelling and running after our son and soon joined in the chase running after me with her apron and house slippers. Our older son Freddie, heard his mother and I yelling and he also joined in the conga line running after Judy Jet and the wayward raft. After what seemed like an eternity and the miraculously making it through the woods and going down a very steep hill, Aleron finally fell off the raft giggling and all of us thanking God he was safe. I on the other hand had my life flash before my eyes as I envisioned my son impaled on a tree limb which would have led to my own death-- this time at the hands of my wife Stephanie.

8. Upon the roof
After a severe storm that hit Atlanta in 2002, trees were down, the power was out and there were several limbs on our roof. I decided to be proactive and got my long ladder and went up to the roof to get rid of the debris. I did a great job but when I was climbing down, the ladder gave way and I fell to the stone patio in our back yard. My son Aleron heard the commotion and ran out of the house saying: “Talk to me Dad!” and don't move. I am calling 911. He went on to say that he had seen an episode of ER and when you fall from heights you are supposed to lay still. In my stunned state, I tested my limbs one at a time and everything worked as my son and I waited for the paramedics who rushed us to the hospital. They notified my wife, who left work probably driving faster than the paramedics. When she arrived at the hospital my Xrays showed that nothing was broken and my brain was in tact. I told them that jumping from a truck in Woodlands had prepared me for the fall.

When I walk through storms, I keep my head high and summon courage. There are a whole lot of angels guarding me. That’s why I continue to “walk good”. Don’t worry; I think I still have one life to live.

Mass Basil, the Shopkeeper

Basil Waine Kong

In Jamaica, Chinese people developed the tradition of "The Shop" or the "Chiney Shop," where customers could buy small amounts of grocery items. This convenience certainly helped and at the same time exploited families on limited incomes and perpetuated the tradition of only buying what was absolutely necessary for each meal---a few ounces of sugar, a quarter pound of flour, a half a pound of rice, a quarter pound of salt fish and even a slice of bread or a bulla (soft molasses cookie). So, the Chinese became culturally and affectionately known as the "Shopkeepers". While my father was one of these Shopkeepers, his departure out of our life when I was four years old was the last vestige of Chinese influence imprinted on me. I have visited China twice, had occasional relationships with people of Chinese heritage but no substantial oriental influence other than through reading. While I am aware that I look "Chinese," I have had an entirely "Black" experience and always worked for Black organizations and lived in Black communities. So, when I get "happy" as a Deacon in my Baptist church, it is something to behold. Not withstanding the lack of Chinese influence, I nevertheless became a "Shop Keeper".

Woodlands District, St. Elizabeth where my brother and I were raised by my Grandmother is a 100% Black community except for two half Chiney Pickney who felt loved and cared for by all the people. Even now, they treat me with the same affection whenever I visit. The entire village raised us. I often say that during my childhood years, even though there were no police or any semblance of law enforcement, I never knew anyone who wanted to harm me or to be even impolite. There was absolutely no crime. Yes, I had four fist fights during my childhood, probably for being called "Chiney Nyam dawg," but we were the best of friends a day later. I do not believe there is a better place in the universe to raise children than in a community in which every child has "mothers, fathers, cousins, aunties and uncles" throughout the community who were not blood relatives. "Good mawnin Mass Bertie. Respect to you sah."

Each generation of Chinese were able to obtain loans that were not available to other Jamicans to start a Chinese Shop in another village after serving as apprentices in their father's shop and continue to expand their business. They could never run out of villages to exploit. As there were no Chinese in Woodlands, someone had to keep shop. So, it fell to Uncle Claudie, the "Big Man" of our community. He started a small shop that became and remained successful throughout his lifetime. It died when his sons and daughters migrated to 'merica and rented the shop space.

Based on the Jamaican Chinese model, this one storey building had a main shop with three counters with a window at the end of each counter. The one to the right sold salt pork, salt fish, red herring and salt mackerel. The centre sold asham (parched ground corn and sugar) sugar, salt, flour, bread, crackers, bullas, canned and other baked goods with the scale in the middle. The left counter sold dry goods. This included shoes, cloth, needles, threads and buttons.

In addition to selling grocery, we also bought pimento (cloves), coffee, corn and beans that we would sell to buyers who came by in trucks. The public space was reserved for dominoes, all fours (a card game) and talking politics and how Cleve Lewis, their representative to Parliament was stealing the eye out of their heads. I learned to play all these games and enjoyed them. If someone wanted a drink, he would visit the rumshop next door where a mento or rumba band played music on Saturday nights and where Mass Claudie would put out salted snacks to make people thirsty so they would buy more beer and white rum with water that was referred to as just: "waters". After each customer, I would wash the glass in a pail of soapy water,rinse, wipe them with a towel and turn it upside down on one of several wooden pegs on a tray.

I was working in Uncle Claudie's shop buying, selling and making change by the time I was ten years old. It was a unique experience making change with pounds, shilling and pence. The smallest denomination was a farthing (one quarter of a penny that could buy an ounce of salt). A quatie was one and a half pence and could buy a slice of bread or a bulla and a shilling could buy a loaf of bread with a bulla as a bratta (a little incentive). It was a good education. I felt very privileged and "Big up" working behind the counter. I developed great relationships with people like Bradda Ashley Black, who taught me to drink gin and and explored the great questions of life with people who just hung around the shop---truly the lifeblood of a small community.

Occasionally, the "Iceman" who was also known as "Spirit" would bring blocks of ice from the ice factory in Santa Cruz (20 miles away), transporting it in hampers covered with sawdust and walked with his donkey back to Woodlands. He then converted it into ice cream (either run and raisin or grape nut), fresco (milk shake) as well as snow cones (shaved ice with strawberry syrup). These were wonderful treats and very refreshing!

My favorite treat at the time was jell-O. I would give money to the the truck driver who took people to Town (Kingston) to bring me a pack of strawberry jell-O mix. I would then have to wait until "Spirit" had ice. I would then mix the jell-O in an ovaltine can (one cup boiling water and one cup cold water) and place the precious liquid on the side of the ice to jell. I would impatiently check it regularly until I could enjoy the cool jelly slide down my throat. When I went “farrin” (overseas), my mother found out that I loved jell-O and served it at every meal. Within a month, I could not stand to even see the stuff.

My most memorable character was "Brother Boogs," the town drunk. Brother Boogs' never got over the death of his beloved wife and he daily drowned his sorrows with rum. Each evening, he would stagger home in the moonlight singing songs he made up. My favorite was:

"When I am a dead dead man
Don't you bury me at all
Just lay my bones in alcohol
One bottle of beer
One to my head and one to my feet
And let the world them know
That my bones can cure."

His daughter dearly loved him and when she went off to “merica” and became a success as a nurse, she sent for Brother Boogs to live with her in New Jersey, but he lasted about a month. He begged to return to Jamaica and to Woodlands where he continued to drink, sing and live in a wonderful house his daughter built for him.

We all loved cricket. To this day, I vividly recall the thrill and every detail of hitting the one six I ever hit. I was fourteen years old. While our games and practice took place at "New Pond", all our club meetings took place at Mass Claudie's shop. Captain Mills was the wise leader of the Woodlands Cricket Club. During our weekly meeting at the shop, before and after the meeting, young and old would break out in song:

"Captain Mills sent and called us boys
We all must go (repeat)
He gave us the command so we must move to it;
Moving like soldier boy
Soldiers fit for war
We all must go."

Whenever we went to other villages (New Market, Black River, Darliston, Pisgha) for a cricket match and lost, we would be quiet. If, however, we were victorious, on our way home in the truck we would make a joyful noise and all sing:

"You were wrong to send and call us
You were wrong;
You know we are the warriors
You were wrong to send and call us."

Another gentleman, Busha Price, courted my Grandmother and was always giving me money and delighted in teaching me to write and recite poetry. He would finish each of his poems with: "Lord Cornwallis, knock'na dough, turtle a'back." I had no idea what it meant, but it had a rhythm to it and could be called a "scat."

One of the suppliers that came to the shop was "Mr. Lazarus." He drove a station wagon full of stuff: shoes, needles and thread, buttons, thimbles, knives, forks, spoons, tools, plates, cups, etc. Uncle Claudie would buy these items and sell them back to the customers. Mr. Lazarus was five feet tall and three hundred pounds. He would bet that the circumference of his waist was more than his height. Someone would always take the bet and lose. He is fond of saying: "I am not deep, but I am very wide. It takes a long time to walk around me."

Uncle Claudie's filing system was a long nail that kept all his bills and receipts in perfect sequential order except that they all had a hole in the middle. Over the years, I adopted the same filing system even in this age of electronic filing. My secretaries and assistants always marvelled that I could always find my messages and communications "filed" neatly on several message nails under my desk. No amount of encouragement on the part of my assistants or my wife could convince me to not use my trusty nail message holders. Old habits die hard.

In our downtime and after closing, we wrapped rice, corn meal, sugar, flour, poured coconut oil in “aerated wata” (soft drink) bottles. I enjoyed making the black pepper funnels. We would also stock the shelves, sweep the floor, wash the glasses and wipe off the counter. While I was not paid for my work, I could eat all the candy I wanted and drink champagne cola. I even occasionally got permission to eat a can of sardines, bully beef or salmon which were wonderful treats. For the thirsty, I would pick a sour orange from a tree at the back of the shop and make lemonade or just mix strawberry syrup and water or condensed milk and water. To make extra money, I would buy a pound of sugar, cut up a coconut into little squares, and boil them together with a little ginger and sell each of these as "coconut drops" for a penny. Each time I did this, I doubled my investment.

I learned about the dangers of drinking over-proof white rum first hand. Uncle Claudie always added water to the cast of overproof rum so that people would not kill themselves. Someone actually took a bet that he could drink an entire bottle. He passed out and slept for a long time after he drank about a half bottle. I don't think he was ever the same after that. He was a ruined man.

The shop also sold kerosene oil (aile)to feed all the "Home Sweet Home" lamps in every household. Every so often, someone would knock one over and their entire house would go up in flames as the broken lamp would become a Molotov cocktail.

One Saturday night when everyone was happy, I was dancing and someone picked me up and put me on the counter so everyone could see how the Chiney Pickney could “wine up im waist”. They all stopped dancing and I was the centre of attention. They then had a good laugh, applauded and gave me money. I was a professional dancer!!!

The store was open six days per week but only the side window was open on Sunday morning because there was not supposed to be any work or business activity on our day of rest. Everyone (except Uncle Claudie) went to church. I don't think Uncle Claudie ever knew what the inside of the church looked like until he was being burried.

For several years, The McDonalds'living quarters was in the back of the shop with a separate building for the kitchen and a latrine further away. I lived with my granny up the hill. As Mass Claudie amassed his fortune, he built a fine house on the hill overlooking the shop.

When politicians and religious leaders came by to give sermons and speeches, they would always meet in front of Mas' Claudie's shop with a Tilly lamp that he hung in front whenever it was needed. That lamp with its special blue fuel actually lit up the place.

I worked in Uncle Claudie's shop after school and week-ends for four years taking part in adult conversations, making change and having a drink from time to time with the men. There was no restriction on children buying and drinking alcohol. Even at seven years old, Granny would send me with sixpence to buy brandy. She needed a little nip from time to time.

When I was twelve years old, Uncle Claudie decided to leave Aunt Myra and Uncle Ronnie (The Jew Boy)in charge of the shop in Woodlands and expand his operations to Springfield, about five miles away. He took this step even though Harry Chen-See ran a much larger shop up the street and Mr. Lynn Salmon and Miss. Zippy owned a similar shop on the other end of the village. The Chen Sees even had a gasoline pump where they would measure out each gallon in a glass container on top of the pump before transferring it to the car. Miss. Ada and Miss. Gloria (mother and daughter) were particularly kind to me and even invited me to spend time with them behind the counter. I loved going to the bakery and fashioning animals with the bread dough and was delighted to take these hand made breads to Granny and my brother. I also remember that the Chen Sees raised turtles for turtle soup. The post office was upstairs and across the street where I went to collect the boxes of "breguede" (goodies) that my mother frequently sent.

I was asked to go live with Uncle Claudie at this new location for six days per week to help with the shop and keep his company. After we closed the shop on Saturday evening at 9:00 pm, we would get on his high horse and ride the five miles back to Woodlands with all his money in a bag. On other occasions I loved riding Uncle Claudie's horse and even had a donkey that I sometimes rode to school.

Eventually, Uncle Claudie sold the Springfield shop and consolidated his business back to Woodlands, building a new shop that included space for the District postal agency.

On one of my trips to the big city of New Market, I asked Mr. Cummings, the Chinese owner of "Cummings Dry Goods" to give me a job as I now had plenty of experience as a shopkeeper. He immediately hired me. On Saturdays and holidays, I either took the "Champion Bus" or walked the five miles to and from work and earned real spending money. While in New Market, I made friends with Miss Maudie, a single Chinese lady, who owned a similar shop across the street.

Starting in 1957, the word went out that jobs were available in England and anyone who got there would get a job paying ten times their current earnings. So, people sold their land and all they owned to Uncle Claudie (who made huge profits from these desperation sales) as just about all the able bodied men and women went off to England, along with our mento band, our cricket club, the dominoes club, and our ping pong club. This mass migration took the life out of the community. Suddenly, we had a hard time just getting four men together to play dominoes. The shoemaker, the carpenter, the barber, the tailor and most regrettably, all the members of the "Herbie Arnold Rumba Band" and the church organist left to find gold in London. There was no more live music, no cricket matches, lively Saturday dances---only grandparents and children were left behind. On balance, they sent a lot of money back for their families.

I left on April 5, 1959 and returned May 5, 2009, fifty years later to discover my beloved island all over again. I continue to believe in the old values and will continue to support the country of my birth and the people who nurtured me in my youth. All of my children have been provided some of these rich experiences and I encourage them all to allow our grandchildren to live here and be educated here. This is "home" to my soul as I continue my Jamaica Chapter, hopefully participating in it's past, present and future.

Which is More Important in Jamaica: Merit, Preparation, Charisma, Ethics or Who You Know?

Basil Waine Kong

I take issue with recent comments made by our Former PM (P.J. Patterson) claiming that we have a highly capable civil service; a trained cadre of bright, competent public officers in Jamaica. That is certainly not my experience. I am forever being frustrated by one government bureaucrat or other. It is just too difficult to get things done. My observations lead me to believe that Jamaica is a country where relationships reign. You cannot get anything done without knowing somebody. Merit, skills, education, a positive attitude, ethics and good citizenship is useless baggage and count for little if it isn’t combined with connections either by blood or friendship.

This is a summary of a recent letter to the Gleaner (Wednesday | May 18, 2011) from Courtney Washington Joiles, President of Elcore International Fashions: “I recently started the process of transferring my garment-manufacturing business from the United States (US) to a leased space in the Kingston Free Zone…I came home full of hope and faith in my country and my fellow Jamaicans…My experience with getting the manufacturing space ready for operation has been an exercise in frustration. Rarely have I encountered more ineptitude. No one has delivered the service I was promised on time...There have been numerous hurdles - all of them attributable to inefficiencies and lack of communication between cross-functioning departments…Is this the way our country treats investors who are willing and able to contribute to our economy via new jobs?”

It is said that Jamaica is controlled by twenty five families. They not only look out for each other, everyone else is star struck and beat a path to their door, anxious to please. Members of these families are denied nothing because everyone wants access and cannot succeed without their blessing. They never wait in lines and are always favoured in the most glaring way. “Mawning Mass Charlie, you are a busy man, you don’t have time to wait in line, come up to the front.” Strangely, there is no protest from those inconvenienced. There is the prescribed Rube Goldberg way to do things for the general public and the efficient way where relationships take precedence. No employment of the most trivial nature, (well paid or not), is possible if you don’t know the right people and can return the favour. If you are not in a position to dish our favours or exert influence, you will be ignored. And if you are known to be associated with a political party, don’t expect any favours from the other.

If an influential politician is approached by the daughter of a friend who has never worked, has no skills and was too lazy to obtain an education, the government minister will likely say to the Permanent Secretary: “Ms. Johnson, this is Miss. Jones, please find something for her to do with an appropriate salary. She is my niece. No work will be required and when other employees find out about this political appointment, they will decide that they don’t need to work either. But the competent ones will be frustrated as their responsibilities are assumed by these political appointments. To have the friendship of a man of influence and substance is money in the bank. Along the same line, don’t go getting the right people angry. The objective of Social gatherings is not necessarily to have a good time or to relax but to make connections. Your presence is required to succeed in Jamaica while the wheels of government grinds to a halt.

According to Mr. Carl Bliss: (Gleaner, Monday, May 16, 2011) “For so many years, the business/ entrepreneurial community has been screaming at the Government to make Jamaica more business-friendly. Both PNP and JLP governments have promised to do just that. The reality is always different…There is little doubt in my mind that the current environment is decidedly inhospitable to business. Just try dealing with Customs, JAMPRO, the tax department, Companies Office of Jamaica, to name a few, and you are in for a near nightmarish experience. We have a culture which systematically aims at penalising enterprise. Our political, social, economic and policy-support systems will need revolutionary changes if we are to see the type of business-friendly atmosphere necessary to propel us… Almost every agency of the State seems to treat business as the enemy which must be hounded and eventually brought down, at whatever cost.”

This will not happen until we implement an objective merit system for hiring civil servants so we can make use of our most talented people (who are in abundance) instead of our current relationship system.

Raising the Abundance Generation

No Pain, No Gain
Basil Waine Kong

My wife and I spent last weekend sprinkling a little stardust and otherwise taking care of two of our six adorable grand children while their parents went off on a week-end cruise. While we live for these opportunities so we can hug up and spoil them, we departed with some sadness because there was literally nothing we could “buy” to spoil them. They already have every material gadget imaginable! But I do not consider it a blessing that our grandchildren have never been out of the supervision of adults, hungry, thirsty, tired, hot, cold or know any other discomfort. We seem to have forgotten what coaches are always saying: "No pain, no gain". Do you really want your children protected from all unpleasantness and never encounter a bully or a criminal? Do you advise them to never fight? With my Jamaican sensibilities, I don’t think it possible to appreciate a sweet apple without tasting a sour one. My children obviously disagree with me, as does their doting, over indulgent and protective grandmother, “Nana”.

If any of our grand children's needs are conceived, they are immediately fulfilled by their parents. This is a time when we should be spoiling our grandchildren but what do you do when every possible avenue for spoiling them is already fulfilled. While we try to nourish their spirit and create indelible memories, I asked them to think big and tell “Pop-Pop” and “Nana” what we could buy them and they cannot think of anything as they have no unmet material needs. While I always eat and drink whatever was provided, if these children don’t like what is prepared for them for dinner, no problem, their parents will fix something else, order a pizza or take them out to a restaurant to get them whatever their hearts desire. Four flavors of ice cream is already in the freezer or being made ready in their ice cream maker, candy and treats of all kind are in the pantry, DVD movies are stacked on shelves and they already have libraries of books, toys galore and computer games. If anything hurts, they are immediately transported to a source of medical care or medicated.

There is no quiet time as entertainment is non-stop. When at home, the TV is always on. When being transported, the video in the car immediately comes on and the children are mesmerized and no longer share in songs, jokes and conversation with each other or with their parents. I am also not sure how I feel about children receiving a reward and a prize for coming in tenth in a contest or race as is the practice at their school. I love my children and take great pride in their success and their good intentions but I do not share some of their modern ideas of conferring happiness upon their children. No pain, no gain.

It may be old fashioned of me to believe that hardship and even suffering makes us more confident that we can handle similar challenges, wiser and therefore better. There has never been a successful leader who did not spend time in the wilderness or struggled. You cannot make steel without experiencing the hot coals of hell. One cannot grow in holiness and faith in God’s grace without hardship. Leaders must come through the fire, experience the depths of despair and experience the victory over death. Then one is ready for leadership. I am not surprised that the pampered upper class never produced any of our heroes or sheroes.

My approach to children’s happiness is to provide incremental and progressive increases. I believe human nature requires us to “do better”. So, if children get everything they need or want, they are doomed to be unhappy whenever this cannot be sustained and they reach a plateau or even regress. Whether you can afford it or not, giving a child a luxury automobile when he obtains his or her driver’s licenses at sixteen is dooming them to unhappiness later, if they cannot progress to something better. Which teenager is happier? The one who fixes up an old car or the one who gets a new car? What a patient wants to hear from the doctor is: “You are doing better”. Employees what to know they are on the right track and improving. We want to make progress. A millionaire who lost one of his millions is unhappy. A man of average means who gets a better job or a raise is happy---for a while. We do our children a disservice if we don’t save some of life’s pleasures for later.

Honestly, I am not attempting to equip our army with bow and arrows or even muskets nor do we wallow in “this generation is going to hell” syndrome. I do wonder what our grand children’s motivation will be for doing the parents bidding or to work hard to achieve. The saying goes: “Soldiers produce professionals who produce artists who produce…” I was shocked to learn that fifty percent of American Olympic athletes were born in another country. What a guan?

About ten years ago, I saw a photograph in a magazine of a boy from rural Mississippi hugging his first pair of shoes with tremendous glee and happiness. I also recall my own childhood exuberance and appreciative expressions when I received a bag of marbles or a packet of jello. My grand children will never know this joy. They get a new pair of shoes every month, their closets are full of clothes that they will probably will never wear because they are growing so fast. I often ask them to slow down because if I miss seeing them for a month, they change on me and learn new skills. They are all engaged in supervised sports and activities. While this occurs for the fortunate few, it is now rare to find pickup games or children just playing together or riding their bicycles outside. It is unfortunate that children do not walk and talk to school any more.

How lucky I was growing up that other than church and school related activities, children had very little supervision. While American children are supervised every second and locked into car seats, high chairs and cribs, no one other than their parents and close relatives are allowed to touch, hug or even discipline them. Everyone in Woodlands District had a right to discipline any child they saw misbehaving. A four year old child in Maryland was actually expelled from school because he kissed another four year old girl. Thank God, I grew up with lots of hugs and kisses from neighbors, teachers, and even strangers.

I honestly believe that bad experiences make the good experiences sweeter, being deprived makes obtaining material things more meaningful, and that absence does make the heart grow founder. I don’t believe any of my grandchildren have ever had a “bad experience”. I am reminded of the Prince to Siddhartha Gautama, who was raised in a perfect environment, given every advantage and protected from evil, or anything that could make him sad, frustrated or bored. As soon as he could, he escaped and founded a religion based on the absence of need. The true road to nirvana is to free one’s self of the need for earthy wealth. True insight and motivation comes from denying one’s self. Earthly pleasures cannot satisfy the longings of the heart and soul.

Ralph Waldo Emerson's advice was: "Do not be too timid and squeamish about your actions. All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the
better. What if they are a little course, and you may get your
coat soiled or torn? What if you do fail, and get fairly
rolled in the dirt once or twice. Up again, you shall never be
so afraid of a tumble."We seem to be raising our children to do just the opposite.

As impressed as I am with the abundance of America, I lament. My daughter (Melanie Shaw) reminds me that: "Being happy has little to do with "stuff" and much more about personal achievement, sense of purpose, feeling appreciated, the feeling that you're making a difference... and having friends and loved ones to share and give witness to it." It is going to be harder to teach these lessons to children in this abundance generation. I have to believe that there is more to life than having everything.

Saying Good bye: Death and Dying in Woodlands District in the Fifties

Basil Waine Kong

I grew up in Woodlands District, St. Elizabeth Parish, Jamaica. My grandmother who raised me (Mrs. Rosella McKenzie) believed that when people died, they get to talk with God about others left behind. If the living want a good report, they must have excellent relations with others and particularly for those who are going home. In our community, the care and feeding of those who are in the process of dying was treated with great reverence. Granny was particularly helpful to the sick and unabashedly reminded them that they should not forget to recommend that God send her a special blessing when they saw Him. Sick people in our community were always treated with kindness as a testimonial of their virtue with an expectation of a reward. Duppy have power. Occasionally, someone felt a need to clear their conscience and confess their sins before they pass on. This, however, always implicated others, so the chalk man would be called to make sure he or she stop “talking”.

Everyone believed that death is a journey of the soul from this world to a better place where there is no pain or sorrow. It was a curiosity to me that a land of milk and honey with angels flying about was the best they could do to motivate the living to do God’s will.

The death of a loved one would be accompanied with the tolling of the bell at Springfield Moravian Church calling the entire community to gather at the home of the person who passed on to pay respects to the deceased and to comfort the bereaved. Some of the women would wash, anoint the body, tie the big toes together and tie a scarf around under the chin and around the head to hold the mouth closed. The corpse will be dressed in his or her best clothes and made available for the viewing. The men measured the body, dig the six foot grave (east and west), in the church cemetery or family plot and construct a simple cedar box to specifications---all done in the dead person’s yard. Granny would invariably say: “Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for you and me.”

Other women would immediately start a wood fire on three large stones, cooking in a washed out kerosene can. The white rum and water would help to drown out their sorrow as well as quench the thirst of those assembled. For the following nine nights, the community would gather to keep vigil on the family, pray, play dominoes, sing and dance with tambourines, cry, tell dumpy stories and talk about the life of the dearly departed.

While men were restrained from showing much emotion and may cry quietly, women wailed. Granny said the nine night (set up) custom started because they didn’t want to make a mistake and bury a person who was not dead so they would wait nine nights to give the person every opportunity to wake up. Lots of noise were made in an effort to wake the dead. A second reason is to ward off evil spirits and assure that the dearly departed is not prevented by the devil from their ascension into heaven. Generous contributions from neighbours would cover the tremendous cost of the food, drinks, and materials for the funeral. Often a cow was butchered. For the carpenters, grave diggers, the women who prepared the food and the body for burial, this was a labour of love and no one expected to be paid.

The number of songs at the wake was endless and as most people could not read, a song leader would (track) call out the next line of a song for everyone else to follow. My favorite nine night songs were:

Mi sa mi ole man dead and he no lef no will; He lef a likkle piece of land fi feed the whole a we; but mi bigger breda tief it way from wi; Glory be to God, Glory be to God fi de whole a wi.

"Adam in the garden hide him self, hide himself, hide him self; Adam in the garden hide him self, hide himself from God"

"You have longed for sweet peace
For grace to increase
You have earnestly and fervently prayed
But you cannot have rest or be perfectly blessed
Till at last you are on the alter laid"

After the ninth night, the coffin would be nailed shut and transferred to the church. The entire community would attend with men dressed in black suits and the women in white dresses. The choir would sing, the minister would preach and pray, and the family would weep being supported by friends who would fan and hug them. The attentiveness of friends kept grieving family members from hurting themselves when they inevitably fainted. About a dozen people would offer affectionate remembrance and the spouse was expected to wear black and be in mourning for six months.

After the service, the six pallbearers would pick up the coffin and start a parade to the burial site at the church yard or to the family plot with everyone singing as they walked. A second service took place at the grave. The coffin would be placed over the grave and finally lowered to the bottom. I can still hear the sound of the two ropes as they were pulled out after the coffin came to rest. Several people would say: “Good bye Mass Georgie, see you soon.” No one left before the last shovel of dirt is tossed and many would linger for hours after to partake of the vittles that was provided. Granny would remind us that dust to dust, ashes to ashes was the way of all flesh. Soon and very soon, we all have appointments to see the King. She just wanted to remind us that she does not want to be looking all over heaven for her family so we better live a good life so we could join her up there. For the following weeks after a funeral my brother and I would have nightmares and wake up screaming as we dreamed that we were being covered with dirt.

As scary as funerals were to us, Granny always pointed out that once upon a time, people lived forever. There were no births and no deaths . But the people asked God to give them children and He said that would only be possible if people would also accept death. They unanimously agreed and so it was that every time a child is born, someone dies. In Woodlands District, Invariably the news of a death was always accompanied by news of a birth.

Jamaica Requires Distance to Appreciate It.

Basil Waine Kong

During February (2011), I hosted a group of friends (golfers from the United States) and want to share their perspective about their experience. There was no end to the friendly bantering and camaraderie as they raved about the absolutely first class golf experience they enjoyed, with incredible vistas and caddies who were accommodating and knowledgeable about the game. The Villas were grand and staffed by expert cooks who offered magnificent meals, good service and hassle free living. But after a trip to downtown Montego Bay, visiting various destinations and becoming familiar with Jamaica’s history, politics, culture and economy, convinced them that Jamaica requires a little distance to appreciate it.

Our country of wood and water is characterized by majestic mountains in a perpetual state of awesome verdure dotted with flowers until you experience bauxite waste, the smell of rotting garbage and shanties along our river-banks. Our people are famous for their wit and charm but also the soul-sucking tedium of Rube Goldberg procedures and bureaucracy. It alarmed my colleagues that our Justice Minister admitted that she doesn't know how to use e-mail and was still agonizing over a percieved insult from 30 years ago. We all agreed that our white sand beaches are the best in the world until their solitude was repeatedly disturbed by beggars and hustlers selling valueless trinkets and herbs. We market ourselves as warm, hospitable people. And we are, but not when engaging in that suicide pact that is called driving. My friends wondered if we have Jekyll and Hyde personalities. (One citizen is killed each day from automobile accidents).

As my friends were escaping drifts of snow and ice in the United States, they exited our modern airport facilities in worshipful admiration and fell into rapture over the beauty of our island’s perpetual summer and proclaimed it a paradise until they encountered our petty crimes and hungry children begging on our streets. A lovely cloudless blue sky day accompanied by a gentle cool breeze was obliterated by the blight of aggressive, undisciplined, contentious and disorderly vendors and street-side ginalds. According to Mark Wignall: "this land of ours it at once a fairy tale, a paradise, a puzzle and a horror story." (Jamaica Observer, Sunday, March 13, 2011)

Daily reading of our Newspapers revealed the following:
1. Dangerous and deadly criminal networks are tolerated by our political leaders leading to the death and demise of thousands of our citizens.
2. Four Jamaicans are murdered annually and three more are missing and presumed dead including our vulnerable children. One citizen is killed by our police each day. By comparison, New York City with four times as many people, has only one homicide per day.
3. The police do not help when citizens are expelled from their homes by Dons and gangs simply because these victims without recourse support the wrong political party.
4. Squatter communities with unsightly zinc shanties are here and there and everywhere because of whole scale poverty and homelessness across the length and breadth of Jamaica.
5. Businesses and business owners are constantly being harassed for protection money and must add the expense of “security” to their already burdensome cost of doing business because of heavy utility costs and harassing government bureaucracy.
6. One out of three Jamaicans cannot read or write. We further burden them by giving most of our young men police records that make them ineligible to ever leave the country or find employment.
7. We have a penchant for blaming the victims. We do not provide toilet facilities for poor people and when they have to “make do”, they are regarded as nasty. We spend our educational budget on the talented twenty percent who abandon the country after they complete their education but the Ministry of Education will not provide employable skills for those who must stay and then blame them for not being gainfully employed.

Is this any way to run a country? The question they ask is: "How can a country with so much talent and natural resources be so badly managed?"

I recommend to them that if they want to appreciate Jamaica and our endless sunshine and bountiful rains, that they do not see it up close and personal. The wonders of our island is truly stupendous but our under belly is horrendous. We are like a lighthouse, forever focused and looking externally while our base is ignored. Maybe we need to shine some of the light on our nooks and crannies.

According to Betty Ann Blaine: “It is time to call a spade a spade, and lend our hearts and voices to a call for justice to be served against those who have done harm to our people and our country, while we seek at the same time to fix the systems and structures necessary to preserve life and to promote prosperity.”
(“Crimes Against Humanity”, Jamaica Observer, Tuesday, March 8, 2011)

My Recipe for Happiness

Basil Waine Kong

Although "I need no warrant for being, and no work or sanction upon my being" (Ayn Rand, Anthem, 1946), I will leave the answer as to whether my life’s work has been worthwhile and even whether I am a man of substance but I am the only one who can judge whether I am happy. I now make that claim. “I have lifted the bowl of life and drank from it with gusto.”(Mark Twain)I am married to an incredible woman. Our four children are phenomenally successful and we have six of the most beautiful grand children ever conceived. I am a happy man. According to my friend, Dr. Malcolm Taylor, the recipe is as simple as: “If you have God, family and friends, you may stumble, but you will never hit the ground.”

At 68 years old, I am retired with great health and my golf game is better than ever. As the objective of my symphony was never to get to the end, I am now focused on the rest of the journey in which I constantly feast on the vast storehouses of joy like a Negril sunset. I have the peace of mind about our financial well being and we have loving and generous children who all assured us that they will tend to our needs--if needed. After a lifetime of adventure, satisfaction from the work I have done, I am now able to accept the differences that I used to find objectionable and I am much more willing to expose myself to rejection. I sleep well and no longer have an alarm clock. But as the cock crows, I wake up. My ambition is no longer to conquer the world. So after a cup of Blue Mountain Coffee, I am ready to get on with doing what a man’s got to do such as write, do what I can for those less fortunate, and more often than not, meeting with friends to play a round of golf.

I used to live in fear that someone may judge me wanting and now care far less what others think about me. My daily prayer is:

“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time; Enjoying one moment at a time; Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; Taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; Trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will; That I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him, forever in the next. Amen.” (Reinhold Niebuhr )

I forgive transgressions immediately. I learned to do this driving in Jamaica. Just smile and let them pass you. I no longer obsess about the other wrongs that others may heap on me. I am less self centered and much more willing to accept my shortcomings. Yes, I am a show off and over-competitive. If I obsess about anything anymore, it is to get rid of the clutter. I now believe that I didn’t need all the things we have accumulated over these many years. I am less attached to material things and more attracted to interesting experiences and my important relationships, particularly with our grand children. I try to treat everyone with kindness and freely offer compassion to others as well as myself. It comes much easier as I grow more patient with age. Unfortunately, I also have a need to impart the knowledge I have accumulated. My penchant for doing so is not always appreciated. I have come to realize that my children and others do not want quick and easy solutions to their challenges and must eventually discover these truths for themselves. I am at peace with that as well. The greatest truth I have learned over these many years is that for every truth one discovers, the opposite is also true. Neither I or anyone else have all the answers.

The world offers so much. There are many exciting possibilities and so little time to enjoy them. When I was young, time passed very slowly and I was anxious to grow up. Getting older is like a roll of toilet paper, it accelerates as one gets closer to the end. The years pass quickly. Is it Christmas again? Didn’t I have a birthday a few months ago? I now feel like I must fill ever minute with 60 seconds of bliss. The brevity of life and the certainty of death is a fact we must all contemplate.

I don’t want to just get by. I made a commitment long ago to be happy. I know a gentleman who was born in Jamaica and retired in the United States whose goal is just to live another day. His retired life is eating, watching television, playing caluki with friends once a week and sleeping till noon each day. I asked him why he doesn’t return to Jamaica and let the sun again shine on his face and he can only think of negatives. I asked him (half jokingly), if this is how you spend his time, what are you doing here? Then I ask him to forgive me as I have no right to dictate to anyone else how they should live their lives.

When I was twelve, I walked on cloud nine when a pretty girl smiled in my direction. It may have been directed at the boy behind me but I took it very personally. The first time another girl tickled my palm middle leading to my first kiss, it was a divine and is yet indelibly imprinted in my brain but not as sweet as a rum raisin ice cream cone, “bust me jawbone”, pepper mint sticks, corn pone and bullas. These provided memorable delights of my youth.

The source of great truths are found in the Bible.

“When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.” (First Corinthians 13:11)

“For everything there is a season; a time for every matter under heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; A time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; A time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together; A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing; A time to seek, and a time to lose; A time to keep, and a time to throw away; A time to tear, and a time to sew; A time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate,; A time for war, and a time for peace.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8)

God has ordained seasons and cycles in our lives. I believe I have planted, fertilized, kept the weeds away and watered. I saved, exercised daily, nourished my mind, body and soul so I could arrive at this point in my life when I can enjoy the fruits of my striving. At every other stage of my life or having reached a goal I found another goal was waiting. A prisoner who stares through steel bars often believe that his only problems are the bars that keeps him caged. When he is released, he multiplies his problems by a factor of 100. You may not know this about me, but I was locked up in prison once. Under the direction of Randall Robinson, a group of us were demonstrating in front of the South African Embassy in Washington DC during apartheid and was arrested (as expected) and sent by paddy wagon to the pookie, booked and locked up for four hours. It felt good to stand up for something.

In my own life, I have been guilty of many arrival fallacies. “If only I could break that track record…graduate from college… get a job… have my own car… get married… complete my Ph.D. dissertation… graduate from law school… pass the BAR… make more money… own a BMW… have successful children… have pretty grandchildren… retire without worry… break 80 in golf, etc., etc., etc.” Each time I arrived at a hard fought for goal and celebrated, I automatically went on to yet another. There is always another hill to climb and another river to cross.

I have never been unemployed, depressed, had a broken bone, a serious illness or an addiction (except to my wife). I have never been overweight. I am able to eat or drink whatever I wanted because I have always been active. I did divorce and suffered through that trauma with my teenage children but found that sometimes you must die a painful death to reach heaven. It took a long time to get over the complications and hurt feelings. What became readily evident was that one can only be as happy as their unhappiest child. Being a parent means that you must wear your emotions on your sleeve. My children are my pride and joy but from time to time, they have also been the source of my greatest agony.

According to the Buddha: “Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.” I make a conscientious effort to invest in the happiness of others believing that most of our happiness arises from these supportive relationships.

First and foremost, my enlightened self interest tells me that a happy wife increases my chances of a happy life. “If mamma aint happy, aint nobody happy.” If you want happy children, make sure their mother is happy. While we have survived difficult times and challenging adversities, we are now more committed than ever. I love her more today than yesterday but not as much as I will tomorrow. Whether my motivation is sex, conversation or just snuggling, we go to bed at the same time. According to Proverbs 26:20: “Where there is no wood, the fire goes out.” The most delightful of pleasures is pleasing my wife.

While I used to be more dogmatic about having my way, it is so simple these days to just say: “Yes darling!” Richard Carlson says: “Don’t sweat the small stuff and everything is small stuff” A hundred years from now, nothing I do will matter and no one will even know I even existed. I cannot think of anything that is now worth arguing over. As a result of my unwillingness to be at loggerhead with her, she is constantly thinking about how she can enhance my happiness. When our children visit, we treat them like we would if President Obama and Michelle were here. We never serve our family the broken cookies and often put out the best china and silver even when they protest that we should be more informal. When it comes to the special people in your life, use your best stuff---now! I marvel that some families save the best for company and show the worse to their own families.

Our home is a storehouse of happy memories. My wife is absolutely the best person I have known to keep happy memories vivid. Every Christmas, we summarize the highlights of the past year for family and friends. We have twenty of these Christmas letters that have become our family history. For important birthdays, she creates a book of photographs with appropriate notes for our children and grand children. For all the trips we have taken together, we have a detailed diary of each day’s adventure. I cannot wait to get old and wallow in these memories. We have a treasure house of happy memories. We are particularly keen on preserving these memories when the grand children visit without their parents for extended time over the summer. And my wife’s crowning achievement is that she creates a personal calendar with family photographs that she shares with all our family with all birth dates, anniversaries and important family anniversaries printed in the calendar. We are always thirsty for more news and developments about our children and grand children (Hint, hint).

Last summer, we invited my mother, a favorite aunt, our four children and their five children (The youngest had not yet arrived) to spend a week in Montego Bay. As they are scattered throughout the United States, we realized that the grand children did not know their uncles and aunts. It was a marvelous week showing them where I lived and went to school and grew up. They also all learned to swim, play dominoes and to love Jamaican food. I even made a maypole. As much as I advertised how wonderful my childhood was, none of them would consider living in Woodlands. On the other hand, they would consider living in a fancy Villa in Montego Bay with helpers and a swimming pool. They also enjoyed Duns River Falls, the Beaches and water parks.
According to Gretchen Rubin: “Happiness has four stages. To eke out the most happiness from an experience, we must anticipate it, savor it as it unfolds, express happiness, and recall a happy memory.”

My grandmother told me that good deeds are seeds that when planted will always bear fruits to be enjoyed later. The giver is always more blessed than the receiver. We really should thank those we help for the opportunity to earn a blessing. “One is not always happy when one is good; but one is always good when one is happy.” (Oscar Wilde)

My mother is now 89 years old. While her physical body is failing her mind is sharp. While I have been diagnosed with CRS (Cannot Remember S—t), the best assurance that I will not have old-timer’s disease is to have parents who do not. Her favorite retort to my telephone calls to inquire about how she is feeling: “I am still above the ground and taking nourishment” and still remind me that "Mother knows best" and will remind me of the time when I didn't follow her advice and lived to regret it. She continues to challenge me with intellectual conversations and more than anything else, she has a wonderful sense of humor. She taught me that I could only be happy if I lived a life of service to others. When we do things for others, we please God and inspire ourselves. “If you have something to do, do it as if all depended on you but praying as if all depended on God.”

I find that my generosity often cost me nothing but connecting people. I asked my golfing friends in the United States to donate golf clubs and shoes to the caddies at Caymanas Golf Club and they did. I brought representative from Food for the Poor to see the deplorable living conditions of some of the people in St. Elizabeth and they built and donated over 100 houses out of this initiative. I was having breakfast with some friends at the Pegasus Hotel one morning a year ago and saw fifty people wearing lab coats, I went over and introduced myself and found out they were medical missionaries from Florida who annually visit Jamaica, I suggested that they consider bringing their services to St. Elizabeth. One year later, their team came and treated 1,000 under served people and distributed 500 free eye glasses. I get a great deal of satisfaction from seeking out opportunities and seeing them inure to the benefit of the village that raised me when I was a child.

Everything goes better with happiness. When I am in a happy frame of mind, my performance is at a peak, the quality of my golf improves and I feel strong and healthy. The people I encounter are beautiful and engaging. Whatever I eat or drink is delicious. The music I am listening to goes to my soul. The sunshine on my face is warm and radiant. The cool breeze is delightful against my skin. The songs of the birds are everywhere and the bloom of the flowers are rich and colorful. God is in his heaven and all is right with the world. Occasionally, when I am in a bad mood and feel bored, frustrated, worried and tired, I become withdrawn, irritable, critical of others, overwhelmed and nothing please me.

The story of the woodsman has always had important meaning for me. The Woodman was hired to fall trees. On his first day, he was able to tumble six of them. Working even harder, the second day, he was only able to fall five and on the third day, only four. He was tired, puzzled, embarrassed and frustrated as he explained the situation to his wife who listened and responded: "Darling, have you stopped to sharpen the axe?" Golf has always provided this respit for me to keep my axe sharp.

Do bad, feel bad. Feel bad, do bad. Do good, feel good. Feel good, do good. Comfort the sick and dying to find health and well being in ourselves. I focus less on my own worries and more on relieving the suffering of others. You cannot hurt other people without hurting yourself. Criminals are very unhappy people.

According to Eric Burn, we need at least a dozen “strokes” per day. Strokes are positive encounters. The smile from someone bidding you good morning or good night, someone expressing gratitude for a good deed you have done, receiving a hug, a complement, someone offering you a cool drink, demonstrating respect or biging you up are all examples of strokes. Unfortunately, you cannot obtain more than twenty percent of these strokes from the same person. So, we have a responsibility to make ourselves lovable to a wider audience so these transactions can be genuine. False and fake complements don’t count. The rituals of a birthday cake and the singing of the birthday song and important as we take turns being the center of attention for each other.

I am on a mission because having a sense of purpose is important. I try to put passion and energy into everything I do. I have always brought intensity, diligence and enthusiasm to every task. Sometimes I have had to practice a poem, speech or song repeatedly so I could perform with gusto. It takes a lot of practice to make things look natural. The older I get, the longer it takes to commit these things to memory and it does not linger after the performance. I was amused when a character on “Saturday Night Live” said he could teach anyone four years of Spanish in one easy lesson. According to him, the only thing we can recall after studying Spanish for four years are: “¿Cómo está usted? ¿Cómo estás? Bien gracias, ¿y usted? ¿Cómo te llamas?” He promised that he could teach us those phrases in one session.

Most people wake up, have breakfast, go to work, put in 8 hours, get home, watch TV and go to bed. People with passion, WAKE UP, HAVE BREAKFAST, GO TO WORK, PUT IN 8 HOURS, GET HOME, WATCH TV AND GO TO BED. While we may be doing the same activities, one set of people are bored with the routine while others are happy and exhilarated because of the energy and passion we pour into it.

Making progress is the definition of happiness. What does a patient want to hear from the doctor? “You are getting better Ms. Jones”. What does an employee want to hear from an employer: “You are making good progress Mr. Jones.” Happiness is all about making incremental progress. If you spoil your child and provide an expensive automobile and access to all the luxuries of life, your child will be doomed to unhappiness as he or she will have nothing to look forward to with joy and will be unhappy as they cannot keep up with the lifestyle to which they are accustomed. A millionaire losing a thousand dollars in unhappy. An employee receiving a $100 raise on a $10,000 salary is happy. “Best is good but better is best.” (Lisa Greenwald) Don’t indulge every whim even if you can afford it. Leave room for improvement---forgo something. All human beings love to make progress and interestingly, we are happier making progress up the summit than after reaching the top of the mountain. I told my youngest son that the highest prestige he will ever enjoy was being a medical student. Now that he has graduated, he is just another doctor.

There is no more happiness than a recovered patient, a deaf mute who has discovered his hearing and his voice, no more joy than sight to the blind. There is magic to the words, whether it is a sudden catharsis or actual vision: “I can see! I can see!! I can see!!!” Without having gone blind, what if you woke up each morning and scream: “I can see! I can see!! I can see!!!”

“Happy people are more altruistic, more productive, more helpful, more likable, more creative, more resilient, more interested in others, friendlier, and healthier. Happy people make better friends, colleagues, and citizens. I wanted to be one of those people. I knew it was certainly easier to do good when I was happy. I was more patient, more forgiving, more energetic, more lighthearted, and more generous. Working on my happiness wouldn’t just make me happier, it would boost the happiness of the people around me.” (Gretchen Rubin)

"There comes a time in your life, when you walk away from all
the drama and people who create it. You surround yourself with
people who make you laugh. Forget the bad, and focus on the
good. Love the people who treat you right, pray for the ones
who don't. Life is too short to be anything but happy. Falling
down is a part of life, getting back up is living."(unknown)

It also helps that I live in the third happiest place on earth. I have contemplated why, among the poverty, the limited opportunities, crime and violence, why Jamaicans are happy. I believe it is our sense of gratitude. We are happy and grateful that no matter what comes, we survive. And yet we rise! But at 68 years old, like Robert Frost: "I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep." And I will be happy doing it as I persist, in my own way, to making this world a better place. My life is a testimony that “...His favor is for a lifetime...”(Psalm 30:5)