I read a book in Preparatory school or the early parts of High school with that title. It’s actually “My Father, Sun-Sun Johnson”, a book by Jamaican writer, C. Everard Palmer.
I can’t say I remember anything from the book other than sunshine. I remember something island/caribbean about it. Yep, I remember sunshine.
But, I also remember this attachment to the book simply because it had my name on it. And I mean, I liked the title. “MY Father Son Son Johnson“. That is how I believe my heart might have read those words.
MY father. My father Mr. Johnson. Hmmm, well, Sunday was father’s day. I think I need a different post to tell about how my very first good father’s day went. Spent it with my GOOD GOOD FATHER. Not Mr. Son Son Johnson. My Jesus. My God.
I don’t know his date of birth. I know it’s in October. I know his age because I add the age on my birth certificate to my age now, that’s how old/young he is. My father Mr. Johnson, the husband. I didn’t attend his wedding either. The best thing from his marriage I know of is my sister, I love my sister.
Mr. Johnson has 3 sons and 2 daughters. I’m the first born. I broke the mold. And in a whole other story, I’m not even his. Or so I’ve heard. First born with a twist of two tales.
…if you were a boy yuh woulda be a wicked gun man enuh…
That’s what my father said to me after I was taken to his home for some “fresh air”. Wrist in bandage. I’d just failed again at suicide.
You see, he considered the fact that that deep seated hurt and pain that lead me to that dark place where I could seek to inflict pain on my own self would have been an asset in his former line of “work”, as bad man (you have to say that in the rawest Jamaican rude boy accent to get it- bad man -yes like that).
He hadn’t considered the hurt or the pain that lead me to that dark place. So much for “fresh air”.
I was a spectacle.
My father Son Son Johnson. His little sister bought all my birthday presents. His little sister cried all my tears with me. His little sister celebrated all my milestones. His little sister adored me. My aunt my father’s advocate.
I haven’t had any “moments” with him. Haven’t had any real conversations with him. Nope, we’ve never discussed Plate Tectonics and the resulting earthquakes. No talks of a walk in Paris and pizza in Naples. I don’t know what football team he supports. I don’t know if he likes cake or icecream.
If he has allergies I do not know of them. For all I know he might like green eggs and ham.
I do know that he loves me. He reminds me of that truth as often as he
can, does. I don’t call or text as often as I can. He let’s me know he is aware of his flaws, not that he’s improved on them. I don’t know if he tries. I know he loves me. I’m certain of it.
He likes to talk of all he’ll do when he has money. I guess he thinks a better relationship is in the bank. He likes to promise I’ll be ok, once he has it all. I guess I’ll have to wait on that million dollar cheque to take a picture with him at my High school graduation.
I know he loves me. That has never been enough. He has never heard my thoughts. He’s never had an opportunity to dry my tears. Boys have broken my heart and he missed his cue to ‘pop dem neck’. He was waiting on that cheque I guess. I guess it can buy him a shuttle into the past and he’ll defend me where I stood wrongly accused and protect me where vile and/or misguided males and female felt the need to disrupt my chastity.
My father Son Son Johnson. He took me to my field hockey games a few times, he didn’t stay to watch but he took me right? Mr. Johnson the adult teenie bopper. I hear these days that he’s getting himself together. That is, he’s finally an adult. Finally a parent to one of us I guess. One is better than none right? I’m happy my sister gets a dad. I’d threatened him with a nursing home stay void of visitation if my youngest brother told me he felt unloved ever again. I guess he found a way to love him more.
I know my father loves me. It’s just that he’s missed a few steps. Bypassed a few stages. He’s loved with half a slice as opposed to a whole. But, I’ll accept the little I’ve got. If nothing else, I’m always certain that my father loves me.
My father Son Son Johnson. My father Mr. H. M. Johnson that with all certainty loves me.
June 22, 2016,