A Child Grows up and Wonders

By Felicia Hernandez

Felicia O. Hernandez was born in Dangriga, Belize, in 1932. She received her formal education here and joined the teaching profession in 1948. She received her teachers training at the Belize Teachers College from 1968 to 1970. She taught for many years in various locations across the country before migrating to the United States with her husband, Eugene, and their seven children in 1970.
She is the author of several books, including I Dont Know You, but I Love You (1978), Those Ridiculous Years (1982), Narenga (1983), and Reflections and Other Family Stories (2000).
Felicia holds a bachelor of arts degree in creative writing from the State University of New York Empire State College (SUNY). Felicia is also a member of the Association of Caribbean Women Writers and Scholars (ACWWS) and was awarded an honorary service award from the California Congress of Parents and Teachers in San Jose, California.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493167012

Book preview

Silent Friendship

One of my first memorable childhood experiences—or, should I say, confusions—was trying to understand the death of my cousin Zenni. She was a sickly child, but she was very active; and I was her constant companion. She could be, oftentimes, sitting in a small rocking chair on the veranda in front of the Banns apartment building. She would rock back and forth and could be heard humming a tune. Occasionally she would wave her hands around in the air, dancing.

Zenni had not been a well child, if by well we mean the ability to jump and frolic. We were both the same age, but Zenni could not talk and she was unable to walk. Most of her baby teeth were missing. She would crawl all the way to our apartment door. She called me Asa, and her mother claimed that I was the only one who could understand her. Her parents and elders actually depended on me to interpret Zenni’s speech. She was very much like a baby. She had to be monitored for bathroom usage and had to be fed, bathed, and put to bed. Zenni, however, was a jovial child; so when she suddenly stopped coming to our room door, I became curious and decided to visit instead. I became concerned when Zenni was not even laughing.

She was propped up in a chair among pillows. Her mouth was wide-open, and she seemed to be having a difficult time breathing. I became very scared and ran to summon my godmother, who was Zenni’s mother. Gaddie, Gaddie, I shouted, Zenni cannot breathe, please come and help her.

She’s dead, our neighbor Willoughby shouted. Can’t you see she’s already dead? A few relatives who had gathered in the commotion began to cry. The entire atmosphere was confusing. Why would they be wailing and adding to my godmother’s grief instead of trying to revive Zenni?

One of the women suggested that the priest be summoned so that Zenni could receive her last blessing. More confusion—even in my limited child’s brain, I would have summoned the medico to help bring her back. Maybe everyone was too confused to think straight. It took a while for the padre to get there, and when he did arrive, his somber look in his long grown did nothing to ease the solemnity of the