Caribbean Middle Child Passion and Pains of Learning Life: Birth to Youth

By Mikkemé François

The book is actually documenting good interrelationships with siblings in a typical Caribbean family, with the targeted emphasis being on the main character's (Virginia and younger brother Carlens ) middle childs experiences coming through the formative years and his dealing with diverse situations in the family, school, and secularly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984522863

Mikkemé François

My biographical content is documented in the life of Godfrey, as I utilized my life's experiences...with a little embellishment, to get the writing flowing as seamlessly as I wanted. I immigrated to the US, and raised a family comprising of two girls and two boys who have done well for themselves. I am an Analyst, working for the State of California, in the Department of State Hospitals. I am 62 years old and pride myself on being able to motivate persons to be successful in whatever aspects of their lives that's important to their societal success. I intend to continue writing subsequent volumes documenting the progressive growth of Godfrey's travails....

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Copyright © 2018 by Mikkemé François.

Library of Congress Control Number:           2018905521

ISBN:                 Hardcover             978-1-9845-2284-9

                           Softcover               978-1-9845-2285-6

                           eBook                    978-1-9845-2286-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 08/15/2018

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Inspired by

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The Core of my Heart

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The Foundation of my Growth

It was the hurricane season. The long hot, dusty crop time had passed, just as it did year after year.

Now came the time when the skies darkened during the day and the thunderous cascading downfall of water was prevalent as the seeds of storms were conceived and brought to birth off the eastern coast of Africa.

This was the season when the gently flowing placid streams were transformed by the incessant downpouring waters emanating from pregnant dark clouds, which could not carry them anymore, into raging torrents deprived of reason or control.

Driven by the raw strength of the impending storms, the wild, wicked winds would wreak havoc wherever they went. It was the hemisphere’s rainy season.

Janet, the first hurricane of the season, slammed her hundred-thirty-mile-per-hour winds over the western coastline of Triskara, a small Caribbean island in the Southern Hemisphere.

Her stormy winds swayed and cracked the branches of the old samaan tree, breaking it off its trunk and shaking it to its already-rotting base.

The accompanying gigantic raindrops hammered heavily on the dead branches, its sound echoing in the night as lightning simultaneously cut swaths through the dark cloudy sky.

Born off the African coast, due to her feeding on the warm coastal waters, Hurricane Janet had gotten steadily stronger, rapidly accelerating from the forty-mile-per-hour winds at her birth.

She had sped northeastward, seeking to smash and destroy anything that opposed her by their presence. The prime reason for her existence was to impress upon all coming in contact with her just how insignificant they really were.

The old samaan tree, subject of her onslaught, had roots that went fifty feet down into the belly of the earth. It had initially resisted her strength.

However, as the tree’s branches and leaves became saturated with the fallen raindrops, it listed slowly at first, like a stricken ocean liner irreparably damaged by a breach in its hull, then continued increasingly so until, with a thunderous roar, it crashed to die in the abandoned Poifor taxis’ parking lot.

That was the end of life for the old tree, but simultaneous with its demise—as it lay and began rotting in the cold, soaked empty parking lot—a heaving, panting young mother in the maternity ward of the nearby Sanero Hospital brought her fifth child into the world.

Ana had tried to remain patient, sometimes edgily so, but knowing that she had no control over the timing of delivery of this new human, she had agreed to let time accomplish its task.

Proceeding through her final trimester when the heat of the tropical sun affected even the wafting winds, making them wickedly warm, she had endured the constant activity of the unborn sheltered snugly in her swollen womb. Experience and feminine intuition told her that it had to be a male.

The child gasped once and then, upon getting an encouraging slap on the backside from the attending doctor, started wailing healthily.

The young mother, gasping for air after her strenuous ordeal, looked at the result of her laboring and thought silently, What a beautiful boy child! Then she drifted off into the satisfying sleep of the fulfilled.

Ana had slept for six successive hours. Her body was tired from completing the nine months of production of the child. Her mind was rested and feeling fulfilled now that she had completed her objective.

Awakening, she became aware of the low throbbing pain derived from fulfilled motherhood—her bringing her boy into the world. Suddenly, however, her reverie was interrupted as she heard his low cry emanating from the bed next to her.

She turned instinctively, reaching out and picking him up. Wiping her nipple, she placed him there to suckle, to get the sustenance he needed to continue in existence and grow.

On her eighth day of recovery, she had eaten the breakfast provided by the hospital and requested her baby from the nurse. The nurse, acknowledging her request, inquired in response, Are you ready for your surprise?

Not knowing what she was referring to but confident that because of the nurse’s winsome smile, whatever it was had to be pleasant, Ana replied, Sure, tell me, whatever it is.

The young nurse, smiling warmly with the dimples in her cheeks showing their depth, responded, This is not something for the ears. It’s something for the eyes and the heart.

She handed the swaddled baby to Ana, saying, You must have been thinking of yourself when this was occurring and also endowed him with the capability of helping some fortunate female fashion a fine family!

Ana knew then it had to be something about the baby, her boy, and taking the bundle, she unwrapped it gingerly. She was astonished at the sight of the boy’s eyes. He had opened them to see the originator of the wonderful cooing he had consistently heard from birth.

She then understood what the nurse meant with her last statement.

Staring in amazement at the two orbs reciprocally staring at her, Ana felt like it was as if she was looking into a mirror.

The child’s eyes appeared so similar it was as if they were cloned from hers. The light-brown and subtly green-toned pair of eyes never blinked. They were eyes like that of a cat. They just returned her stare as she looked intensely at him.

Ana wanted to find out whether she would get a response from the baby. She had to know whether the child was focusing on her, whether he could see her face.

Doing what every mother of a newborn child would instinctively do, she smiled. She again cooed at the boy in her arms, and although she received a responding expression on the child’s face, he did not return her smile. Twisting his mouth in the grimace of the interested, he continued staring into her eyes as if to see her innermost thoughts, as if to foresee what she had in store for him, what kind of mother she would be.

As she stared, she was reminded of the words of her older aunts when she was growing up. And thinking of her prior three children (one girl and two boys), she introspectively came to the conclusion that, as they would opine, This one shall be different from the others. He will stare the world in its eyes and shall not be cowed. Yes, he would be somebody!

These occurrences began the life of this boy, Carlen, on this wonderful planet. He was named by Arno, his now-illustrious father, who loved the sight of the baby, for Carlen reminded him of one of his favorite uncles—Uncle Carlen, his mother’s third brother.

Arno was then celebrating his first year with an established firm and, although sometimes preoccupied with his work, was nevertheless happy to be with his son whenever he could.

The boy, who grew extremely quickly, after two years, was walking around the yard of his family’s dwelling, engaging in all sorts of naughtiness typical of boys his age.

He had an enormous liking for mischief, so much so that even his dad became an object of his playful antics.

For example, when his father would lift him up to express paternal affection, Carlen would playfully knock him on the head with a small stone, all the while grinning happily while enjoying his company.

Playing constantly and vigorously resulted in him becoming quite a healthy child. However, as is the natural course of things, the day soon came when his life was rearranged in such a way that he would start appreciating the more important aspects of his existence.

Carlen’s reality changed when he was told one Sunday that he would not be staying home any longer during the week but that he would be going off to preschool.

The sun arose resplendently when that day arrived. His mum, after feeding the family a good breakfast and seeing the older siblings off to school, took Carlen and bathed him, scrubbing him until he figuratively shone.

She then dressed him in short elastic-waist khaki pants, a cream shirt, and sneakers that fit snugly on his little feet. And after encouraging him to embrace, kiss, and bid his dad goodbye, they set off for their destination—the little building atop a small hill, close to where they resided.

That little building housed the kindergarten titled Ms. Asin’s School and was the place where his mother had taken Carlen’s older siblings for the start of their academic lives.

Mum left him in the care of the elderly Spanish matron Ms. Cumat, who, with her hair tightly wrapped in a bun atop her head and a welcoming but not broad smile on a stern though pleasant face, looked very strict to Carlen.

That feeling was quickly confirmed as he observed her disciplining one of the other children at the school, whom, as she said, was not acting properly at that time. This correction was accomplished with a tiny but effective switch wielded in an elderly though strong hand.

Carlen’s first week passed without incident as he was not only missing the freedom that he once had to roam through the bushes and climb any tree he felt like, whenever he felt like it, but he was also sizing up the other children to decide whom he would like to hang around with.

Now after having attended the school for the second week and gradually overcoming his reservation, it stood to reason that his tendency for mischief would surface, especially as he longingly gazed at Ms. Cumat’s plum tree right next to his classroom, laden with ripe red governor plums.

His self-taught ability to be cautious and his constantly salivating desire inflamed the budding temptation as Carlen convinced himself that getting some of the fruit was no problem.

He felt especially so because the plum tree could not even be compared in height to the other trees he had already climbed when he was at home, and so he converted his thoughts to action.

During the lunch period when Ms. Cumat went to her nearby house, Carlen seized his opportunity and was up in the tree, sitting on one of the branches. He was in the course of helping himself to the plums when her brown face appeared through the window and began curtly commanding him to come down.

He descended, mortified, with his pockets filled with the sweet ill-gotten gains. His pockets were promptly emptied by the matron. She then proceeded to scold Carlen about being a little rascal and having the need for discipline as she simultaneously whaled away at his backside with her switch … all in the presence of the other children.

It was not so much the whipping or the tongue-lashing that he hated, but it was the fact that both deeds were done in front of the assembly of his peers with the intent that it would deter the other children from copying his behavior.

He wished that the earth would open up and completely swallow him as he stood there getting whipped, too ashamed to cry but learning the lesson of discipline. And all the while, he was thinking (albeit erroneously) that he would never go through this type of humiliation for anything ever again.

When the rainy season came, the resulting swelling of the creeks and rivers were a spectacle to behold.

Carlen loved it when his brothers and his dad would take him to watch the water flow by in its angry speed toward the sea.

However, the rains falling also produced mud everywhere, including on the grass-sparse area of the hillside where the little school was located.

He and a few of the other small boys, including his buddy Robert,)whom as soon as they had met, had agreed with nearly all his plans for mischief) looked longingly at the muddy area, imagining how it would feel sliding down that gloriously muddy slope.

They looked at it long enough for it to become a topic for first conversation, then a challenge. And one afternoon, as school was letting out, the temptation became fruitful.

The boys all pretended to slip and fall, sliding down the muddy hill without regard for the cleanliness of their school uniforms.

Whether the other boys were disciplined, he would not know, for no self-respecting boy would reveal being exposed to corrective action in their peers’ absence. But when Carlen arrived home, his displeased mum made sure that he understood the inappropriateness of his actions—effected through a switch reserved for that purpose.

Time went on, and Carlen acquired the learning necessary to proceed on to elementary school. He overheard his mother say that when the new term started, he would be accompanying his other three older siblings to big school. Yes, big school was their pet name for the next higher level institution of learning—elementary school.

He never let on that he knew, but he kept his ecstasy secret, running deep into the nearby bushes and letting his joy escape in a full-throated primal scream.

Carlen could hardly wait to experience the thrill of beginning another higher level of schooling as he had sneakily eavesdropped on the conversations of his brothers and sister about their own experiences in elementary school.

However, as kindergarten was over and big school had not yet started, it was time for fun during holiday time—fun that was almost incessant.

One Saturday while Mum, as usual, went off to wash laundry and Dad had gone to the market, Carlen and his brothers (being bored and looking for adventure), in their childish, inexperienced wisdom, began using a small steel drum their father had brought home to store water for the family’s use, along with a long wooden bench, to practice the art of diving.

Carlen’s older brother climbed up on the drum and dived onto the bench with a blending of a belly flop and a swan dive to the cheers of his other siblings.

His second brother likewise completed his dive somewhat successfully, causing shouts of sibling joy from the entertained ones.

Now it was Carlen’s turn. He climbed onto the drum and dived, but he somehow misjudged the distance and came down face first onto the edge of the wooden bench.

Needless to say, as his face contacted the bench, blood squirted profusely from the ensuing deep gash at the edge of his left eye as water would from a drinking fountain with a lever pushed for its demand.

Carlen, getting as quickly off the bench as he has landed on it (with the all-consuming thought that all my blood is going to come out), began running and screaming as loudly as he could for his mum, all the while chased by his well-intentioned siblings with mop and pail in hand to clean up the trail of blood.

With blood pouring from over one eye and washing into the other, Carlen was effectively blinded; however, he could not be caught as he impulsively ran in terror up the rear steps of the house.

Going through the dining room, the living room, down the front steps, and back along the side of the house, he ran blindly and headlong into one of the neighbors who had come over to look into the uproar.

The neighbor took him into her arms, consolingly assuring him that she could help, and then made and applied a poultice of spices and salt. She held him until his mum came home with an armful of clean clothes.

Carlen’s mum took him to the same hospital where he was born, where it took twelve stitches to close the wound in his face. However, as he was in such severe pain, Carlen was spared the whipping all his siblings got for their bad behavior.

As that incident occurred on the closing days of the vacation period, it was resplendent with the twelve stitches in place that Carlen accompanied his mum to the elementary school to get registered.

Whether it was the massive amount of children brought by their parents to register for elementary school or the sight of Carlen’s sutured and swollen face that caused the headmaster to have a negative impression of him, Carlen was firmly and unequivocally rejected.

He could clearly remember hearing the headmaster bellowing to his mother, Take him back. We don’t want him! He hugged her consolingly on seeing her tears as she complied with the headmaster’s bellowed order. Carlen spent another term at Ms. Asin’s School.

It was during that time of his suspended transition to big school that something occurred which had a profound impact on young Carlen. Whether he was instrumental in causing what had happened, he never knew, nor was he ever told. Neither, as far as he knew, did any of his siblings.

The rainy season had ended for some two months or so, and the ground had already begun to show the starkness of the lack of rainfall. All the grass, resplendently green during the wet season, was now as dry and brown as coconut fiber on a dry coconut.

It hadn’t got to the point yet when the ground literally cracked open in its dryness due to lack of rain. That occurrence would be in approximately one more month. But this was the period when the paddy fields were sufficiently dry to be used as a cricket pitch.

The smoothness of the paddy field’s surface was a result of it being a literal swamp during the rainy season in which the paddy or rice was planted.

The leaves of the numerous paddy plants as well as the previous multiple years of accumulated extremely soft soil created a muddy base at the bottom of the water that was constantly replenished by the unceasing rainfall.

When the water evaporated due to the sun’s heat in the beginning of the dry season, after the paddy was all harvested, the remaining condition was the smooth surface mentioned earlier.

The local men and older boys formed teams to play cricket in the now-vacant paddy field after doing some minimal preparatory work for it to be adequate for the games.

Carlen’s dad was one of the star batsmen in this paddy-field competition, and Carlen loved to see him batting when a game was being played. The women and girls likewise all came to be a raucous fan base to cheer their team on.

Mum was especially proud when Dad would hit a six-or four-run strike and would scream her delight with encouraging words to him. And then there was Ms. Mona! She, like Carlen’s mum, would also shout her joyful praises at the same occasion.

However, she also did something that none of the other women would. She alternatingly made and brought cakes, tuluum, tamarind balls, coconut sugar cakes, and kroumar to the game and would give it to all who were there.

Carlen did not know why, but he found himself being favored by her. He would usually get more than his fair share of the confections.

No self-respecting boy his age would reject the attention and associated treats coming his way, and Carlen was no different.

He had gotten to really like her round face, gentle manner, and graciousness, and it was apparent that she liked him as a little boy.

They had developed such a friendship that sometimes after the game was over, she would ask his mum to let him accompany her to her house, and there she would ply him with all sorts of goodies before he went home.

One day after the game had been played and won, Carlen’s dad called and gave him a folded-up note to take to Ms. Mona, which Carlen innocently and dutifully obeyed.

It was long after when he reminisced on the occasion that he came to the conclusion that it must have been the result of his delivery of that note that such a rupture in the family was created—one that had never been seen before.

It seemed that not long after Carlen delivered the note to Ms. Mona, he would hear his mum and dad having a loud conversation … sort of. Except his mum was speaking louder and louder with speech punctuated with a lot of tears,