I JUST WONDERED

Do you ever wonder what your life might be like if your history was altered, even slightly? I don’t normally, but an interesting convo with my mom sent my imagination into orbit.

One of her homegirls from back in the day is finally retiring. Her daughters, who I think are just a bit older than me, threw her a surprise party and knew from all those “back in the day” stories that my mom should be among the invitees.

So Mom’s all excited about her trip to Queens for the party. I arrange her travel and we talk daily about how she feels like a teenager, all anxious and excited to go. She’s doing a lot of reminiscing and I’m doing a lot of listening, because I realized recently that I don’t really know too much about either of my parents’ lives before my black ass arrived at the last minute.

*In my best Sophia from Golden Girls voice*

Picture if you will… Washington, DC, 1967…as told by Mother Wise…

“My father died two weeks before I was scheduled to leave Jamaica for America. I was torn about what to do. I felt like I should stay, but I knew in my heart that I couldn’t stand to be there without him. Half of the family thought I should stay, the other half demanded I go. So go I did.

“Back in those days America was recruiting people from the islands to come and work here as domestics. So when I got to DC, there were a lot of us already here. The Jamaican ambassador used to throw these parties every weekend at his house and all the young people would go. That’s where I met Urseline, Claudette, lawd, so many people.

“So one Saturday I went to the party and I met a guy who was the ambassador’s personal chef. I had seen him at all the parties before and some of his friends were friends with some of mine. Your father.

“All of a sudden I’m at the Ambassador’s house all the time, and getting to know your dad. Then out of the blue I don’t talk to him for a day, then two days, then almost a week.
By the end of that week I get a call from your Aunt Urseline (the one who’s retiring), and she says she has something to tell me.

“Future Wise’s Daddy is moving to NY. That’s why he hasn’t called you. He doesn’t know how to tell you. He quit his job with the ambassador because he said they weren’t paying him right. So he’s going up to NY with his uncle.”

“By the time I get your father on the phone I find out it’s true. For the next year I spent a lot of time on the bus traveling from Washington to NY. That was, what, 1968.”

“So Mommy, did you have to ride the back of the buses and stuff like that?”

“No! That was long gone. I didn’t get any of that stuff when I got here.” [Editor’s note: Yo, FYI- West Indians are notorious for their denial of racism and vicitimization. I’m struck by the fact that my Mom has no recollection of no ’68 riots or nothing!]

“So you moved Upstate and lived happily ever after?”

“No. First I moved to Long Island to work for another year. Then on one visit Upstate I just never went back. By this time I got my permanent resident papers. Naturally, I married your Dad and he got his.”

*

I’m struck by the Choose Your Own Adventureness of my parents’ history. Had their decisions or circumstances been altered in any tiny number of ways, my entire life would have been also.

What if the Ambassador hadn’t tried to be slick with my Dad’s paper? I might have been born in Howard Hospital, and grown up in an Embassy. Who the hell would my friends have been? Would my professional aspirations be the same? Would my parents have earned more money? Would I have been one of those bourgie West Indians who mentally separated myself from the common folks (read: Trinis. I kid, I kid!)

God forbid, would I be a Bison alum? *shudder at the thought*

Or what about if my mom had persuaded my Dad to come chill on Long Island? Who the hell would I be then? Would I have an obnoxious accent, grown up sneaking my way onto the LIRR en route to some Brooklyn house parties? Would I have been destined for Columbia or worse, NYU? Who would my best friends be? What about my first kiss, my fav teacher, daily routine? If not Mimi D., then whose ass would I have whupped in my only official fist fight? Wait, I’m still a lil concerned about that accent…

Or better yet, what if my mother had chosen to stay in Jamaica after burying her father? Who might my father be then? Would that technically constitute me being me at all under those circumstances?

It’s hard not to look back for guidance on your journey forward.

Even harder not to wonder.