Her Excellency President of T&T Her Excellecny Paula Mae Weeks present the National Medal for the Development of Women,Gold ( Journalism/Development of Women) to Dt Kris Rampersad |
Today would have been my Pa’s 104th birthday. He
passed on just after I began my first degree at the university. He might have been proud to see me receive the Medal for the Development of Women, gold, for Journalism and Development of Women through a career he delivered me onto; or my graduation with a bachelors, first class honours; or doctorate, and the acclaim as the first sitting journalist/editor to have done so, along with all else that is listed in my CV as accomplishments or accolades.
passed on just after I began my first degree at the university. He might have been proud to see me receive the Medal for the Development of Women, gold, for Journalism and Development of Women through a career he delivered me onto; or my graduation with a bachelors, first class honours; or doctorate, and the acclaim as the first sitting journalist/editor to have done so, along with all else that is listed in my CV as accomplishments or accolades.
Or he may have simply reiterated as he often did, ‘commonsense comes before booksense’ and ‘help who you can, when you can,’ without any great show of emotion.
Pa, who had brought me to Port of Spain for my first job interview, not only gave me the window on the bus on our four-hour journey there, but also provided the first window to the world outside the village in having me accompany him to sell the produce we grew at the San Fernando market. The amiable, affable, people, character and experiences of the market from when I was just over five years old, would mark on me what I believed to e the national character, and feed the first columns of the Discover Trinidad and Tobago series, that blossommed into the television series Cross Country and more recently, my third book, LiTTscapes – Landscapes of Ficton series which spotlights ‘MarketScapes” as one of the defining arenas of nationabuilding.
Pa remained seated in
the lobby of the Guardian, as I am whisked away. I
left him looking as if it was he who was to be interviewed, in his
characteristic guarabara shirt jack, holding his mark of style – his dark brown
Homburg felt hat, slightly indented at the top; its one and a half inch ribbon
running along its circumference near the brim; its inside lined with Satin that
felt cool on the head as I would find out when I sneaked try-ons. Pa wore it as
any stately leader might, though he may not have known that it was the style of
hat which the British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, often wore, made
famous by British King Edward VII, the son of Queen Victoria.
the lobby of the Guardian, as I am whisked away. I
left him looking as if it was he who was to be interviewed, in his
characteristic guarabara shirt jack, holding his mark of style – his dark brown
Homburg felt hat, slightly indented at the top; its one and a half inch ribbon
running along its circumference near the brim; its inside lined with Satin that
felt cool on the head as I would find out when I sneaked try-ons. Pa wore it as
any stately leader might, though he may not have known that it was the style of
hat which the British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, often wore, made
famous by British King Edward VII, the son of Queen Victoria.
Nor would he have known, sitting there casually, that he was
handing me over to a new world, a new life, nor that it would earn him a one-paragraph
acknowledgement of his passing in the upper editorial pages five years later, Journalist Loses Dad.
handing me over to a new world, a new life, nor that it would earn him a one-paragraph
acknowledgement of his passing in the upper editorial pages five years later, Journalist Loses Dad.
I am not related to any of the already famed Rampersads who were then in public life, I would have to tell those who enquired. Rampersad was in fact his first name, which was a practice adopted in Trinidad by some families, rather than passing on last names. Born in the year of the first World War, he carved his own
path, giving dignity to every undertaking, whether it was as a market vendor, as
cash crop gardener or in his valiant attempts at carpentry and making odd
things around the house, with the saw and jackplane he bought himself, having
worked, too, as a forester that gave him the head cold that will claim him. And
he kept us grounded with his insistence that ‘commonsense comes before
booksense’ and never let us
path, giving dignity to every undertaking, whether it was as a market vendor, as
cash crop gardener or in his valiant attempts at carpentry and making odd
things around the house, with the saw and jackplane he bought himself, having
worked, too, as a forester that gave him the head cold that will claim him. And
he kept us grounded with his insistence that ‘commonsense comes before
booksense’ and never let us
President of Trinidad and Tobago Her Excellency Paula-Mae Weekes with Recipient of the 2018 Medal for the Development of Women, Gold Dr Kris Rampersad.Office of the President Photo |
By the time he watched me disappear up through the doors and
up the stairs from the Guardian
lobby, he had already set the foundation. It was the glimpse of Trinidad and
its people to which he exposed me in those days as a preteen that I accompanied
him to the San Fernando market, that shaped my impression of who and what we
are as a people. He passed to me his ease among men, women and children of any
age, class, colour, ethnicity and religion. Their returned respect and camaraderie
with him, gave him the stature of what I envisioned any leader to be.
up the stairs from the Guardian
lobby, he had already set the foundation. It was the glimpse of Trinidad and
its people to which he exposed me in those days as a preteen that I accompanied
him to the San Fernando market, that shaped my impression of who and what we
are as a people. He passed to me his ease among men, women and children of any
age, class, colour, ethnicity and religion. Their returned respect and camaraderie
with him, gave him the stature of what I envisioned any leader to be.
In his shirt jack and Homburg, he was ‘the Sheriff’ as his
friends and the villagers called him. At home in his merino he was storyteller extraordinaire.
Night after night we would huddle on Ma’s bed listening as he unraveled
fantastic tales pulled from his boundless and prolific imagination as I good find
no written, no oral recounts of them.
friends and the villagers called him. At home in his merino he was storyteller extraordinaire.
Night after night we would huddle on Ma’s bed listening as he unraveled
fantastic tales pulled from his boundless and prolific imagination as I good find
no written, no oral recounts of them.
If Ma shaped my spirit; Pa shaped my social being. The
dedication in my first book read, To Ma
and Pa: Ma for the gift of Spiritedness; Pa for the legacy of his imagination.
There are many resonances to that
influence.
dedication in my first book read, To Ma
and Pa: Ma for the gift of Spiritedness; Pa for the legacy of his imagination.
There are many resonances to that
influence.
Our journey had begun in the wee hours of what he called
‘foreday morning’, through the territories of his stickfighting, sugar cane
planting, market gardening and vending, and then some (More in upcoming biography, LIFE! Holeheartedly.
‘foreday morning’, through the territories of his stickfighting, sugar cane
planting, market gardening and vending, and then some (More in upcoming biography, LIFE! Holeheartedly.
Remembering him, I share two earlier excerpts that captures
part of Pa’s, and others like his, unrecognized contribution to our times:
part of Pa’s, and others like his, unrecognized contribution to our times:
Jus Call Me Cooligan: Bois and Bacchanal in Meh Blood https://goo.gl/yTrR9q
My Discoverie- Columbus lost and found https://goo.gl/ixGu7y
See also:
The Walk of Excellence: a life in 60 seconds to receive the National Award for the Development of Women: https://goo.gl/wk4pBx
What My Mother told me: https://goo.gl/CxBJrr
More related links below
If by Rudyyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can think, and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And, which is more, you’ll be a Man, my son!
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