HERE COMES TROUBLE...

Its now the morning after I received my babysitting job without pay. I did not know what to call the infant and he started crying before daylight. I thought "what's wrong with him?" My sister said sternly "Keep you pickney quiet, misses!"

Sister rubbed in my face "You picked up trouble now you have to care for it by yourself, don't expect any help." I thought to myself... "I am about 7 or 8 yrs. old!" I felt the world on my shoulders and the weight of that baby was more than the world.

Me, A Child-Mother to my Nephew?!

As usual, I returned home to stay with daddy and my older siblings after what seemed like an eternal visit with daddy's mother, gram ma. I was happy to re-unite with my younger brother, Orien(Oreen). I was about to be 8 years old and he would soon be seven.



I remember a sunny day on the Veranda(front porch), when I watched the birds and wondered how fast I'd have to move in order to catch one of them, for a pet. Like a cat I loved to just sit and watch birds. When suddenly, a young woman, came up the walk from around the bush that hid the view from the road where traffic sounded like a rushing river.



I think her name was Jennifer. She was slender and her face was beautiful with chocolate powdered colouring and cherry red lips. Her hair was short and she had the tapered sides curved into "kiss curls" beside each ear. On one hip she carried a chubby baby and over the other shoulder she carried a big cloth bag that was so stuffed, the baby bottles were poking out of the top.


Baby's face was shiny and he had a runny nose from crying with tear filled eyes. The little one was constantly rubbing his nose with the back of his fist, as if to help himself breathe. He was miserable.


Without warning, she plopped the infant into my arms and asked me to hold him for her a minute. Then she asked me "where is your brother, Tony? I answered " he is not here right now." Next, she told me "keep holding the baby until I get back from the store across the street." That was the last time I saw her for what seemed like a whole year.


Here comes trouble...
When my big sister came home and saw the baby, she said "You got yourself a baby, you are on your own with it!"

CATHOLIC SCHOOL

I had a chance to be with my younger brother, Orien, again. I missed him.

I was there only a short time before I got myself into trouble, by being gullible or should I just say trusting. But, before we get into the details of my predicament, lets talk about school.

Mommy had arranged for me to attend Catholic school. "Our Lady Of Angels." I did not care for the plain brown uniform but I didn't mind the white shirt. I had the pleasant duty of washing and ironing my uniform and socks, along with my underwear, every weekend.

I loved the habit the Nuns wore. But, I disliked their way of disciplining. More details to come in my book. Although, their discipline was better than the way I was beaten at home. What was I thinking?!

Boarding the city buses every morning for school made me feel important, even though I was always in a rush. Why? I had to make sure the house was immaculate before I left for the day. Granted, it was only a two room flat with two beds and a cot with a few more essential pieces of furniture.

The cleaning woman or wash woman never lasted at daddy's.

I'll tell you more about the cleaning girl drama and my older brother Tony's involvement in the book. Although, I might give you a preview here in this blog. I'm not sure. I have to go to the mall, now, where I do portrait drawings for a living.

But, I somehow always forgot to wash my little blanks. Will tell you late what happened....

Me, Psychic?

It was a sunny Saturday, just before noon. The women were busy washing clothes in zinc wash-pans out in the court-yard, as they told stories and listen to music in the air.

At the age of seven I was only doing the weekend cleanup for gram-ma. When I heard the gate open and close(about 12yds. away), followed by foot-steps towards our cottage with a knock on the door.

Excited to see who this visitor was, I hurried to open it, but no one was there.

So, I asked gram ma, and the women close by to find if they noticed anyone coming in from the gate, when suddenly, we all heard the knock on the gate (second time for me). It was a messenger with a telegram of my uncle Hartman's Jr. who recently died.

Uncle Hartman Jr. was very young, but he suffered from a finger the size of a giant plantain. That was a result of an allergic reaction. My grandmother was obviously shaken by the news. I felt nothing.

That is one of the reasons I wondered why I had no emotional attachment like other people.

For a short spell, everyone exclaimed that I was psychic, to have heard the messenger before he even came with the delivery!

My modesty, allowed little attention to the praise.

WISHED I HAD A PLAYMATE

Well, well, well, wishes do come through.
A new neighbor moved into our yard! My wish for a playmate was granted. I am pleased. Betty, was a bit younger than me. She was around 6 yrs.old. I was 7. We had lots of fun, together.

We even played house and school. We played doctor with our dolls. Mine was a blown-up Santa clause. Remember my doll, Baby, was destroyed?

We even experimented, playing out the roles of mommy and daddy. That ended abruptly, due to my own natural response. I felt a shock and jumped! Frightened, we vowed to never do that again.

That afternoon, my paternal gramma, and a couple of the neighbors, got together to loudly discuss what happened to two littler girls who played mommy-daddy games. But, they played with a broom, and wound up in the hospital.

Looking back, I can see that they watched us play and just wanted to scare us.
(see upcoming book for details)

A LESSON IN LIFE

Living as a small child in Jamaica with my paternal grandmother was a lesson in life I will never forget. I learned certain truths. What was someone Else's was not mine to give away or share.
I learned to respect other people's property. I learned it the hard way the first time.

Grandmother and I had a pleasant visit with our next door neighbor. Eating, drinking and sharing laughter with simple conversations. The news neighbors discussed and so forth.

The night passed swiftly for the first time in a long time. Remember, we only had a radio to ease the stillness of our evenings back then. For me, a seven year old without a playmate the woman's visit was a relief.

To show my gratitude, I did the unthinkable. As our friendly neighbor was about to leave for the night, she commented on a picture on our wall above the bed. "That is a beautiful picture, Ms. Spence." That was all I needed to hear when I responded, "I will give it to you since you like it."

Unaware that my grandmother did not care to share, I was shocked to receive a fine flogging that lasted forever, it seemed. When she was through, I had the awful task of going next door to bring back her picture. "Go now and bring back my picture!"

No sooner than after one knock, the door opened. "Here, take it back, I heard everything." I didn't have to explain. The wooden walls were thin.

Once a sharing child, always a caring adult. I still share. That won't change.

http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.yardflex.com/archives/crying.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.yardflex.com/archives/003222.html&usg=__Ilw3mqEOg51qMcq4oSfawDlRo30=&h=321&w=400&sz=25&hl=en&start=577&um=1&tbnid=6ahZoJkE4DzIMM:&tbnh=100&tbnw=124&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dcrying%2Bchild%26ndsp%3D20%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26start%3D560%26um%3D1

SPOTLESS OR ELSE!

OUR HOME WAS IMMACULATE.

I received one of my most memorable beatings one day when I decided to do chores after playing.

It was a beautiful day. Trees swaying in the sun. Birds softly chirping. When after-school neighbors gathered together just to play. Not one of us was older than age eight. I must have been about 7 years old.

We had a good time playing shop and house. We even found a good sized box to use as the bus.

Each of us took turns as the bus-driver who pulled the box from one imaginary bus stop to another.

We bought and sold dirt goods, from our friendly shop keeper and paid for it with little stones. I even had my turn as shop-keeper. I wrapped the imaginary rice and flour in the brown paper we tore from brown paper bags. All this time we played in the big shady back yard, until late in the day.

Finally, reality took over when I heard my sister, Yvonne, calling. "Dorreth!!!!!!!!!"

That beating changed my life. From that day forward, Cleaning my home came first and all other activities took a back seat.

If only we could still pay for real food and services with stones, life would be just dreamy!

A bit rough riding around on our bottoms inside a card-board box from place to place, though (LOL)!

CHURCH DRESS

I WAS UNCOMFORTABLE IN MY BEAUTIFUL DRESS, because the other children in our neighborhood did not own one as beautiful as it.

Complete with crynoline, satin and lace. I loved that my momma, sent me such a dress, yet I felt almost ashamed to be wearing it in front of others who were less fortunate.

I never wanted to feel like I was onstage. I hated the stares as my grandmother and I went by, on our way to church.

Embarassed? Yes, I was! She was always dressed up, but this was new to me.

It was nice to go to church, but the services were long and predictable.

BED WETTING NOT ALLOWED

It was in the middle of the night, when I felt a warm and wet feeling beneath me! I was ashamed when I wet the bed. However, nothing compared to what happened next.

"You are seven years old, how can you be wetting the
bed? The next time you wet the bed young lady, you will sleep on the
floor!!"

I took a good long look at the hard wood floor. Dismayed. I thought to myself, I will wee-wee before bedtime from now on.


I hurried off the bed from my spot in the corner, against the wall. I hurriedly changed the sheets, while listening to my grand-mother.


She eventually chipped in and gave me an extra towel to rest under my bottom to prepare for my next accident. I never wet the bed again. I awoke every hour, on the hour to check under myself. That was the longest night for many years to come.

To this day I cannot sleep through the night.


Bed-wetting
(Enuresis; Primary Nocturnal Enuresis; PNE)
by Debra Wood, RN

Definition
Bed-wetting is involuntary urination during sleep in children over age five. Typically around ages 3 to 5 years, children become able to sleep through the night without wetting. While infection or anatomic abnormalities of the urinary system may explain bed-wetting at night, most cases have no explanation and are referred to by doctors as primary nocturnal enuresis (PNE).

Causes
When children are sleeping, the bladder may signal the brain that it is full. But the brain must return a signal for the bladder not to empty. Then the child must wake up and go to the bathroom.
Causes of bed-wetting are varied and may overlap. Contributing factors include:
Bladder control that develops more slowly than normal
Greater than average urine production at night
Genetic predisposition
A sleep disorder, sometimes related to enlarged tonsils or adenoids
http://www.aurorahealthcare.org/yourhealth/healthgate/getcontent.asp?URLhealthgate=%2212021.html%22

STICK FIGURES ARE NOT REAL

My first attempt at drawing, was a bare stick figure.

Studying it after I completed the drawing, I thought that people did not look like that.

I thought; I will do a better picture, tomorrow. I drew another picture the following day, with two sticks for each limb. Now, this' more like real people, ...practice makes perfect. I thought to myself.

Alone, outside our cottage while gram-ma was out, I did a lot of thinking.

Well, after all my chores were done and I was exhausted from trying to catch grass quicks, and humming birds in the garden (small birds).

Mischievous? Yes! I had to stay busy or suffer boredom.

Until, a new family moved into our yard with a playmate.

More on my playmate in the upcoming bio.

SEVEN YEAR OLD HOUSEKEEPER?

Yes. I started making the bed every morning according to gram ma's specifications.

"Make sure there is not even one wrinkle, I should be able to bounce a penny off
that bed....you know that so-n-so's, little girl is younger than you and she
makes the bed like that."

Her bed had rolled pillows that made it look fancy.

Her bed was so big it felt like I was climbing up onto a bus. To reach the far corner-side, I had to climb across the center. Still, all the while she made it clear that there were to be no wrinkles.


I followed her instructions on rolling the pillows and placing them, so they appeared to be truly round. That was a tough challenge, but I liked the outcome.


Washing my ribbons and socks after school every weekend was one of my chores. I did it without ceremony, but it was a short lived respite from near boredom.


Before she came home one day, I got through with all my housekeeping, and decided to fill my time with my own desires.

I searched and found a pencil and piece of paper, to draw something. I drew my first person.
It was a stick figure.

Visit my online gallery, now: http://www.artandolls.com/

MY FIRST FAINTING SPELL

My first fainting spell was a good thing because it was a turning point, that lead to my cooking at seven years old.

It was a lazy Sunday morning, when I awoke late to find myself alone at Gram ma's. She had left earlier that morning. Returning at about 10am, to find me unconscious on the floor.

I felt dizzy, my head throbbed.....I was nauseous. I was shivering and tingling with goose-bumps all over my body, as the room whirled around me. The floor started to come up to me faster and faster, until I couldn't stop it from slamming into my face. BANG!!! .....I was gone.

The next thing I knew, I was getting slapped in my fuzzy, tingly face. My entire body felt cold and light, almost as if I were an invisible person disconnected from my physical body.

Gram ma, shouted my name repeatedly "Dorrett... Dorrett!! All the while slapping my tingly face with ice cold water. When I opened my eyes she asked with a relief in her voice "Did you eat anything when you woke up this morning?" I answered weakly, "No mommy." Her response, "You mean to tell me that a big girl like you don't know, to make yourself a little breakfast?" ( I was 7yrs. old) I tried to answer but my parched cracked lips wouldn't part, ...I was speechless.

She scolded, "Well, from now on I want you to start making a little breakfast when you wake up in the mornings."

This blog represents some of the bones of my upcoming book.
Details housekeeping coming up, next!
Please leave feedback. Thanks!

MY FIRST MOVIE

This is not my real grandmother's picture. (This picture looks so much like her-representational purpose, only)

Grandmother (daddy's mother) took me to see my first movie. She loved to get dressed up and go out. I loved the big-screen. However, she told me to cover my eyes during the scary scenes.


On my second visit, gra-ma had moved to another home. She enrolled me in a local school near her. It was a short bus-ride away, near Busta Mante park (details in book).


I was anxious, to learn how to read, because I wanted to know what the cartoons were saying in the Sunday paper. Within two weeks, I was reading the comic strips. Yes, I was pleased.


Her new place was set in a huge yard with separate little attached homes, with a court-yard in the center of it (layout drawing in upcoming bio). As you enter her new home, from the gate; on the right side is an L shaped veranda. Then leading down a long path to a little cottage straight ahead. In front of it was a flower garden.


Across from which was another garden, alongside the veranda on the right side as you walk down into the yard. Towards the rear of the courtyard there was a separate cottage where lived a beautiful, dark skinned lady by herself. Behind her little home were huge, towering trees that extended from behind an old fence.


To the right of the courtyard, were different convenience rooms in a row along a plain concrete veranda with wooden posts that held up the roof. Unlike the front veranda with its shiny, polished tile floor. The convenience rooms were bathroom, kitchen, toilet room, shower room(detail in upcoming book).


There was even a one-room apartment where lived a fat blind grandmother.

I felt sorry that she was often left isolated in her dark room. So I often visited her to keep her company and entertained with small talks. Her relatives would sometimes take her to the center of the court-yard for sunning, or set her outside her room in a rocking-chair.



Gramma, seemed to move back and forth a lot. I remember, her moving from the one-room home with the big veranda to the two-room cottage across from us facing the front gate, and back again, in that same yard. Anyway, I took on the job of watering the gardens at that home. I remember feeding left-over rice to wild birds, daily. Then trying like a cat, to catch them as they ate.


On one occasion, I remember gramma's friend speaking with her about me, "Mrs. Harris, your grand daughter's hair needs cutting, so she can put on weight!" Gramma's response was, "Oh, no, she is just a picky eater." The woman enquired about my age, "Then how old is she, about eight? " (I felt upset that she guessed me to be older!) Gramma said, "No... about 7 years old." The woman remarked, "She is tall for her age, but Lord the hair is sucking her, you have to cut it, so she will gain some weight." What you use on it, Castor oil? "No, nothing but Vaseline, Castor oil is too stink."


The weight of my thick un-straightened plats (braids), laid on my chest and down my back like ropes. For church my hair was platted in two, with the front half combed back from my face, over the plat behind my head, and adorned with ribbons.



I guess my delicate frame, gentle oval face and big almond eyes, made me look as if my hair was getting all the nutrition.


Please leave a comment.
Thanks

SCHOOL AND WORK IN AMERICA

I have started my auto-biography; A Jamaican Princess.
I lived in Jamaica until I came to America at age 13. I am 52yrs. old, but I look like I am 29.



I survived a servantile youth. Continued to serve my mother, Brother and sister,

after coming to America. I landed my second baby-sitting job at age 14, in America.



I found my third job, working at The U.S. Trust Co. on Wall Street during my second year of high school. During my third year, I pursued my acting career and went on a few auditions , one was at the Apollo theater, in NYC. I had dreams of becoming a successful actress, and saving myself for marriage. However, I had to move out on my own during my fourth year of high school. I supported myself by caring for a mentally retarded teen aged girl. Somehow I maintained high grades and stayed on the "college-bound" list at Erasmus Hall, H.S.



From 1972 to 1975, I attended The Little Theatre school while I was in high school. During this time I learned Marshal Arts as a means of defending myself from school bullies (details that lead to that-in book). At 23 yrs. old I attended Brooklyn college. During my first year of college, I worked as a portrait artist and stripper in order to pay for my living expenses.



I remember investing my rent money to pay for a spot in the Flatbush indoor-flea-market in B'klyn. It was during this time that I met Steve, and agreed to get married. That was a major mistake, that hurt me badly. I trusted him.



I went from dire poverty as a child to owning my own home. I am a portraitist/Publisher.

LINK: DISCIPLINING CHILDREN-JAMAICA

Dorreth Witt http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3256/2753851064_8325a911bb.jpg%3Fv%3D0&imgrefurl=http://flickr.com/photos/barrybar/2753851064/&usg=__cHJMcfrzj-QO-yoNIv4-mdcV6is=&h=500&w=456&sz=163&hl=en&start=66&um=1&tbnid=DBgppKV9BZyETM:&tbnh=130&tbnw=119&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dwhipping%2Bchild%2BJamaica%2BWI%26ndsp%3D20%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26start%3D60%26um%3D1

THE SEARING BELT WHISTLED

My paternal-grandmother's visits, usually ended with me going to stay with her a while. That meant separation from my beloved brother, Orien. Spending long visits with her was like being cast off on an island, by myself. A sentencing to me. There was no one to play with there. Scary nights... (details in upcoming book).




She was a high society opera singer who seemed to go to church almost daily, even at night.


She was fair-skinned, with short-cut baby-fine hair, so she visited the beauty parlor weekly to curl it. She had a double chin, thin nose with flared nostrils. Her reading glasses were a bejeweled cat shape on the outer corners. She was well endowed up-front but her dress flopped-inward behind her. She was always dressed up in perfume, pearls and fancy dresses. Lace and sequins. She wore medium heeled, pointy-toe shoes, with seem-stockings on her slender legs (remember those half stockings that women, with the seam down the back, that were worn with garters)? She had a double chin and a thin nose with flared nostrils. She never left home without her hat, lace gloves and icy-mint candies.

Yes, her fine taste led to the fine china I ate from, everyday.

Yvonne, always sent me to stay with her a while. By the time I was seven, I stayed with her long enough to attend the local school where she lived. Very distressing.




I resented having to get separated from my younger brother though. "Dorrett, come get yourself ready to go spend some time with grandmother." Said my sister.


I would arrive at grand mother's neat, two-room efficiency home. Nice looking, atop a slight hill off the side-walk. with steps leading up to its quaint little porch. She always lived in cottage-like homes. Complete with roses and other flowers adorning the sides of the veranda (porch).



It is not that grandmother, was not nice to me, it was more my separation from Orien, that saddened me, so. On my first stay with her, she made it clear to me where we stood. "Dorrett, you must call me mommy, never grandmother."

My poor appetite grew worse with those visits. Grandmother tried to take good care of me, which I was not accustomed to. Oh boy did she pour on the "Betty"sweet-cream. I remember the picture of a small girls face on the can. Still, I would've been happier with my brother, Orien.



We were off to a bad start from the first visit. When she referred to daddy(her son) as my father, I told her, "He is not my real father." (details in book). I might as well have committed suicide at that moment.


That statement earned me my first beating from her. That was an experience, I will never forget. Each lick indelibly burned into my memory, as it welted my skin. Lash after lash, the searing belt whistled (wiss-wiss!). My wails for mercy went unheeded "I am dead now!" I cried "murder!" I stumbled throughout the tiny apartment with the physical woman towering over my small frame. I was like a drunk trying to gain his stance during a ship-wreck. She was like a monster from a sci-fi, movie. My flailing arms offered no protection from the all-over strikes.



Beating a child in Jamaica, meant that the screaming child was guilty of a wrong-doing. That scouring (beating) was accepted. Afterwards, she prepared and served me a bowl of hot oatmeal (yuck). I had trouble swallowing it, because of the angry lump in my throat, that hurt. Between every gingerly spoonful, I took hiccuped sobs of breath. I was around six years old.

These are just the bones for my upcoming book. Enjoy!

Please, take a moment to tell me how you like this blog.

PRESENTS FROM ABROAD

Momma was the best at caring for us from afar. She worked two jobs to pay for our gifts and still support herself back in England.

She wanted us (not the neighbors), to enjoy the fruits of her labor. However, Yvonne, shared the parcel. Neighbors gathered every time we opened our parcels.

"Vonne, you mumma rich, inna England, look pon de big box!"

Another chimed in, "Mek we see weh she sen fi-u."

Neighbors were free to dip in and help themselves to whatever they wanted, first.

I loved the unusual gifts, like peanut butter! Delicious!

Most importantly, momma sent us basic necessities. Soap-on-a-rope(unusual), among other things we could not purchase in Jamaica. Clothes and shoes. All the things she thought we needed to make life better on a daily basis.

Momma worked hard in England to send her love to us. She even sent us spending money. Don't ask what they did with it or how that was divvied (divided) up. I was just a six year old.

"Dis shoes, nice! ...Lorks-King! ...Vann, gimmie dis, no?"

Anyway, mommy sent smart toys for Orien and me. I received my first baby-doll. It was an arm-full, with sleeping eyes. I named her Baby. She slept safe in my arms the first night. On the big bed in the front room, with Yvonne, Tony and Stafford.

The very next day, one of the neighbors from the yard asked Yvonne to let her little girl borrow my baby. It was returned days later with the head cracked down the center, and the eyes knocking around inside of it. I was hurt.

CONTINUED: NIGHTMARES

NIGHTMARES

My brother and I hated going to sleep during the day, because we enjoyed playing.


But, big sister, Yvonne, always made us take a nap at noon. Right after lunch.

Nap time was essential to keeping order and mellowing us out.


I can remember, one-day when my younger brother, Orien, was shadow boxing. I accidentally walked into his punch as I entered the back door from the dark corridor. My stomach was cramping, as I fell to the floor, doubled over in pain. He was a sturdy boy. Healthy. That was, the first of two times, he received a beating from Yvonne (that I know of). He was lucky.

At six, I watch her wistfully as she did chores. Hoping I would get a chance at that broom. Then one day I got my chance. What a fateful thing. I soon learned why? Explained, when I get to that chapter.

At night we slept in pitch darkness, unless the home had moon-light shining in through the windows. Back then we slept with windows and doors open.

In the middle of the night when it was pitch black, I experienced nightmares that drove me to leave the cot my brother and I *shared. I'd run to join the older siblings on the big bed, in the big front room. Other times, I was too afraid to leave with my body, so I would express from my body and leave the room through *astral or etheric projection. I knew instinctively how to eject when I felt afraid enough. I was innocent, then.

*We slept head and tail-my head by his feet and visa-versa. Otherwise we would not have fit comfortably on the narrow cot.

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astral_projection

MOVING TO A TWO-ROOM HOUSE

Daddy's second of many moves. Was the home next door to the Veranda(front porch) kindergarten. It was not as roomy as the previous one, where momma left us on her way to England. It had a sprawling veranda where we entered a large front room, which led to the second and smaller room, with a back door that opened to a short dark corridor.

The front room was large where we placed daddy's big bed. Yvonne, 17; Tony 16;
and Stafford 15, slept there together, when daddy was not home. As far as I can
remember; it was crowded.

Just outside the back corridor was the entrance on the right to the community kitchen. Next to it, one facility after the other were the shower room, then the wash-room, and so forth, down the line with the toilet room, last.

From these rooms one could enter from the back yard. which was an open-space. You could see the string of connected one-room rented homes across the yard. In the center they were connected by clothes lines. Off to the back was a fenced-in, pet Mule.

This home must have been haunted, because it was there that I experienced fear for the first time. So many nightmares...