Ode to my father

My father was a Jack of all trades
And a master of many,
Especially that of fatherhood.
He was a beacon of light
In the neighbourhood
As he nurtured his family
With love and sincerity.
He was a mason, a carpenter, a joiner,
Cook and agriculturist, to name a few.
He worked on the construction of the Maracas Bay Road
During the Second World War,
At T&TEC, and finally at Cocoa Board
As a plant propagator for 43 years.
Yes, he was a talented man
Who shared his talent with many
Truly a father of substance
Teaching by example.
My father was a creative man –
He made cricket bats from coconut branches
And from the bois canoe buttress roots.
Cricket balls, he carved out from bamboo roots,
Tops, from green guava and tree branches,
Windmills, from the dry cedar seeds,
Kites from brown paper, coconut leaves ribs and flour paste
Necessity was truly the mother of invention.
Scooters from box wood and old car bearings,
U nails, wire and old bicycle tires.
But the most memorable creation was–
A Pinocchio he made after reading the story to us.
I can still remember the long-pointed nose
Which the story said became longer with each ‘lie’
No need to say, his psychology worked.
Yes, my father was one of a kind
Very few words which were to the point.
A father of class, and creative ability
A replica of St Joseph, in many ways.
Memories of my father taking us to and from school
And church still linger on.
So too the taste of his fortnightly fish broth
His Johnny bakes, and accra
The pot of mixed meat pelau and
The hot homemade local chocolate tea.
The Christmas ham boiling in the biscuit tin
On an open outside fire,
While the smell of varnish and paint filled the air
As he varnished and painted the chairs and table.
He transformed our humble home
Into a Christmas manger each year.
Yes, it was peace to men of goodwill.
My father gave us the best he could have afforded.
A great, simple loving father,
Caring and talented.
Like all people he had his faults
But his kind, creative and loving nature–God’s gift to us
Is what made the positive impact.
Our yard became the community playground
All were welcomed and no one left empty handed.
The fruits and vegetables of all kinds from his garden,
Each visitor had a sample to take away.
He taught us to plant a kitchen garden,
You name it, we planted it.
Our environment was also adorned
With ornamental plants, of all varieties and colours.
Truly a beautiful, serene environment
Which both my parents created
To form and mould our personalities and characters.
Excellent parents, as father and mother complimented each other.
Our father introduced us to Parang
Via the Original Lara Brothers:
Cito, Willie, Antonio, and Victor
Who made the yearly visit to our home on Christmas Eve.
Yes, it was real live Parang music from the ‘bosses’.
He taught us to make a ‘box base’
Chac chac and scratchers
From things around the house.
My father carved out notes on milk and bean tins
As our first experience to the steel pan.
Yes, he was an innovator, a great provider.
Truly a loving, kind, and talented father.
Our trips to the oval to see cricket,
To the forest to collect wood for the fireside
To the river to catch fish and bathe
To the mountains after heavy rains
To catch manicou crabs–
All stand out in my memory.
Yes, despite his meagre wage
We were not in wanting
Because my father was a great provider.
So caring and loving he was,
Coming to meet us at La Pastora Govt School
During heavy down pour of rain
With all sorts of cover: plastic, hats, umbrellas,
At times even, large banana and tannia leaves
Anything he could put his hand on
To shelter us from the pouring showers.
On arrival home he would share his homemade local chocolate tea
Then put our shoes and socks near the fireside to dry off.
Yes, a caring, loving father he was,
Yes, a father of fathers
A father of faith in God
A father of humility
A servant father
A father after the image and likeness of God.
RIP, with our mother, your wife.
Because you were a living example
Of God, Our Heavenly Father.
Happy Father’s Day–RIP Dad.
Happy Father’s Day to all fathers.

–Ulric Persad