it's that time of the year again...

Was just thinking about the 'lunch ladies' from my middle school cafeteria and how epic those cookies were. As big as my head and came in three flavors: sugar cookies, melty chocolate chip, and double fudge. Even after I went on to high school, my dad still brought some home. Miss him and those cookies. 

February comes around and I think about two things: my dad, Valentine's Day, and Chinese New Year.

My dad was diagnosed with stomach cancer in January 2007 after he had to threaten his worthless primary care doctor, a shiftless idiot he should have left years ago. February is especially egregious as the cancer progressed and he underwent surgery. This in turn made the cancer spread. He passed away on February 23, two days before his and mom's anniversary. He was born on February 12th, traditionally Abraham Lincoln's birthday. 

During this time, I was in a long-distance relationship- won't do this again. It's not for me- and this as well as deciding to celebrate Chinese New Year was probably those two things that helped get me through this month. 

But now that I resigned, I know I will need some other traditions and rituals to perform to handle this month. I'm still holding on to Lunar New Year in mind as it's widely celebrated by a variety of Asian cultures worldwide as well as their diasporic communities. And Valentine's Day wasn't worth much to me though while I was in the long-distance(boyfriend was Asian), I did receive a V-Day gift, one of the few I've received from a significant other. 

I'm an introvert and not good at dating. My relationships also don't last as long as I want. I've actually wished I was from a culture that does arrange marriages because I can't stand going on dates. They fill me with dread. And now with how emotionally fraught February is even more for me, no thanks.

Yes, this post was more about me than the memorial posts I've done for my dad in years past, but I just don't have it in me now to do that. 

Here are a few photos of my father: Kenneth L. Welsh Sr.:

💔💔 💔

Sgt. Welsh's 10 Year Anniversary

My father's memorial arrived last Thursday, Feb. 23.

With the fabric flowers already on his headstone, Mom planted real flowers to commemorate his 10 Year Memorial.
My mother made sure to send his info to two Jamaican newspapers (weekly and daily), here in the Miami Herald (Spanish edition - someone's mistake! And English edition) as well as in the New York newspaper.

Today, this Sunday, Mom felt compelled to visit after church so she could water the flowers and make sure the headstone was clean. She watered the plants and then splashed the rest of rainwater on the headstone. I told her that the Japanese fling or splash water on their headstones too and that Dad would appreciate it. 

Once I took pictures, Mom asked what day it was. I told her the date. She excitedly told me that today was their wedding anniversary! She was happy that she remembered all 3 days (he was born, married, and died in February) this 10th Year.

RIP Lois Duncan

     Last week Wednesday, June 15, 2016 an important literary figure died. Her name was Lois Duncan, and she was important in my life. Writers are often asked who are the people that influenced them, and no self-respecting writer can remember all those inspiring titles or even the authors that penned them. Unfortunately, it is often when such an influential writer dies that the living, whether they also became writers or went into other professions, that we suddenly remember what such a personage did for us.

     Let me give a scenario, despite others' ideas about me, I was a poor student while in grade school. Often sickly, I would miss enough days that would put me behind certain subjects. Therefore, from 6th grade to 10th grade (with at least two summers I did well enough), I was in summer school. In 1986, I had to attend summer school (sequentially) for the first time. Because it was a private school tied in with a religious denomination, this it did not offer a summer school program, and therefore, I had to attend a middle school near the elementary school where my mom taught.

     This particular middle school was in a rough neighborhood and had some rough children. I understood the work because it was not sixth-grade but actually 4-5th level. I also did not dress as my classmates did. This wasn't my neighborhood. I didn't speak like them. My parents made sure I always had $2. My classmates hated me for this. I was bullied every day. Eventually, our class went on the prerequisite trip to the school library. I was in heaven. At this time, maybe others have noticed this, but, a lot of YA (Young Adult) novel front covers often had photographs with models posing a scene from the story, or, realistic paintings. Mostly, though, I noticed they used real people.

     Paperbacks were often on spinning racks then and the school libraries were no exception. One particular cover struck me with its blonde teen girl, sitting in an armchair with her whole body curled in it. Her unnerving stare at the reader and a ghostly image of a little girl in blue floating behind her.

From Jezebel.com 

     This looks really cool! I thought and immediately rushed to the check-out desk. I received snide remarks and under-the-breath "nerd" comments, but I didn't care.
I began to read the novel "A Gift of Magic" and was sucked in by Duncan's use of flashback, memory, and especially how her protagonist, a teenage girl with psychic abilities navigated her life. Often interested in the supernatural growing up, psychic phenomenon has often fascinated me. I credit "A Gift of Magic" for my first time reading about psychic powers. And though I have since digested other stories dealing with this subject, and perhaps, have dealt with it better, Duncan's "A Gift of Magic" was sincere, non-condescending, and a good read during a difficult moment in my childhood that I can't recommend it enough.

Salute to Sergeant Welsh!

In eight days, my dad's birthday will be here. This month, specifically Feb. 23 is when we lost him. This month will mark nine years that my father passed away!

He was an indelible part in our lives and personally in mine. Being the youngest, I ended up being raised mostly by him in early childhood because he had retired while I was in third-fourth grade. This put me in a unique position because I received much of his life story, his time in Jamaica's army, his personal politics, his views on the world as well as his reading habits. Especially on his worldview and his reading.

My father was opinionated and vocally expressed his thoughts. This colored my sense of self as a storyteller. It also affected my writing on an almost cellular level, giving me strong political and social ideas at a young age.

When I write, I am in a place of  sacredness. It took years to realize that once in the middle of creating, I honor my earthly father and what he left me. To be a scholar, to question always, not to take history for granted, or to let others take advantage of me. This February, I have much to accomplish. I have the ideas and questions that fuel a writer's spirit and keeps the inertia at bay.

Here is a link to the Memorial blog post for my Dad. I hope you will enjoy:
http://inprettyprint.blogspot.com/2012/02/kenneth-l-welsh-feb-12-1923-feb-23-2007.html

Kenneth L. Welsh (Feb. 12, 1923 - Feb. 23, 2007)

Trickster. Joker. Storyteller. Historian.

I appreciate why I laugh. I appreciate a well-told punch line. I tell stories because I've been told stories. I learned to love History, not through class or in school, but by him. 

JFK Junior High Yearbook Pic  

Erudite. Outspoken. Well-spoken. Gentleman. Clotheshorse.

I enjoy speaking to the wise. I try my best to express well my opinion, and have the knowledge to back it up. I learned to be a lady, I try. I appreciate fine clothing and take pride in how I present myself.

My father was a man of many words and every word carried weight.
Friends and family gathered round when he spoke. Loved ones still miss his wisdom, Domino buddies still call out his name.

He was funny with a straight face. Even those closest to him weren't sure whether he joked or was serious.

He delivered wisdom as a seasoned professor. He could argue as a lawyer. He knew more politics than veteran politicians, yet he hated the games played by government.
In a single afternoon, a person could learn the progression of a nation, its culture, its language, its religions and legislative bodies. How that nation began, its ancient names, if any, and where that nation leads the world in modern times.

My father read encyclopedias as novels.
He filled our New York apartment and then Florida house with several encyclopedia sets.
He was just as comfortable reading "Beetle Bailey" as he was with "One-hundred Years of Solitude".
He could recite childhood and army anecdotes as he could with the entire poem, "The Sea-King's Burial".*

He was our Dad, and on this Anniversary, he has been gone seven years. And we all still miss him.

Sergeant Welsh, we SALUTE you.

*NOTE: Google this poem. It's an epic poem and not 'epic' as we use the word today.