by Jason D Hill

Created on: November 01, 2008

Jamaica Preacher Man

It is 1975. I'm sitting with my father in the sofa-like front seat of his father's car which he's borrowed to take me for a ride. Just the two of us. It's a red car of some make; a 1960-something Vauxhall. I'm ten years old.

My father smells of coconut oil. He always smells goodfresh, earthy and natural. We've just come from a long drive where he told me to just be who I want to be.

"You were cut out to be a writer and a poet. Don't get sidetracked into thinking you have to be a lawyer or any of that nonsense," he says.

He's been on this mission to save my poetic soul. His mother has been paying for my private tutor in math and algebra, and he keeps telling me not to waste my time, that I'll never need math "because the soul of a poet transcends the exactitude of mathematics. You'll never be one of those persons trapped in arid mental categories."

In the car we're silent. We're looking at the floor. He edges closer and puts his arm around me. The aroma of coconut oilwhich he'd always used to tan his really pasty skin, so now it's a rich bronze and glows a little as I look up, sadly, into his green eyesmingles with his sweat. I can see my granddad, my mother's father seething on the front porch.
Everyone's thought of my dad as a real loser, a bum who can't hold a job. He can give his children a lot of hugs and kisses, and he sings really well to them, but boy, he sure can't support them financially. That job's been left to my mother.

Yesterday he spontaneously dropped by and said: "J, ask for anything you want. Anything in the whole wide world."

"I want a lemon meringue pie."

Ten minutes later he comes by with the biggest pie I'd ever seen. I eat it right there on the spot.

We're still looking on the floor of the car and I know that he's going to say something that will make us very sad. He's just emancipated me from a lifetime of school drudgery (I don't ever have to do math, I can skip classes and read novels and poetry), and now he's going to spoil it with bad news. I can sense it. The silence is unbearable. He begins to weep. Silently. He moves in closer. His body is trembling a little bit. I see his right ankle twitching in his Jesus sandal. Beads of sweat are breaking out on his legs, and he's toying with the pleats in his denim shorts.

He says: "I love you, Jason. I love you so much. I love you more than anything and anyone else."

I feel numb and sad at the same time. I feel lonely and confused. I want to hug him back, but I just sit there looking

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