Tales of adventure and romantic fantasies of a life lover. Live Boldly!
Father’s Day makes me sad. . I hear a lot of men bemoan the fact that when Mother’s Day comes around there is always a big fuss but Father’s Day seems to go unnoticed. There is a a reason for that – there are apparently more mothers than there are fathers.
At 60 Aunt Marie was a tall, rail thin impeccably dressed woman with close cropped hair and smooth ebony skin. Her features were narrow with the arched eyebrows and sharp cheekbones of a supermodel. She had carefully painted red lips, a brisk manner and the kind of sharp-eyed gaze that dug into you. She certainly looked the part of the successful executive. Nicole had envisioned a warm welcome but the perfunctorily cheek she was offered in greeting dispelled any ideas she had of bonding.
Marie, as she preferred to be called, lived on the second floor of a beautifully appointed two-bedroom brownstone in Prospect Park. Nicole was offered dinner and quizzed about her parents and her flight. The critical way Marie continuously ran her eyes over her as she spoke, gave Nicole the impression that she did not meet with her approval. For the first time in her life she actually cared what someone thought about her. The feeling rankled, she was not used to feeling intimidated by anyone, but somehow that’s exactly how she felt around Marie!
Born in Jamaica to a half Chinese Jamaican mother and a black Jamaican father, Nicole was the apple of her daddy’s eye and her mother Ivy’s miracle baby. Ivy had long since given up on ever having children, when she found herself pregnant with her first child after ten years of marriage, she couldn’t believe her good fortune.
By the time Nicole turned sixteen she realized that she did not have much in common with girls her age. She spent her free time reading fashion magazines, sketching and designing outlandish costumes. The frivolous pursuits of her schoolmates were of no interest to her.
Continue reading “Nicole’s Story Prt 1”