The home my family occupied after we moved to Kingston was
situated along the route taken by dignitaries on their way to
Jamaica House, the Prime Minister's official residence. As a result
of this fortuitous bit of luck, we never had to join the throng at
the airport eagerly awaiting Queen Elizabeth, Emperor Haile
Selassie or other important visitors to our island; we merely had
to wait by our gate for the motorcade and wave furiously as they
drove by, escorted by the police and a line of other official
cars.
I was a teenager then and although the excitement was
undeniable, other issues held my attention. Jamaica was changing,
an independent country gradually shedding the mantle of colonialism
and on the cusp of forging a new identity. The Black Green and Gold
was everywhere along with a sense of pride and all the
possibilities the future held and I needed to find my place in this
new country. Little did I know then how much my life would change,
that in time I would be a part of that inner circle greeting
official guests to Jamaica and meeting with the Prime Minister at
his residence.
This then is my story, written not only as an observer but an
active participant in events of the still unfolding tale that is
Jamaica. To my humble parents who without treasure gave the best
they had to give, a love that has solidified the bond between their
children; to my wife and sons and finally to the men and women of
the Jamaica Defense Force with whom I served proudly for more than
half of my life. And to the active soldiers and reservists who
continue to serve in this their finest calling, to defend the honor
of their country.
General
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