On a particular day, after school, I came home to my dad laying in his room. I decided to come in and talk for a bit. The topic of my middle name came up.232Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡD0ZrHxe7yg
"Relva";232Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzKT9CdMVyZ
I had no idea what it meant or where it was from. Peter is clearly a European, christian name. It'd make sense seeing as Jamaica was conquered by Britain, and my father is catholic. Rose is obviously a flower and a pretty common last name in the western hemisphere. I cannot tell you the amount of times people would come up to me and ask me if I knew who "Pete Rose" was.232Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhTfZJmDNar
At one point in our lives, we barely spoke. I'd go into my room and he'd go into his. Seems that the only times we'd speak is when my mother was in the conversation. So it was somewhat awkward to be home alone, at times. It actually pretty ironic that my mother thought he had a better relationship with me than she did, and vice versa for my father.232Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRlqotc8uAl
My father, himself, had no idea what our middle name meant or of its origin. So, I asked why couldn't we just ask the one who gave it to us; Grandpa & Grandma Rose. My grandparents had an abundance of children. Five, to be exact. Although, that didn't stop my grandfather from leaving my grandmother and going to America. Throughout the years, the children heard of all the parties he was throwing and going to, all the enjoyment he was having. This created a deep resentment for him. Although, for whatever reason, he returned to Jamaica to see his family, once more. He'd heard his wife (or ex-wife) had gotten out of poverty, and bought a house in Waterford Kingston, Jamaica. So, when he returned to Jamaica, he stayed with his 'family'. During his stay in Jamaica, someone had been murdered and the body happened to be placed on the porch of house. The family hadn't lived in Waterford for very long, so of course, this was very troubling to them. We had no involvement in this matter. Although, that same night, the police surrounded the house, to question the family.232Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYOZperijv1
Apparently, when this whole event had happened. My father and Uncle Roderick had went out to a party. They'd enjoyed themselves and came back to the neighborhood at night time, in the very heat of the situation. My grandmother had told me this very same story from her own point of view and she had explained that
"If they had turned back, I knew they'd had shot them. Its a good thing them keep walking".232Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfucb1ATvCG
And so, they kept walking towards the house to avoid any conflict. They probably thought compliance was their best option. After all, law enforcement within the Caribbean islands is known for being incredibly corrupt. They were questioned for a few moments about their whereabouts and if they knew anything about the body that had been placed on their front lawn and porch. Of course, they knew nothing. A man, who my father described as the chief of police, told them to turn around and face the house. After this, everyone couldn't hear that he told the other men "Alright, shoot them". My grandmother heard this and didn't hesitate to rush to the porch to try to save her sons. She yelled and made noise loud enough Its best to assume that she thought if she could get the whole neighborhood on her side that the cops couldn't get away with it because there'd be too many witnesses. Remarkably, her plan had worked and the officers had to move away. 232Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPKJWfQg4Q9
And so, Peter & Roderick walked into the house to which Grandma slapped the shit out of them, one after the other. Mind you, these are her words, not mine.232Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡr8LOltU6OK
Rumor has it that slap mark is still there, faintly clinging to their faces. It's best to think this moment as an act of tough love. Once again, her words, not mine.232Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡi07B6AcdY0
This says a lot about law enforcement, as they didn't return to continue investigating the crime and discover who had killed a man and placed his body on our porch. 232Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡT9uMUnsZC2
After this whole situation had occurred, grandpa came out. He expressed how he realized how dangerous the environment was and that he would make it his top priority to get them out of Jamaica and bring them to America. So, Grandma and her children waited. As the story is being told, my father said "Of course, he never came back for us, but a part of me deep down just wish he'd of care more to even come back". I didn't know what to say to that. He sounded hurt, and he had all right to be. 232Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡI8GJ3L37QU
Keeping this in mind, I realize that a lot of my friends don't have their father in their lives. If anything, a lot them refer to their father as their "sperm donor", and have an undying love for their mother. Seems like a huge gynocentric bias to me. I'm 19, and my father 44 and I have a pretty good relationship with him. I wouldn't be here without him. I no longer have any major stress factors, he's helping me through college, and we talk on a regular basis, etc. Not many within my ethnic community can say that. 232Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7fcFDlPbLc
To this day, I question why my father doesn't hold much resentment of his own father like many of his siblings do. I've met my grandfather only once in my life, and that was for barely a few moments, and we never met eye to eye. I'm speaking on a literal basis. I actually never looked at his face, and don't even know what he looks like.232Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRBYQ62VM1m
We never found out what our middle name means, or of its origins. We even called Grandma, and she had no idea. I don't think on it much anymore. My appreciation for what he's done for me is enough for me to accept the name without question.232Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtRvrAegmwx
This just leaves me one question;
Why the hell would you pass on the name given to you by someone who abandoned you ?
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