One of the most painful days of my life occurred when I was about 13 years of age. My father and his wife were both in the City of Bristol. Although they lived in the borough of Slough, one of the suburbs of London, they came to Bristol periodically to do people’s hair. At the time, Blacks had not yet begun a serious exploration of their own cultural and racial roots. Therefore, the rage in England among West Indian Blacks was to get their hair straightened. Presumably, to look more like British Caucasians. This trend had started among Blacks living in the USA. At that time, my father and his wife were professional cosmetologists. When they traveled to my part of the country, they did so to make a financial killing. Because they had a large clientele. They traveled to other parts of the country populated by similar racial groups to do likewise.
My father owned a black poodle. I’ve often wondered why? Concluding that he was just another insecure simpleton. Desperately attempting to look ‘white’ by suddenly adopting one of the cultural norms of a British Caucasian aristocrat. I had seen this behavior before among my friends from the country that used to be known as Persia (Iran). Some were suddenly smoking pipes, wearing a hat, and walking with a polished cane the same length as an umbrella. By doing so, they desperately tried to fit in a foreign country to conceal their true identity. It was, nevertheless, an exercise in futility because everything they did was so transparent.
Another painful experience was when his wife made me a promise that she failed to keep. She promised me a watch and said she would send my grandmother the money to purchase the present. Typical of a naive child, I believed her and embraced the promise, not knowing then that, as the saying goes, “A promise is a comfort to a fool.” Children, however, give adults a clean slate of unconditional trust until you prove to them that you are unworthy of their confidence. I waited patiently and repeatedly in vain. The days turned to weeks, and the weeks evaporated into months and years. As time progressed, my hopes for the long-awaited watch were gradually transformed into a profound and deep disappointment. More than sixty years later, the promised watch has failed to materialize. My father’s second wife repeatedly complained bitterly about his conduct. Still, now that I reflect upon their behavioral patterns, it’s obvious that “Birds of a feather flock together.” Both of them exhibited behavior of emotional callousness.
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