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Growing up on Curaçao
I
dreamt of my father last night . It was not the first or the last time but it was definitely the first time I dreamt of him since his death this past February . I am yet to experience that break down everyone tells me is coming , that deep pain you ’ re supposed to feel at the loss of a parent but my father always taught us that death was part of life and not to be afraid or sad , once it happened . I ’ d much rather think back on the happy times we shared with this man who was so strict , yet such a great dad . My dream just brought back much of those happy memories of what my childhood was like , growing up on a Caribbean island .
I was born on a Friday in 1975 on the island of Curacao . Born to island parents that were anxiously expecting their first child , most probably conceived on their short honeymoon . I was planned and I was loved from the moment I was conceived and even though they probably didn ’ t know what they were doing , as new parents usually don ’ t , they still did their very best to raise me and my 3 siblings in the best way they knew how . By the time my youngest sister came around they were pros and all the lessons they taught me went out the window and the
The family vacationing in Bonaire
rules were much more laid back than when I was growing up , much to my chagrin . My younger siblings got away with a lot more than I ever did .
Still , I wouldn ’ t trade my island childhood for the world . It was a traditional Curaçao middle class childhood . My dad worked , my mom stayed at home with us and we had a nanny from Dominica that helped my mom around the house . It could not have been easy raising 4 rug-rats but she and the nanny who became like our second mom , did well . Pluma , was her name and she was much more stern than my mom was and would