The Isolation of First Generation

In my recollection of the incident, I was probably 11 years old, and the time of day was most certainly prior to noon. What I don’t remember clearly are details such as: was I the only one present? Was this the first time my mother said this to me? Was this the last time? Grant it, these questions are somewhat superfluous to the issue itself, but it intrigues me that my memory only holds the words, not the context, of this personally momentous event.

My mother said, “I will not speak to you until your teeth are brushed!” At the time, her statement would have only a causal, seemingly insignificant, relationship to me. The implicit, “Go brush your teeth,” caused me to go and brush my teeth. This, in turn, would later increase my teeth-brushing compulsion and breath-cleanliness obsession. And then about a year ago, I began to painfully interpret this as my mother’s conditional love, despite her frequent protests of unconditional adoration towards all her children. And then, a few weeks ago, a new understanding arose; my mother was only passing on what had been taught to her: proper human beings should brush their teeth, first thing in the morning. This is not the American way; this is the Jamaican way. It wasn’t a preference; it was an imperative. My mother “shoulded” on me.

Most of my friends in America generally brush their teeth after they eat breakfast or drink their coffee in the morning. This is not the case with Jamaicans. Jamaicans brush their teeth first thing in the morning. I grew up with this standard, and I continue this standard today. (I’ve even taken it a little bit further: I brush twice before I eat, and once after I eat my breakfast.) But why did I interpret teeth-brushing as an indictment of my mother’s conditional love, and more importantly, what does teeth-brushing have to do with anything more significant than having white pearlies?

I love my mother. And, my mother’s love is conditional. However, teeth-brushing is neither a fair nor accurate example of this conditional status. I suspect that recently I’ve interpreted teeth-brushing as an example of my mother’s conditional love because I needed to understand my state of despair. Who really loves me? Do I feel loved by my mother? Where do I belong? These and other questions were plaguing me. But, I digress.

Teeth-brushing is a metaphor for what the experience of adaptation and assimilation must be like for many 1st generation children, including myself. We are caught in the vortex of two separate worlds, left on our own accord to decipher what things to keep, what things to file away, and what things get tossed aside. The burden of being 1st generation is a weight too often glossed over, yet, it affects the very core of all of us who are in this position. I am making a new path of what it means to be Jamerican. I do not completely fit in with Jamaicans, nor do I completely understand the American way of being. I am both, and sometimes I am neither.

I think about my 1st generation status as a symbol for all who have been forced to create their own niche within the environment in which they live; the individuals who willfully or unknowingly march to their own drum; the warriors who turned around to walk against the crowd; the despised poets; the fringed politicians; the fevered zealots and the nomadic sojourners; the women and men who have echoed the sentiments of harmony against all forms of oppression; the jazz musician in a classical band. Here’s to you – a toast – wherever you go and may be, for making my life what it is – less alone – and here’s a wink and nod with the knowledge that this path may lead to our own crucifixion or liberation; or maybe, just perhaps, a little of both.