Developing the Song

Mr. Wilson began by sharing the story about a little boy he knew very well. To him, it was a real story that he had to tell many times over. It wasn't like one of those stories that parents or teachers had to make up to teach a type of lesson or moral. He knew it very well, and he began like any other time ...

The little boy, Damion, was born in the city of Kingston, on a tiny island called Jamaica, many years ago. The city of Kingston had many tall buildings with many windows that were packed together like little Lego blocks in a box or on the carpets of little kids' living room floors. It had many streets – small and large – between buildings and along walkways. Some were dark and gloomy and others were bright and looked well-maintained because the trees were cut and they were always clean. Most of them were numbered and, when that was not enough, the city gave some of them names after some important people who lived a long time ago. A few of those important people ruled the city back in the days when segregation was legal and prejudices seemed normal. People had to know their places, where they were from by way of looking in the mirror at their faces, their skin, and their family. Kids were not allowed to do certain things and they had so many questions. Damion's mom had gone through the final stages of such experiences as a child and her parents told her about the times before she came. The city had emerged from that type of reality and people had only to work hard for what they wanted and believed in in order to be remembered.

That was the story Damion's mother told him when he asked her about the buildings and the streets. The city was beautiful to him, especially at Christmas time or in the evening when night was approaching. He and his mom would take the stairs all the way up to the last floor of the City Hall building, just to see the lights turning on and the last ray of the sun as it passed over the city and buildings. Damion loved it. He told his mom how beautiful it was and how he wanted to stay there forever. They only could make the trip once a week on a Friday afternoon because, for one, it wasn't easy climbing those stairs, and two, his mom worked very hard until late. She would get home late and tired almost every evening, except for Fridays because she got off early.

The rooftop time was their moment together, and his mom would tell him several stories about her life and friends, and how she was longing to travel the world. Some were happy and others brought tears to his mom's eyes. Once, when they were enjoying the sunset on the roof, his mom told him why she moved from her little town to the city. She had to leave, at first, because she had to go to college; and then, she got a job and started working in the city. Overtime, she didn't bother to return, not even to visit her own parents. Damion asked her why; but she would say "it's difficult to talk about, but one of these days I'll tell you."

Sometimes he would ask about his dad. He didn't see him around. He was never there, never present. His mom told him that he had a father, but he was living in another town. She did mention a name of a town but Damion was more interested in the reasons why he was not there rather than the name of a town. For some unknown reason, that wasn't important at the time. It probably had to do with the capacity of his little brain. He could only focus on the immediate, what was significant to him and the rest was for a later time. And when his mom told him that she had a complicated life, he just understood right away, or for a little moment, and didn't bother to question it. The word 'complicated' was easy to just get off the surface, because he refused to dig into it and make things 'more complicated' for himself and his mom. That was probably what his mom thought when she looked at an eleven year old boy (he thought to himself). She told him, nonetheless, she had the complicated life when she came to the city to go to school.

Damion didn't understand the word "complicated" in terms of family and relationships. His mom got frustrated and sometimes lost for words when he pressed the issue because he needed to fill the gaps in his own story. Damion's story had begun to take shape in his mind, and he often wondered about where he came from. He saw his mom and he had been around her since he became conscious of himself; but he had never seen his father. So, the questions of his beginning became obvious to him to mention; at least for a while on his way from school or while climbing the stars to the rooftop on a Friday evening.

Over time, Damion suppressed the thought of asking about his dad. The obvious questions like, why was he not there? Or when was he coming home? went deep down in a recessive place, inside of him. Damion couldn't describe that place but he knew it existed because certain types of emotions would surface from there. The idea of wanting to know more about his origins would also surface from that place. The obvious question about family would come out most times. So, he knew very well that one day he would have to deal with that unknown place of questions. His mother told him he looked just like his dad though, and that was what he kept with him thinking about the image of a father every time he looked in the mirror or walked across the living room in his little suits, or ever so often his mom would call him "little man". He was like chocolate-brown in complexion. Not too dark looking but with a speck of caramel. Color wasn't a factor to him and he was too young to associate any difficulties with it. Nonetheless, he owned that about him because it was a mix between his mom, which was a physical reminder that he belonged, and his father he did not see around. It made him feel comfortable with himself.

Damion and his mother had everything, or so he thought, because he wasn't in need of anything that was necessary. He had a meal on the table every night in the little house he shared with his mom, his aunt and a man he was told to call his uncle. This uncle was his aunt's husband who he knew for as long as he could remember – not that he was living very long; but they were always living together. His aunt didn't really work that much and her husband used to stay out late at nights. Damion didn't have time to ask them about their day or where they work. He cared more about getting his class projects done and homework assignments. He wasn't brilliant by no means, but he worked very hard on his school work.

At the time, Damion was eleven years old and life, as he knew it, had not started yet. He had to be reminded to do so many little things. Like making his bed in the mornings, or taking out the garbage on a Tuesday for garbage pickup. Though simple, he had to be reminded and that's when his mom raised her voice. He would try to change for a few days so that she would let him watch his favorite show on Saturday mornings. Even though it was only 30 minutes long, it was a great show of science experiments and the earth as the most awesome planet. It made Damion feel and think like a scientist, and he loved it. He saw himself as being the center of everything – his mother's life, the little house, the world. He was young and...