I was born in Brooklyn, New York on July 12, 1967. My mother was born in Jamaica and my father was born in Cuba but raised in Jamaica. Most of my childhood years, I considered myself Jamaican because I was proud of my West Indian heritage and culture. .
Most of my younger years were all a blank to me. I do remember one morning, about the age of four or five. I was lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling when all of a sudden my ears popped, just like when your ear pops after flying an airplane. That's when I began remembering my first days of life and seeing my two older sisters, and older brother. The only thing that I could remember before that day was when I was playing in Jamaica. I was playing on a dirt trail, when a black car blew its horn. That same black car pulled up right next to the house where I was staying. A white lady with blonde hair exited her vehicle and went into her house. All of the children from the neighborhood knew her and ran to her yard. Shortly afterwards she came out her house and let the kids into her yard to pick grapes. I was too small to reach them, so I remembered her picking me up so I could pick a fair amount. After everyone grabbed enough grapes she piled us into her car and drove us up and down the trail. It seemed like every kid from the neighborhood was in the car. Every bump we hit shook our heads back and forth. We had so much fun that day. Until this day I will never forget that ride. I can still picture that car in my mind and it reminds of a Model T Ford. The first type of car, Ford put out for production back in the thirties. .
I was the youngest of four siblings. My oldest sister named Paulette was the quiet one. The second oldest sister named Pelrique was mean. The third oldest is my brother named Clyde, who taught me tough love by beating me up on a daily basis. My only defense from getting beat up from them was to run to mommy.