In any case,
Knowing about where I come from
Was never that important.
I admit without shame,
I never really cared.
My dad would always talk about Jamaica and even a little about Ireland,
But we were always tuning him out
By watching TV, listening to music, or just ignoring him.
Why did it matter?
I was still going to be “me” whether I knew about my heritage or not.

The only connection that I ever had to my dad’s side of the family was my great Uncle, Victor.
He spoke Patwah, the most common form of the Jamaican language.
I could barely understand him half the time.
He was always bringing over Jamaican patties and rum cake,
Every time Uncle Victor would come over, he made our home feel much happier,
There was never a time when we didn’t want to see him.

But when Uncle Victor passed away, everything changed.

I loved him with all of my heart.
Now I see that knowing where I come from helps me learn about the people I care about.
I might say,
Hearing everyone with those beautiful accents speak about my uncle and the times they had growing up with him really opened my eyes.
Now, in fact,
I might actually take a trip to Jamaica just to breath the air, see
The palm trees, gaze at the mountains, crack the coconuts, lay on the green grass, and the look at the sun
In a whole new light.
Heck, I might even see what Ireland is about.
And all this time I just thought I was black.
But now I feel like there is so much more to myself and my family than just a regular African American household living in Detroit, Michigan.

It’s about time I find out where I come from.