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I grew up in a fairyland. St. Croix, Virgin Islands, to be exact.
Of course growing up in a small caribbean island, which is depicted by a mere dot on the map, could be a simple, if joyous, experience.
As a child I viewed everything through a rainbow haze. The tall coconut trees were ‘splashed' neon green towers swaying gently over silver streaks of diamond-coated sea waters - the Caribbean Sea. The island's economy thrived on tourism and we exchanged visits with our other "eleven thousand sister islands".
Natives conversed freely in open market places using their own slang version of English which they called ‘Patua'. They were a ‘colorful, laid-back, never in a rush' kind of people. There was never a great urgency to be at a certain place at a given time. Contented to hang out at the market place they would exchange greetings amidst much bargaining for "yucca", soursapp and "sugarapples". So was born the coined phrase ‘Cruzan time'. At night a balmy breeze would caress the many tropical flowers and brushes that abound in the island. Then the golden moon and fiery stars set against a black velvet backdrop would sneak out to play in the dancing cystalline waters below.
It was eternally summer on the island where the biggest decision centered around which lagoon to visit that Sunday. It didn't matter much to us surrounded by all that clear blue water that many of use couldn't swim one stroke.
"Island hopping" from one island to another was done on sea-planes which we good-naturedly referred to as the "goose". Christmas was a long-winded affair with parades, much street dancing, steel bands and nightly visits to the wharf to see the "village" and sample the native cuisine.
Hurricanes were a constant threat and worry to the older natives, but a fresh breath of adventure for us kids.
There were two theaters, two hospitals, two towns, (Christiansted and Fredriksted) and one main street (in Christiansted). I lived on Company Street. School was a twelve-room, two-level building which served the first through twelfth grades. No changing classes between subjects. Our teachers were strict no-nonsense Catholic nuns from Belgium, ready at the first infraction to apply ruler to knuckles.
Saturdays, my aunt and I would walk leisurely to the stores to get ‘sewing material' so she could sew me a pretty ‘frock' to wear to Church on Sunday . The island stores were a small family affair, where the store owners (husband and wife) were the ones behind the counter. They would greet us like one of the family. If there were teenage children, they would also be involved in the family business. My aunt would look for the best bargains while catching up on the latest happenings. There would be more bargaining and my aunt usually came home with enough material to sew two Sunday outfits.
Some Sundays after church we would have a family reunion at Cramer's Park, the largest and most populated beach park on the island. There we would meet with long lost cousins, out-of- town aunts and uncles who were visiting, grandparents, mothers, dads and children; lots of children. The kids would be ‘watched' by all the grown-ups around. There would be music and plenty of food. Our uncles would dig a long ditch in the sand and fill it with coal so we could roast a pig. It seemed to take hours. But when it was done, it was the best "lechon" we ever had.
We were not allowed back in the water for an hour after eating, much to our chagrin.
I knew with certainty that every child grew up on an enchanted island just like mine. I knew the world was made up of tiny little islands, just like where I lived. And then I happened to study geography and learned that there were tall buildings in other parts of the world known as skyscrapers. Wonder of wonders!! Could this be? I looked at the pictures and could not comprehend how buildings could grow so tall out of the ground. I wanted to go and see these skyscrapers for myself. I wanted to know how people could live in these ‘things'.
It took a few years from the time I first discovered these amazing towers to my arriving in Chicago - land of the skyscrapers. With that discovery came a few others. I discovered snow and cold. Our island's temperature was usually in the mid to high 80's. Pizza was not among the island's vocabulary at the time. "You eat this stuff?" I asked my sister, a true Chicagoan having lived there for five good years. And the Easter bunny must have hopped right over us on his yearly trek across the globe. I found out about the little fellow years later after moving to Chicago.
Wonderful times! But I remember them with a kind of sad nostalgia in my heart; A kind of yearning - something lost that can never be regained.
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