By Jonathan Anthony Burkett
My earliest memories live on a hill in Westmoreland, Jamaica. I stayed there with my grandmother, my great-grandmother and my grandfather until I was six years old. I remember so much of that time for a simple reason: those were the best times of my life.
The shop in front of our house
Our family ran a shop in front of the house. We sold a lot of things, including liquor and beer, and everybody knew my grandmother because of it.
My grandmother, Lynn Burkett, was always smiling. In my book I wrote, “She was always smiling and telling me to be thankful for what I have and for those I have in my life who are there for me every day.”
As a child, I could not understand how she could be so thankful when we had so little money. My cousins and uncles mostly talked about making money, and because of that, I was young and “thinking life was all about getting rich” myself.
My great-grandmother on the hill
My great-grandmother lived up the hill and hardly came down. She was always trying to teach me what was good and what was bad.
Whenever I misbehaved, she found her way down, took me back up with her and made me sit beside her in silence while she looked down at what everyone else was doing. That was her way of teaching right from wrong.
From Johnny to "Bad Boy Johnny"
In Jamaica I was called Johnny or Jack. Then I started doing bad things, and the streets gave me a new name: Bad Boy Johnny.
A rough Jamaican male attitude came out in me. I went from quiet to loud and full of energy. I took fruit and vegetables from the neighbors’ yards. My grandfather, who everybody called "Doctor," would help me out of trouble and then sit me down and talk about what I had done wrong.
I also loved to be outside. I walked the streets and climbed the hills because I loved nature and staying active. I did not care much for television, but I loved watching dancehall tapes, and that is how I learned to dance.
Four hands on the steering wheel
My grandfather was always on the go, helping family and friends around Westmoreland, and I went everywhere with him. He drove people around like a taxi driver.
The video game Mario Kart was not enough for me. I wanted to drive for real. So I sat on Doctor’s lap and grabbed the steering wheel while he worked the gas and the brake. The music played, I moved and jumped up and down, and there were four hands on the steering wheel. The passengers always looked scared. I would laugh and tell them, “Don’t worry. We know how to drive, and we’ll get you there soon.”
Today, of course, we know a child belongs buckled in a proper seat, not behind the wheel. But to a little boy, those rides were time with my best friend.
Food, music and rain at the crossroads
I wrote, “I loved being in Jamaica because of the food, and the long nights of music, dancing, and freedom.” My aunts, uncles and cousins fed me and made me feel wanted and appreciated every single day.
The best part of the year was hurricane season. Our community sat high on a hill, and before or after a storm the crossroads filled up with boys and girls, young and old. Everyone gathered there for hours of long showers in the rain. I wrote about those days, “Those times were some of the best times in my life and, I feel, may always be the happiest times.”
At school it was a different story. In my first year I felt locked up in the classroom. I did not like sitting still for so long, so I misbehaved, and sometimes the teacher sat me in the corner. The two things I loved at school were football (soccer) and cricket.
Not everything I saw was happy. As a young child I saw violent street fights, and they gave me nightmares. At church I learned about heaven and hell. Life on the hill was not perfect, but I was loved there, and a loved child can carry a lot.
What that hill gave me
In March 1993, a month after my sixth birthday, I left Jamaica to live in Miami. The years that followed were very hard, and I tell that story in my memoir. But the hill in Westmoreland gave me things no one could take away:
- Gratitude from my grandmother, who was thankful with very little.
- Discipline from my great-grandmother, who taught me right from wrong in silence.
- Love you can feel from my grandfather, my superman.
- Belonging from a whole family that fed me and made me feel wanted.
- Joy in simple things: rain, music, dancing, football and the open hills.
If you grew up somewhere like that, hold on to it. If you are raising children now, remember that what they will treasure most may not cost much at all. A smile, a seat beside you, a ride together and a meal with family can become a memory that lasts a lifetime.
This is only the beginning of my story. If you want to read how a boy from that hill in Westmoreland made it through everything that came next, you can find my memoir Neglected But Undefeated on the Books page. And if you have your own memories of Jamaica, take a minute today to write one down before it fades.
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