By Jonathan Anthony Burkett

In March 1993, a month after my sixth birthday, I left the only home I had ever known. I went from a hill in Westmoreland, Jamaica, to the busy streets of Miami. This is that day as I remember it, through the eyes of the little boy I was.

A visitor from Miami

I was born in Miami, but I was sent to Jamaica as a baby to grow up with my grandparents. To me, they were my mother and father. I never expected anyone to come and take me away.

Then, in March 1993, my mother’s husband arrived in Jamaica, and I believe my grandparents had not known he was coming. He and my mother had recently married, and he had come to take me home to Miami. He spoke Spanish. My grandfather’s father had been Cuban, but no one in our family spoke Spanish anymore.

Saying goodbye

Over the next few days, I had to say goodbye to my cousins, aunts, uncles and friends, and then to the people I loved most.

My great-grandmother, who lived up the hill and was always quietly watching over me, gave me a big hug. She told me she loved me and asked me never to forget her.

My grandmother told me to go to Miami and respect and love my parents the same way I loved my grandparents.

Then I hugged my grandfather, the man everybody called "Doctor," my best friend and my superman. I told him, “When I come back, you better be here.” He answered, “OK, as long you respect your mother and father.”

I did not know then how much weight those words would carry. My grandfather passed away in November 1996, a few days before I came back to Jamaica for a visit. He was not there when I came back. I write about that in the story of his funeral.

My first flight

I had never been on an airplane. The pain in my ears made me sick during the flight. When the plane landed safely, all the passengers applauded and smiled. Everyone except me.

A country with no trees

Walking through the Miami airport, I could hardly believe what I saw. Every man had shoes on his feet. There were electronics and computers everywhere. The walls were painted in nice colors, everything was clean, and everything was organized. In my book I wrote, “It reminds me of my grandmother, I thought.”

Then we went outside, and I could not see a single tree or bush. I honestly wondered where the food came from if nothing was growing. I wrote that I saw “nothing but chaos”: cars everywhere, horns blowing and people shouting for taxis.

All I wanted was to go back to my great-grandmother, my grandmother and my grandfather.

Then a car pulled up and my mother stepped out. She said nothing to me. She stared at me with a mean face the whole ride. I did not even know who she was at first. I guessed she was a family friend.

What came next, and what I learned

The years that followed in Miami were the hardest of my life. I lived with neglect and abuse at home, and for a long time I felt unwanted. I tell that story plainly in my memoir, Neglected But Undefeated, because children who are hurting need to know they are not alone.

If a child is in immediate danger, call 911. In the U.S., the Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline is 1-800-422-4453.

When I think about that six-year-old boy at the Miami airport, I see a child who needed a few simple things. If you are welcoming a child into a new home or a new country, here is what I would ask of you:

• Introduce yourself. A child should never have to guess who the adult picking them up is.
• Explain what is happening. Big changes are less frightening when someone tells you what comes next.
• Honor where they came from. Their language, their food and the people they love back home are part of who they are.
• Let them stay connected. A phone call or a letter to the family they left can mean everything.
• Be warm on day one. A smile and a kind word at the airport can set the tone for years.

My grandmother sent me off with a simple lesson: love the people in front of you the way you love the people you left. Children can only do that when the adults around them make room for love too.

Keep reading the journey

That airport was the start of a long road, but it was not the end of my story. In the poem that opens my memoir, I describe myself standing here today “Neglected but undefeated” and “Striving to succeed” on a pathway of victory. If you want to read the whole journey, from that hill in Jamaica to the life I am building now, you can find my memoir on the Books page. And if you know a child who has just moved to a new place, reach out to them this week and ask how they are really doing.

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