I grew up without a father. Without a role model to accompany me on my journey to becoming a young man. I grew up in Saint Catherine, Jamaica, and I became fatherless on July 11, 2012. My father was a leader; he was highly respected and loved his family. So with that said, July 11 was like any other day. I woke up to the sound of my mother’s voice telling me that it was time to get up. I walked into the living room, all my family members scattering like ants before leaving for work and school. I favored the smell of starch from the freshly ironed uniform my mother prepared for me. Then my father headed out, planting a kiss on each of our foreheads before leaving. This was my norm.

By the time he and my sister left, I knew it was my cue to start getting ready for school. I remember my father helping me tie my first perfect tie, after assisting me with putting on my uniform without unnecessarily creasing it. He was a perfectionist. I remember that so vividly. After he left, my mother took over. I mean, she didn’t do it as well, but it still looked decent nonetheless. After being clothed, I sat down in the living room to eat the porridge my mother had prepared me for breakfast. Before I knew it, I heard the honk of my designated school bus, alerting me to come outside. Before I left my mother behind, I gave her a hug and a kiss on both cheeks.

On the drive to school, I looked out the windows seeing the same tropical palm trees I did every day – but for some reason today just felt off. By the time we pulled up to school I was sick to my stomach. 

I decided to ignore it and go on with my day. There I was, like any other day sitting in a classroom with a group of my friends cracking jokes. Nothing felt the same, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Nearing the end of my day, I was startled by the stern voice of my principal over the intercom, “Jadon, report the main office immediately.” I was taunted by my classmates, whispers of “He must’ve done something bad” and “Ooo, he’s in trouble,” I was annoyed but obeyed the principal’s request.

I got to the principal’s office and there was my school bus driver waiting for me.

“Your mother requested that I pick you up from school,” he said.

“Why, what’s the reason?” I questioned.

He did not reply, and I tried to think nothing of it and enjoy getting out of school earlier than the other students. Not one word was said to me on the way back home. I got there, slid the van door open and slammed it shut.

I approached the gate of my verandah and was stunned by the amount of people there. My mother opened the gate and greeted me. She looked lackadaisical, along with the 40 other eyes lifelessly staring through me. She hugged me and I could hear the worry in her voice as she whispered, “J, daddy died. He was murdered.” I looked at her in disbelief. My sister pulled me by the arm and took me inside. I hugged her so tight, suddenly afraid to lose her too. We cried continuously, left with nothing but the comfort of each other’s arms supplying us with the strength to stay standing. I forgave the murderer that same day. Although he left my family in complete agony, I learned to forgive him, but I will never forget.

Two years later, we moved to Queens, New York, because of my   mom’s job. I was gifted with an opportunity to start fresh, experience a life without my dad, which was hard. But my dear mother allowed for a smooth transition which steered me into the great young man I am today. I learned to overcome the devastating loss. My father wasn’t there to teach me how to shoot my first basket, but I learned, didn’t I? He didn’t teach me how to deal with the breakup between my first love and I, but I learned the hard way, didn’t I? I learned how to drive, I learned how to shave, I learned how to fight without him. I had six great birthdays without him. Before he died, my father used to always tell me that I’ll be able to go everywhere with him once I was older, but I had lost out on all those father-son experiences. How dare he leave me so soon? But you know what? I’m gonna get through college without him, I’m gonna marry me a beautiful sweetheart, and I’ll make something outta myself.

I often reminisce, but I manage to pull myself together. It pains me to hear someone blame who they are as a person on past events that occurred in their life. I get that some people have rough childhoods and situations that they are faced with. They claim that that’s why they are the way that they are. But at some point you have to take accountability for your actions. You have to make the decision to better yourself. Someone once said to me, you’ll never change your life until you change something you do daily, and the secret of your success is found in your daily routine. You have to depart from the idea that your past defines you, because that is incorrect. The only thing that defines you is you yourself, so just make the best of life with what you've got.