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For some reason we agreed to dine<br />
at a Carrabas restaurant closest to the<br />
highway. With a welcoming smile and a<br />
friendly disposition the hostess<br />
(Caucasian/white) escorted us<br />
(black/colored as my dad, a product of<br />
the '60s would say) to a table.<br />
“Can I get you guys anything to drink?”<br />
she asked.<br />
“Water, please,” James responded. She<br />
continued around the table taking our<br />
orders.<br />
“Ready to order?” she later asked.<br />
“I’ll have the salmon and mashed<br />
potatoes,” James ordered.<br />
And much like all the other patrons – a<br />
diverse group might I add – James sat<br />
to partake of his meal until he was<br />
done (and… yes they accepted our<br />
money.<br />
I didn’t ask him how that felt. In fact, I<br />
didn’t have to. The look on his face<br />
conveyed content, happiness and<br />
gratitude. We and [he] will forever be<br />
grateful that he made that trip.<br />
Witnessing our dad get excited about<br />
the place he once labored long before<br />
any of us were born was simply<br />
sublime.<br />
Although we had hoped that he would<br />
spend at least 6 months with us, two<br />
months into his vacation he was ready<br />
to go back to St. Lucia. There is no<br />
doubt that he loves us dearly and if he<br />
could be in two places at once he<br />
would. But, he is an islander, an older
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