Today is my brother’s birthday. The older brother that everyone says I look like…except I am the better looking version, though we both look like Mommy so the standards were already set pretty high. In celebration of one more year of the Virgo, I thought I would celebrate by sharing some of my memories of Jamison growing up. First, let’s get it out of the way that he taught me to fight, and stand up for myself and is so far the only person to knock me unconscious, but I know that because of him, I can’t be beat, mostly because I can’t be scared or intimidated.

Now some of the legends.

I want to start with letting you all know that Jamison is one of the hardest working, loving people you could know and crazy loyal to friends and family, even if he acts tough. And though life has thrown him some curve balls, he always keeps going and I think the best way you can show how tough a person is, is by knowing where their limits lie. There are three times Jamison came home from work or stayed home.

Cow wasp: I came home midday and Jamison was supposed to be working at Commonwealth Bank. I entered the house and heard rummaging in the kitchen. I was unsure what to expect and called out asking “who in the kitchen?”

A muffled reply came back, but it was Jamison.
“aww, How come you home?” I asked as I walked into the kitchen.
As I enter the narrow doorway leading into the kitchen, Jamison’s lip comes around the fridge. He had been stung on his lip sometime that morning and could not go to work. The pitiful look in his eyes as he held the glass of ice said it all. To further illustrate his predicament he mumbled through the recitation of the morning’s events and my mind wandered to my fair lady when Eliza was trying to speak with the marbles in her mouth. Then I realized that with his glasses he looked like a poor Hollywood makeup rendition of the human version of Duckman. I lost it and laughed, between pity and amusement. But at any rate he went back to work the next day.

The next time I saw Jamison home he had already went to work. But he had come back and he was out on the porch with a cigarette and a glass of rum. His cigarette hand was obviously trembling and I have never seen Jamison shaken like that before, so I asked him “what happened?”>>>Jamison’s version
Jamison hears the Commonwealth bank office go quiet and comes out into the lobby as all the cashiers are standing away from the counter along the back wall. There is one man at the counter with his back to Jamison and Jamison approaches him to ask what is going on. The guy turns around with a “big ass knife” (direct quotes). Jamison disarms the would be robber and knocks him flat with his karate training that kicks in automatically. Police eventually show up to apprehend the subject and a manager sends Jamison home.

The crucial time Jamison came home was from university in the USA. When he went to college, he took lots of dreams and he would have been the first in our family to have a university education. Unfortunately, he was shot through the leg and came home. No degree, and with a tiny baby Kiamo. I can only imagine how that must have felt. Not just the physical, but the not knowing. Broke, unable to find employment, and with a new mouth to feed. But as soon as he was able, Jamison was out and on the hustle. He rose up through the security agency, and joined the banking industry and worked to do well by his kids.

But when we were young, Bovie and I would wait for Jamison to come home. He was working at McDonald’s and once in awhile, he would bring us happy meal toys or nuggets. That is something I would always remember. And when we would sandwich a mattress from the bunk bed between the bed and the wall and ride it like a horse. Thanks for coming home and hanging out with us. “Das my brudda” I love you Jamison.

Sincerely,
Ancilleno Davis, M.Sc.

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