Meeting My Birth Father: Morning

A quiet, warm, humid morning greeted me. I made my way up the labyrinth of Keith's home. I'm not in Fertile, MN anymore. 

I knocked on his door--there was no answer. I heard my name called and there was my father. Up the stairs he went, ready to meet me. Father had a casual yet serious demeanor. He was official with me with a mix of playfulness.

We talked about our lives. I told him how my mother died, where I went to school and the general overview of the past twenty-seven years of my life. At nineteen, he was to enter the ministry but fathered a child (one of seven) out of wedlock. His first child, Keith, was born. He lost an opportunity and signed on to the Air Force. My father was a pilot that traveled all over this world. Speaking to him was easy and I know he was apprehensive about meeting me.

We made a small trip to the butcher. For breakfast, he wanted me to try blood sausage and have some delicious rotis. As I suspected, the 'shacks' provided the best food over the snazzy, touristy restaurants. I ate many different types of meat and food while in St. Lucia. The owners allowed me to take some photographs of their shop. I've never seen blood sausage before. My mother had eaten blood porridge, a Filipino dish. Blood sausage does taste good but that 'bloody' taste is not familiar to my palate.

Keith is a social butterfly. He can chat with anyone. He laughs a lot with strangers. It's easy to be open around people that don't require too much of one.

Keith took me on a drive along the upper part of St. Lucia. My father came from an upper-class family vastly different from my poor, blue-collarup bringing. I learned about the Compton legacy, the changes his brother, uncle and himself brought forth for the island. The Compton (I need to re-confirm the relation) family created modern-day St. Lucia.

Back home we went.