As my time is starting to draw to a close, my memories of joyful times in Jamaica become more poignant, more treasured. And, some memories that I feel should be shared are those in which I drove Miss Doris.Miss Doris is 79 years old and Mount Friendship’s resident church boss. She keeps tabs on the sick and shut-in of the community, hip-checks me out of the way when it’s time to distribute food bags, and manages to keep the altar linens snowy fresh and immaculately folded. She has a high-pitched voice that she’s not afraid to use, either to praise her Jesus or to scold a naughty child.
My first interactions with Miss Doris came when she told me to collect her at her home so that we could hand out the food bags together. I drove the van and after criticizing my driving, Miss Doris directed me. She told me when to “mind de gully,” and when it was time to abandon the van and walk. I followed her like a meek puppy as she strode on arthritic knees to feed Mount Friendship’s neediest, and through the driving (and the walking!) that day, I learned Mount Friendship the Miss Doris way.
I quickly learned that Miss Doris was never afraid to demand a ride, either to visit a shut-in or to pick up her mail from the village post office. And I became accustomed to driving Miss Doris because, frankly, she’s not the type of person to whom you say no.
As the weeks passed, however, I stopped seeing Miss Doris as a lady I drove and started seeing her for what she is—a damn good time.
She’s crazy. She pouts if I don’t come see her in my free time, but hugs and kisses me with joy when I show up unexpectedly. She grabs my bottom and tells me how fat I’ve grown in Jamaica. She regales me with stories of her girlhood and spanks me if she thinks I’m misbehaving.
Not only does she have a remarkable joi de vivre, but Miss Doris has helped me to find my own inner crazy. When I visit her, I stand and dance in her doorway until she notices me and starts giggling. I made a paper crown for her on her 79th birthday and the two of us laughed hysterically together when she wore it for an entire day and attracted stares galore.
But it’s in the quiet times that we share that I find myself wondering what really drives Miss Doris. I’ll be eating saltfish fritters on her kitchen steps or tucked cozily under her arm after church when I’ll realize just how extraordinary she is. At first glance, she’s a lonely widow with arthritic knees and lots of money troubles. But in the time I’ve grown to know her, she’s a deeply devout woman who keeps a faltering church community together. She’s a mother, grandmother and great-grandmother who thinks constantly of her family—and her adopted family. She has a sharp intellect and a soft heart. I don’t know what it is that keeps her trekking the mountain paths, saying the rosary on her knees, or putting down her washing to dance with me around her yard.
Something is driving this woman to be everything for everyone, but I am not sure what keeps her going in the face of her adversities. Most likely, it’s her faith that keeps her eyes clear, her smile bright, and her heart buoyant.
I adore her—she’s my Jamaican grandmother, my inspiration, and my partner in crime (no one else will make absurd faces during mass with me). She is the force that drives me, everyday, to be a better missionary, a better volunteer, (a better driver), and a better friend.
And here I was thinking that I was driving her.
My first interactions with Miss Doris came when she told me to collect her at her home so that we could hand out the food bags together. I drove the van and after criticizing my driving, Miss Doris directed me. She told me when to “mind de gully,” and when it was time to abandon the van and walk. I followed her like a meek puppy as she strode on arthritic knees to feed Mount Friendship’s neediest, and through the driving (and the walking!) that day, I learned Mount Friendship the Miss Doris way.
I quickly learned that Miss Doris was never afraid to demand a ride, either to visit a shut-in or to pick up her mail from the village post office. And I became accustomed to driving Miss Doris because, frankly, she’s not the type of person to whom you say no.
As the weeks passed, however, I stopped seeing Miss Doris as a lady I drove and started seeing her for what she is—a damn good time.
She’s crazy. She pouts if I don’t come see her in my free time, but hugs and kisses me with joy when I show up unexpectedly. She grabs my bottom and tells me how fat I’ve grown in Jamaica. She regales me with stories of her girlhood and spanks me if she thinks I’m misbehaving.
Not only does she have a remarkable joi de vivre, but Miss Doris has helped me to find my own inner crazy. When I visit her, I stand and dance in her doorway until she notices me and starts giggling. I made a paper crown for her on her 79th birthday and the two of us laughed hysterically together when she wore it for an entire day and attracted stares galore.
But it’s in the quiet times that we share that I find myself wondering what really drives Miss Doris. I’ll be eating saltfish fritters on her kitchen steps or tucked cozily under her arm after church when I’ll realize just how extraordinary she is. At first glance, she’s a lonely widow with arthritic knees and lots of money troubles. But in the time I’ve grown to know her, she’s a deeply devout woman who keeps a faltering church community together. She’s a mother, grandmother and great-grandmother who thinks constantly of her family—and her adopted family. She has a sharp intellect and a soft heart. I don’t know what it is that keeps her trekking the mountain paths, saying the rosary on her knees, or putting down her washing to dance with me around her yard.
Something is driving this woman to be everything for everyone, but I am not sure what keeps her going in the face of her adversities. Most likely, it’s her faith that keeps her eyes clear, her smile bright, and her heart buoyant.
I adore her—she’s my Jamaican grandmother, my inspiration, and my partner in crime (no one else will make absurd faces during mass with me). She is the force that drives me, everyday, to be a better missionary, a better volunteer, (a better driver), and a better friend.
And here I was thinking that I was driving her.
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