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(Yes, I do have memories from waaay back…I remember crawling on the black and white floors in the house in Jamaica. I remember her squeezing me so tight I couldn’t breathe but I didn’t dare tell her because I loved her so much. When she got pregnant, I was there stroking her hair as she cried because my aunt was yelling and cussing. She would tell my aunt that she was taking me for a “walkabout” when really she was meeting him. I was the passport when she went to meet Kenny’s father. When I was three, we went to live with them while my father studied in Jamaica. She was brown and poor her cousins, rich and white. She was a tragic figure herself, an illegitimate child for my Uncle Eric Kuylen, (he died during my 4th and my brother’s 1st joint birthday party) being raised with her brother “AK”by our spinster Aunt Olive Kuylen. I was there when his mother Arlene Kuylen met his father. I didn’t want to have to talk about this because when it comes to Kenny, his life has always been difficult and I knew that it would just bring back a flood of memories and feelings. Carlos Santos is a pillar of the community. Gwennie is or even if she is alive still…He’s just a no count nobody right? After all, this Mr. I mean who is going to demand justice in his name? His dad and his mom are already dead. But instead of justice being sought for his death, the “good old boys club” is wielding its influence and he is just another dead black boy not worth worrying about. Ken Emmanuel was one of them, a Police Constable who risked his life in service to his people everyday.