In a crowded sandy schoolyard on a sunny September morning in 1970, there we stood. All the boys were dressed in short khaki pants and khaki shirts, the prescribed school attire of the day. Not far away, perhaps fifty feet off, stood three large wooden buildings. The one to our left was the old convent. Straight ahead and to our right were the educational institutions that were to shape our academic future.

Although there were great differences in their architectural designs, we couldn’t help but notice a distinct resemblance in their outward appearance. The gray color with which they were once painted had ceased to blend softly with the blue skies above. It had faded to an ugly whitewashed appearance, displaying the traces of time and neglect.

George, the oldest of we four, his brother Kennedy, Ronnie, and I had known each other ever since our preschool years. Way back then we had established a personal friendship that would later influence the greater part of our teenage years.

Our preschool teacher, Mrs. Florence Lastic, must have been proud of herself. She had accomplished the most tedious task of teaching us to count and to write our names. We used to bask in the recitation of the alphabet and in the beautiful chants of the nursery rhymes, with “Little Jack Horner” and “Pussy Cat Pussy Cat” our biggest favorites. But now those days were gone. The big day had arrived for our formal acceptance into the Gros Islet Infant School.

The anxieties of the moment sent waves of excitement tingling down our little spines. At about 8:25 A.M. Mother Theodore, the school principal, gracefully walked across from the old convent to the school directly ahead. She wore polished black moccasins which contrasted with her spotless white habit. A sudden hush filled the restless air as my feet froze in their movement. The adrenaline jolted, pumped, and then kicked my respiration into a roller coaster mode. I knew then that the hour was fast approaching.

As I glanced slowly sideways, my eyes met those of my friends. Suspense shone in their eyes. Grappling for composure, Ronnie whispered something inaudible.

“What?” I said in a muffled voice.

He stared at George, then Kennedy, and then allowed himself a faint smile.

Suddenly, the sound of the bell came piercing through the silence. In the doorway, stern-faced, Mother Theodore kept rattling the bell. Quietly, as the many blasts of nerves ripped through our tiny bodies, we quivered in fear. After fifteen… twenty… perhaps thirty seconds, all was calm again...