Father Christmas, a short story by Austin Mitchell
Father Christmas I honestly don’t know why they called Mr. John, Father Christmas. I don’t know if was the colorful clothes he used to wear. Or maybe it was the three piece suits he used to wear along with a top hat. He would dress up, especially when he went courting. There was one time we were on this outing to the airport to see one of our villagers off to England. As usual Father Christmas was immaculately dressed. He sat beside a young lady all the way to the airport. When we were returning we stopped in Kingston to have lunch. Lunch was being served aboard the bus. When the man who was selling the lunches approach him. “Me have curry goat, stew peas, jerk pork, ackee and saltfish. Weh yuh want, John?” “A want go a me yard.” Clearly he was hurt as the young lady had rebuffed his advances. He was a thrice married man on the fringes of his seventieth birthday. The young lady whom he went courting was in her late twenties. About fifteen minutes later I saw him eating a ...