THE TURNED AROUND Machel Montano’s early lyrics and effectively told me, “Yuh too old to soca”.
That was after I told them that I wasn’t mekking any sport this year and would be jumping every step of the way from the Stadium to Spring Garden on Kadooment Day.
Even my good young friend, Richard Haynes, and his colleagues in Baje International didn’t say it but their words suggested that they, too, felt I was definitely too old to soca when, as they do every year, they invited me to come along as their guest and have some fun with the band. I could wear anything I wanted as long as Rufus was not exposed for public viewing. I was given a VIP band that allowed me unlimited access to the drinks trucks as well as movement in and out of all the sections.
But, as young Richard Haynes put it, I didn’t have to worry about sun, rain or putting a foot on the road because I could ride on the entertainment truck with Machel and the other performers, or on another truck that was outfitted to accommodate special guests like me in semi luxury, or I could alternate between the two. Not a word came from anybody that I should come wuk-up ready.
So it was all one big joke when I told friends and family that I will not only be with Baje on Kadooment Day, but that I would be jumping up behind the big truck and not sitting on it.
Some even offered to bet that when the band was turning the corner from Black Rock, instead of being there singing Spring Garden ah coming, I would be at home in front the TV humming All Ah We.
Then Kadooment morning came and before the cock could crow twice I was up, in the bath, dressed down in yellow Nike software, red and yellow flowered three-quarter shorts, red T-shirt and crowned off with a black bowler hat on the head. And when Baje International came out of the Stadium gates I was there waiting to jump in, yes I mean jump in the band. It was really spontaneous.
Would you believe that people who should know me better immediately showed that they also believed I was too old to soca and surrounded me like two-foot ambulances ready to rush me for medical help when, as far as they were concerned, my inevitable collapse would happen. My son Damani on one side, my nephew Adrian on another, my grandson Akeel and his crew in the front and my good friend Jeremy Jones and a cousin at my back, among a host of others.
But I surprised them all as not even heavy downpours of rain on Station Hill and other parts of the round could dampen my spirit as I kept chipping and chipping and chipping on down the road.
If truth must be told, I must admit that there definitely were several times when I thought I would suffer a heart attack or my blood pressure would elevate to dangerous levels. It happened every time one and sometimes two and even three of the feast of shapely, younger women would bend down, push back on me, put hands on their knees, and spin pooch like windmills. I could all but hear them saying: “Yuh like dah, nuh.”
Some even came at me front on, belly to belly and I must confess that those non-stop wuk-up assaults made it very, very hard for me as I, not wanting to make them also feel I was too old to soca, shook off the rust from my back, waist, legs and knees and did my best to match them juck fuh juck and with hit after hit after hit after hit.
When it was all over, many young ones, male and female alike, let me know that they wanted to be like me when they grow up – never too old to soca.
Al Gilkes heads a public relations firm. Email algilkes@gmail.com