Sable Monroe

One thing people misunderstand about childhood is that children do not only remember traumatic events.

They also remember excitement that suddenly disappeared.

Growing up in Jamaica, people assume we spent all our time at beaches.

We didn’t.

Going to the beach required transportation, planning, money, cooperation, and most importantly, emotionally stable adults who actually followed through with plans.

In my household, that last part was never guaranteed.

I remember one particular day when my mother decided we were going to the beach.

At least, she said we were.

And for children, that announcement alone was enough to create instant joy.

I remember getting dressed in my bathing suit. Bags were being packed. Towels were being gathered. The mood in the house felt hopeful for once.

As children, my younger brother and I learned to become excited very quickly whenever things briefly felt normal.

But my father had one great love besides control:
his car.

He owned a bright red Lada that he treated almost like a sacred object. Every weekend, he detailed that car personally. Washing. Drying. Polishing. Vacuuming. Obsessing over every inch of it.

And on this particular day, right when we were supposed to leave for the beach, something shifted in his mood.

Suddenly he started removing the car seats.

Not folding them down.

Removing them.

Unscrewing things.

Dragging hoses.

Pulling out cleaning supplies.

And immediately, everyone in the house understood what that meant.

The beach trip was dead.

Nobody argued.

Nobody even needed to ask.

The emotional atmosphere changed instantly.

The adults were irritated with each other. My brother and I were disappointed but already conditioned not to make too much noise about disappointment.

So we stayed home.

Again.

Looking back now, the memory almost feels symbolic.

The car received the care.

The car received the attention.

The car received the time and emotional investment.

Meanwhile, the children learned that joy inside our household could disappear without warning depending on adult moods, priorities, and conflict.

At the time, I did not yet have language for emotional unpredictability.

I only knew that sometimes you could already be wearing your bathing suit and still never make it to the beach.