My Mother's Knees

Several years ago, my mother began to have trouble with her knees which caused her constant pain.  She had several surgeries, but nothing seemed to work.  Finally, she had total knee replacement surgery.  This appeared to have worked.  However, even though the pain is gone, she still has trouble walking.

Walking.  At Christmas of 1972, my friend Otha and I hitchhiked around the island of Jamaica.  We arrived in Kingston airport around 9PM.  We seemed to be the only ones who spoke English.  Otha's brother had arranged for us to be picked up.  Otha's brother Olan P. had been living in Jamaica for several months.  Our journey across the mountains to Port Antonio is a story I will never forget.  Otha and I had been up for two days and we were what you call spaced-out.  Our driver asked us if we would like to smoke a spliff (not sure about spelling but it is marijuana rolled up in bread paper to form a funnel).  He stopped at a little store where before our eyes, he and another native were in a fist fight there in the parking lot.  I don't know what this was about because we couldn't understand what they we saying, but when it was over, our driver handed us the spliff.  I tell you that going around curves the way our driver did as messed up as we were was some kind of event.

When we arrived in Port Antonio, we found Olan and all his English friends in the middle of a party.  We couldn't really understand what was going on as their dialect is so different than ours.  Most of the English were teachers.  There was a lot going on we were to find out later among the couples that made the trip very interesting, including the Rolling Stones recording sessions.  

Olan lived in a two bedroom hut on the side of a pineapple orchard.  Olan was a big man with a full length beard and a balding head.  He and his wife were raising their newly born baby.  The place did not have hot water.  This was a new experience.  We ate mostly pineapple and eggs our entire stay with him.  In the afternoons, Olan would sit on the side of the mountain under the pineapple trees and play his Conga.  What a site.

While we were there, we went snorkeling on LSD.  That was amazing.  Thank God I survived all this.  One day at the beach, I got caught in a terrifying undertow.  If you've never experienced this, you don't know how frightening this is.  You are supposed to go with the flow; however, I fought it.  When the water is over your head and it is pulling you outward, you are fearing for your life.  I thought it was all over, but somehow my foot reached the sand and I somehow muscled my way back to shore.  Otha had gone with the flow and told me his adventure.  I never told anyone that I almost died because of my pride.

We hitchhiked to Ocho Rios and on to Montego Bay.  We basically bummed our accommodations the whole way, one adventure after another.  When we arrived in Montego Bay, we met a native named Hippie.  He told us that we could party with him at his house where he had a stereo and lots of friends.  We made the trip to his house by bus.  This was a big mistake.  As we traveled up the mountain, the roads became worse and the houses became shacks.  When we arrived at his village, it was nothing more than dirt roads and huts with little electricity.  His stereo was one of the old-timey crank phonographs.  We couldn't understand the natives.  We were scared.  We wanted to go back.  However, there was only one vehicle in the whole village.  We ended up paying this guy a lot to take us back to Montego Bay.

We had been there for two weeks and it was time to go home.  At the airport, I told Otha that I was going to stay and hitchhike to Negril.  We heard stories about that place, so I had to see it for myself.  Besides, I had been suspended for the next semester of college for grades and there was no need to go back.  So I left Otha at the airport and hitchhiked to Negril.

Negril at that time was not the resort town it is now.  There were over 2,000 American hippies and you could rent a shared room for $5 per night from the natives.  The beach was seven miles long and clothes were optional.  I made many friends while I was there including this couple that were on their honeymoon from Vermont.  When it was time to go, we all chipped in together to rent a transport to take us to the airport in Montego Bay.  On our way out of Negril, the police stopped the bus and made everyone get out.  They searched each of our bags.  I had nothing stashed.  However, there were a group of addressed envelopes that had been thrown into the middle of the aisle of the bus.  The policeman opened one of them and and it contained a bag of marijuana.  The police told us that if they didn't find out whose it was, that they would throw us all in jail.  It was the couple from Vermont that admitted it was theirs.  They hauled them off to jail.  The husband asked me to go get the landlord to help.  When I went back to the house, everyone had split.

This lady and I hitchhiked to Montego Bay and I flew back to Miami where unexpectedly, my Uncle greeted me at customs.  He lived in Miami and apparently, my parents had traced when I would arrive and sent him to pick me up.

I think back now about how much risk I had taken and how many times I faced death on this trip and somehow I was able to survive.  I was telling mother about the adventure to Jamaica just a few weeks ago.  She told me, "that was great and all, but it cost me my knees."  You see, this was the first time in my life that I even knew that my mother was on her knees praying for God to take care of me.  On the trip over the mountains, in the water, in the undertow, in the hills, on the road, and on the bus; God heard her cry and her sacrifice.  Is there someone crying for you?

In my distress I called upon the LORD, and cried unto my God: he heard my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before him, even into his ears. Ps 18:6

Brad Warren