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hundred and ten percent. Darron’s a pleasure to teach. Darron is such a good example to his classmates. If Darron continues like this his grades will be outstanding.’
    I used to walk out of there with my head in the air, would put my arm round his shoulder and congratulate him, tell him he’s a chip off the old block. Just like his old man. Stop by Chefette and get him whatever he want. The dollars I was paying for his fees was money well spent. I was proud of him. Proud he was holding up the Guyanese reputation as a bright and hardworking people.
    Now all I’m getting is grief that he’s not trying, is mixing with a crowd that don’t even want to be in school. Now I go in there with my tail between my legs. After the first meeting, where they show me how his grades slip, I go mad at him. Take away his computer games, ground him, stop all his treats, stop playing football with him on Sundays like I used to. Tell him he’s not getting anything back till his grades pick up. Tell him how disappointed I am in him. Let him know how much he let me down.
    I was angry with him. But I was angrier with myself. I’ve been raising Darron since he was three. Things didn’t work out with me and his mother. I was only twenty one when he was born and still at that place where I wanted to lay down with everything in a skirt. I was still pussy hungry. She couldn’t take it, had a nervous breakdown, couldn’t care for Darron. Her folks told me to come and take my child.
    My mother told me to go and get him, said no child should have to grow up in a place where he wasn’t wanted, said it would damage him for life, that he would always feel second best, an outcast wherever he was. She didn’t want that for her grandson. She made it clear she wasn’t excusing my lifestyle. Her worry was for her grandson.
    Bringing Darron to live with me changed my plans to go to university that year to do the Civil Engineering BSc at the University of Guyana. My mother said a boy need his father, she wasn’t going to be a stand-in parent while his real parents was alive. She said I should organise my life round my son. That he should be the main priority. And for the last eleven years that’s how it’s been.
    I give up my university place. Find a job, get a little place for me and him near enough to my parents house so they can help me with him. A year later I start the hard road of working and part time study. Nights I was so tired after working on a building site all day I could hardly keep my eyes open. I’d put Darron to bed, sleep for two hours, get up and get out the books. Took me five years to get the degree.
    Darron know all this, know that’s why it’s important for him to get good grades; get into a good university so he don’t have the same struggle I had. I’m angry that I can’t make him see it. Even after I lock down on everything with him, he just doing the same half-hearted stuff. Just getting by. Sometimes not even that.
    Angry too because the other two mothers of my children think Darron is my favourite. Don’t feel I put the same into their children as I do into him. Even my ex-wife coming off with that rubbish. I know secretly they want to see him fail.
    ‘Which teacher I’m seeing first?’ He shrugs his shoulders.
    ‘What you mean you don’t know!’ I shout at him. ‘You don’t care about your education boy?’
    ‘It’s in the letter Daddy,’ he stammers.
    ‘What time does it say?’
    ‘I don’t know Daddy, the letter came to you. I didn’t see it.’ He almost disappear into the bowl. ‘I’m leaving now, Daddy.’
    ‘Make sure you wash that before you go.’ I didn’t have to do that. He always wash up without me telling him.
    I don’t want Darron scared of me. I just want him to work hard now so he don’t have to mess up his life later. Don’t want him dealing with three mouths and not enough to put in them. He gets his bag from his room and go out the kitchen door. He’s avoiding walking past