By Chianna Inniss
Growing up, Christmas was a season I eagerly looked forward to. Like most children, I couldn’t wait to put up our medium-sized Christmas tree and enjoy the freshly baked bread and pepperpot my mom lovingly prepared. When compared to other families, Christmas was always a little different for us.
My dad, Orlando Allen, worked on an oil tanker, spending months at sea, which meant he wasn’t home for most Christmases. But when he did come home, everyone felt his larger-than-life presence. He would take over the house, blasting music as loud as possible, and even as an adult, I can still hear one of his favourite songs in my head: “Down by the River” by Morgan Heritage.
He’d cook a big pot of his favourite cook-up rice and fried chicken, making sure everyone got a taste of his culinary skills. Once everything was done, he’d settle down with a bottle of Banko red wine, sipping and smiling to the music. His nickname, “Smiley,” fit him perfectly, he always had a smile on his face, even during tough times.
We lived in a yard filled with extended family—cousins, aunts, uncles, and my grandmother. It was always lively, even though my mom often kept me indoors to ensure I stayed grounded.
My dad wasn’t big on gifts or the hustle and bustle of the season. To him, Christmas wasn’t about perfectly wrapped presents, it was about making sure we had more than enough to eat and drink. When looking at the cost for a present, his words would echo in my mind: “You know how much chicken that money could buy?” And so it was for him, our cupboards were always filled, which was his way of showing love.
But as much as I appreciated the abundance of food, like most children, I couldn’t help but feel the absence of a gift on Christmas morning. I do have an aunt, whom I call Aunty T, that always made sure she sent me a doll during the season.
Over time, I found happiness and a sense of contentment in our family traditions: decorating the tree with colourful ornaments, hanging lights while singing along to Christmas carols, and watching quintessential Christmas classics like Home Alone on Channel 13. Then everything changed.
My dad died unexpectedly at sea. It was July 2013. I was doing my usual Saturday chores, listening to 94.1 FM, and excited about attending a concert that night. The phone rang, and within moments, I heard my mother scream. It was a call from a representative of the place he worked. The woman said my father, Orlando Allen, had collapsed and died. The shock was unbearable. My mother had spoken to him just two hours before; he had been strong and healthy.
From that moment, life was never the same. My father had been the breadwinner, and his loss forced us to step into that role. My mother started baking pastries for orders, but the income was barely enough. I started my first job as an Accounts Clerk at the Ministry of Education to help make ends meet. I had just finished high school. Needless to say, the larger-than-life presence we enjoyed with our hearts and souls, was never to be felt again at Christmas. We grieved the loss of an important light in our life.
To this day, we don’t know exactly how my dad passed away, but his memory lives on, his smile, his love, and the joy he brought to our home—it will never be forgotten!
Today, I’m a mom to two beautiful children. My husband, being in the military, shares my dad’s reality of not always being able to spend Christmas at home. But here’s the difference: we made a promise that Christmas, and any special event would be done differently for our family. Even when life doesn’t allow us to be physically together, we do everything possible to make it work for our children.
As for the gifts? Those are non-negotiable. Whether it’s something big or small, we always make sure our kids have something to unwrap. Watching their faces light up with joy is my favourite part of the holiday. While we do ensure that they have an abundance of food, creating those magical moments for them, moments I longed for as a child, brings a measureless happiness for my family and I.
On this Christmas Day, my message to all the parents (especially the dads) out there, is quite simple: no matter how big or small, make the effort to give your kids something to unwrap on Christmas morning. It’s not the gift itself that matters—it’s the sparkle in their eyes, the excitement in their voices, and the memories you’re creating. Those moments of joy are the true magic of Christmas, and that magic is the real kind…the kind that lasts a lifetime.
