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There was a time in Trinidad and Tobago when one of the greatest pleasures a family could enjoy on a Sunday evening did not require much money, elaborate planning or an expensive outing. All it required was a little preparation, a well-dressed family, a bus fare or a vehicle, and a trip downtown.
We called it window shopping!
Oh, how those words bring back memories!
Sunday evenings were special. Mammy and Daddy would get us dressed up, sometimes in our best clothes, comb our hair, polish our shoes and get everybody ready for an evening adventure. For some families, it meant catching a bus into Port-of-Spain. For those fortunate enough to own a car, it was a family drive into town.
Frederick Street, Henry Street, Queen Street and, yes, even Charlotte Street. We walked those streets with a sense of freedom and innocence that is difficult to explain to today’s generation. Nobody was constantly looking over their shoulder or clutching their handbag as though their life depended on it. There was no fear of a chain being snatched from around your neck, a purse disappearing in a crowded street, or somebody picking your pocket.
We were simply families enjoying an evening together.
There was a certain atmosphere about downtown Port-of-Spain on a Sunday evening. Families strolling, children laughing, couples walking hand in hand, and people greeting familiar faces. You could meet somebody you knew around every corner. There was a sense of community, belonging and, dare I say, one love.
Then there were the stores!
Woolworth, Stephens and Johnsons, Kirpalani’s, Sports and Games, Habib’s and Y. De Lima. These were not just shops. To us children, they were magical places. Their beautifully decorated Christmas windows were like little theatres, displaying dreams that our young imaginations could hardly contain.
We would stop, press our little noses against the glass and stare.
Toys! Games! Bicycles! Dolls! Clothes! Everything seemed so wonderful. There was always something that caught our attention, something that made us turn to our parents with that familiar look of expectation.
Then there was the legendary Scalextric!
Oh Lord! That miniature racing car track with its little electric cars was something else! My brothers and I would stare at those sets with longing eyes, imagining ourselves racing those little cars around the track, competing against each other and becoming the champions of our living room.
We wanted one so badly!
But somehow, it never made Mammy and Daddy’s Christmas list.
At the time, we could not understand why. After all, what was so difficult about buying a little racing car set? We would see some of the more fortunate children at school talking about their Christmas gifts. We listened, sometimes with a little envy, wondering when our turn would come.
But we still enjoyed our window shopping.
It was only when we became adults that we began to understand the real story behind those Sunday evenings. We began to appreciate the sacrifices our parents made. The bills they had to pay, family responsibilities and the many little things that had to be stretched to make ends meet.
Those toys were not necessarily beyond their reach because they did not love us. Sometimes, there were more important priorities.
Perhaps that is one of the greatest lessons childhood teaches us, but only adulthood allows us to understand.
Our parents gave us what they could, and sometimes what they could give was far greater than anything money could buy.
Looking back, I cannot remember every Christmas present I received as a child, but I can vividly remember walking down Frederick Street with my brothers, looking into those shop windows and dreaming about the things we wished we could have. I remember being together.
That was the beauty of window shopping. You did not necessarily have to buy anything to enjoy everything. The experience was the gift.
It was a different time.
Today, as Christmas approaches, I sometimes wonder what happened to that simple family tradition. How many parents can confidently tell their children, “Get dressed, we going downtown to do some window shopping”?
How many families would feel comfortable walking Frederick, Henry or Charlotte streets on a Sunday evening, simply enjoying the atmosphere?
Sadly, our relationship with downtown has changed. The concerns about crime, robberies, personal safety and the general deterioration of public confidence have taken away much of that carefree experience. We now calculate risk before deciding where to go.
We have become more security-conscious, and perhaps understandably so.
But along the way, we have lost some of the innocence of public life. That is a loss worth reflecting upon.
As we approach another Christmas, perhaps we should remember that a city is more than its buildings, shops, traffic and commercial activity. A city must have life. It must have people who feel safe enough to walk its streets, families who can enjoy its public spaces, children who can dream while looking through shop windows, and communities that feel a sense of belonging.
I would love to see the day when downtown Port-of- Spain becomes a place where families can once again enjoy a Sunday evening stroll without fear.
Today’s children have their smartphones, tablets, PlayStations and technology we could never have imagined in those days.
But I wonder whether they will ever experience the simple joy of walking downtown with their parents, looking through shop windows and dreaming about something they may never get.
So, this Christmas, I raise a nostalgic glass to the parents who dressed us up and took us downtown. To the brothers and sisters who shared those dreams.
Merry Christmas to the generation that remembers. May the next generation one day have something equally beautiful to remember.
English (US) ·