By Rae Sharman Sampson-McMillan, LCSW-R

July 14, 2026

Over five (5) plus decades ago, a family lost a son, brother, nephew, grandson, cousin, and friend at age 14 years old, presumably from a snake bite in the island of Trinidad. Anthony was born on January 14, 1959, died on November 12, 1973, and was buried on November 14, 1973.

My siblings and I grew up for a while in a two parent household until our mom left for the USA in 1968 to try and make a better life for her family. Our dad was charged with taking care of his six children ages three to fourteen years old. In addition, our mom’s custodial parent/Nen, an adopted brother, eight years old and a female cousin twelve years old also resided with us.

Our father always had a firm and stern way when dealing with his six children. Yes, we were disciplined – “whippings” with belts and switches, the “eye” looks, and the continuous threats – “who don’t hear will feel.” Yet, a father who you also knew loved and cared for his children. Our dad had zero tolerance for anyone who would say or do anything to hurt his children. As a child growing up, I would be afraid to tell my dad if someone said or did anything to me for fear that he may end up in trouble.

I am remembering those nights as we slept, and we would wake up sneezing. We would know that dad was cooking and had put just a little too much pepper in the soup, pelau or fried fish. We also knew that in a few more minutes, he would be calling us from our beds to have just a wee bit of what he was cooking. But that was good enough for us.

For us, that was a father’s love and that was one of the many memorable ways in which he showed it.

On November 12, 2014, the anniversary of my brother’s death, I attended a Child Welfare Program Leadership Conference and had the wonderful opportunity of hearing a renowned keynote speaker address the group on “Trauma.” I sat in the room and found myself reliving 41 years earlier, the days leading up to my brother’s death – the owl hooting louder than we prayed, hospital visits, the funeral home, making wreaths with Xora flowers and palm branches, the sadness, the tears, family and neighbors’ visits to our humble home, dressing for the funeral, not being able to comprehend why a son, a brother, a nephew, a grandson, a cousin, a friend was gone so soon at the age of 14. It was the first time in my life as a teenager that I had lost anyone so close.

It would take years to deal with this life event, and the trauma of that loss would be reminded each year from October 31st to November 14th.

While there are many family dynamics that can be explored and provided, this article focuses briefly on parenting that impacts the parent-child relationship. My brother in the final days of his life chose not to share possibly life saving information with my dad. These haunting questions bothered me for many years: Could he have survived? Did he have to die? Was it love? Was it Tough Love? Was it Trauma? Was it good, or bad parenting?

As young children growing up in our village, our dad sternly and constantly warned us, especially the boys, that we were not to go in the backyard as there were “poisonous snakes and scorpions” that could have bitten or harmed us. In addition, we had received many warnings from him – “don’t go in the creek or you can drown.” With that would follow – “don’t say that I did not warn you,” or – “friends would carry you and they won’t bring you back.” And yes, there were several times we heard of neighborhood folks drowning from bathing in the creek and he would be first to say – “You see what happens when you don’t listen.” Those concerns and fears were real for our father, and were to be real for us as well.

On October 31, 1973, my brother Anthony and one of his close friends apparently went to the “forbidden backyard.” When Anthony returned home he said that he was not feeling well and we all agreed that he should go and lie down. A little while later, he got up and started crying stating that he could not see and wanted some lime juice to drink. I remembered telling my father that we should not give him anything if we were not sure what was wrong with him.

When my dad asked him what was wrong, he would not say anything other than indicate that he was not feeling well.

He began vomiting and got very listless. My dad rushed him to the hospital where Anthony was diagnosed with appendicitis as he had made mention to the doctors that he was feeling pain on his right side. It was later overheard that it was not appendicitis; but the doctors removed the appendix anyway.

After the surgery, Anthony became “unresponsive,” what we considered to be in a coma, and would cry out periodically as if he was in pain. He had several attending doctors, and it was mentioned that he also seemed to have had jaundice that had affected his liver.

A couple of days after Anthony’s hospitalization, our mother, who was residing the USA, returned to Trinidad. When Anthony heard her voice, he awoke from his “unresponsive state” and told her that he knew that she would come and that he had something to tell her. He then whispered to her to look under his foot where she would see a mark as he was bitten by a snake.

Anthony also asked our mom to promise not to tell daddy.

After asking the family to say the Lord’s Prayer and the Lord is my Shepherd Psalm 23 a few times for him, Anthony went back into his unresponsive state and later died. My mother had shared the information with the doctors and it appeared to have been just too late. Our brother passed away at the tender age of 14 leaving doctors and family members baffled.

As each year passed, I tended to deal with the same issues of questioning myself for answers surrounding our brother’s death. I was trying to understand and connect what possible role “fear” could have played in his life to cause him to be so withdrawn at a time when his life depended on him sharing vital information that could have saved his life.

The questions below also continually plagued me and weighed heavily on my mind in my quest for ultimate closure.

What is the impact of “fear instilled” parenting on children?

How does fear impact distrust, confidence, safety and well-being?

Is the term “nurturing” gender specific?

No one knew that Anthony was in the backyard until he mentioned it to my mother, and at that time, as stated, it was apparently too late. My dad shared that if he knew what had happened when the incident occurred, he could have helped the situation by giving Anthony some “sugar water” to drink. But, would that have occurred? Would a whipping have taken place instead? Was it that Anthony, the “hardened” child he was so often called, simply had not heeded the warning, and that the words – “those who do not hear, will feel” – had come back as a haunted reality?

Did he feel that he was not going to get the needed support? Was he trying to protect dad by not putting more stress on him? Did he quietly own his actions and hence its consequences?

With Anthony sharing this information with our mom – was it that he trusted her, and had the confidence that she would not rebuke him? Was it that he felt safer sharing with her what had happened to him without fear of being unsupported? I have realized that his mention of telling mom “not to tell daddy” seemed to bring full circle how fearful he may have been of disappointing dad. Anthony may have feared a response that felt less forgiving than what he needed in that moment – not because of who our father was, but because of what fear-based parenting can teach a child to expect. Was our father supposed to have those nurturing qualities beyond what he was already providing, and was that even a fair expectation given how he himself was raised?

As a child growing up, it was understandable that parents would “beat” you because it meant that they loved you and wanted to make sure that you grew up the right way. Despite this, many of us seemed to have turned out to be quite good, decent and productive citizens. In our West Indian society, there were many who also grew up fearing their parents, where the use of the “tough love” strategies were applied if it was felt that there was disobedience. This “instilled fear” was also a way of ensuring that children grow and learn to respect parents and their elders. Additionally, it was a form of protective measure for parents, child and family.

Good parenting even when applying “tough love” does not necessarily have to be associated with strategies that instigate fear in a child.

I remembered hearing a cousin in discussion on Anthony’s situation years later, stating that he would never want his children to be so fearful of him that they could not come to him if they were in trouble. Children need to be able to feel safe in their surroundings regardless, yes, regardless of how “hardened” they are. Children need to be able to trust their parents and have the confidence that they could speak to them without feeling that they would be unsupported or rebuked when they reach out to them.

An unsupportive or fear instilled environment is not a nurturing or healthy one, no matter what the situation or relationship.

The tough love strategy did not necessarily indicate that dad was an uncaring father. It was in essence the opposite. It was dad’s way of being protective, possibly over protective of his children. Additionally, our dad in those days had limited financial resources, and the costs that would have been associated with medical bills if something had happened to any one of us, even funeral expenses, could have been weighing heavily on our father’s mind. Know that he bore a heavy responsibility to take care of and protect all of us while our mom was in the USA. Culturally, parents also viewed children as a future financial resource so it was not unrealistic for him to parent the way that he did and the way he knew and felt best.

From dad’s perspective, he did not want to fail as a parent. He would do what he had to do, and how best he knew in order to keep his children safe.

Our father was raised to be a protector and provider for his family. It was also commonplace for fathers not to be emotionally expressive, which could dismiss the notion of fathers being nurturers like that expected of mothers.

I can say that dad grew over the years to hug and say “I love you.”

Anthony, I would say, was an accident prone child, and we all knew such. In his short life span, he underwent many injuries, some of which left us wondering as to how did such happen. These are just some of the key events.

• At age 2, while drinking his milk from a glass bottle: With adults and others around him, mom had put him down to stand and walk, when all of a sudden he was on the floor crying. The glass solo bottle had damaged his two baby front teeth and his forehead that required stitches.
• Broken hand in two places at age 7 after falling off a low verandah while playing with cousins.
• Several serious cuts and injuries while playing, one included having cut his thumb in half. Home remedy applied.
• Dad had sensed that Anthony needed supervision and took precautions by enrolling him in my secondary school to be close to me. However, while there, a piece of wood that was used for keeping the window open fell and hit him on his head requiring stitches. His entire class was there, but he was the one affected.

Our father had a very hard time dealing with our brother’s passing. Anthony was his first son. As a family unit, we came to the conclusion that Anthony’s death was most likely the result of being bitten by a snake. Know that we never discussed the reasoning behind our brother’s decision to not share with our dad and his siblings what actually happened to him on that fateful day. We are not even sure if our dad who lived many years afterwards, self-reflected his fatherly role.

I give recognition of the importance to have open and honest family meetings so that all can heal and be in a better place. This opportunity did not occur. Four months later after Anthony’s death the three girls joined our mother in the USA. Our two other brothers remained with our father and later joined us after completing high school. Our dad would frequently visit us as he resided and worked in Trinidad.

Anthony’s silence and my father’s response cannot be separated from the wider expectations placed on men and boys of that era – fathers raised to provide and protect, but rarely given language for tenderness or fear; sons raised to be strong and uncomplaining, rarely given permission to be afraid out loud. If nurturing showed up as gender specific in practice, it was because it was taught to be, not because fathers were incapable of it. My father’s growth, in time, into a man who could hug and say “I love you,” suggests that capacity was there all along – waiting for room to be expressed.

In conclusion, there is no malice against my father who I loved dearly. It is only fair and ethical that I raise the questions and concerns that have haunted my thoughts, my mind, and the very core as a human being and practitioner for such a long period of time pertaining to this sad and painful event.

The point of view is that parents are doing the best that they can under the given circumstances, where the values, beliefs, culture and society continue to impact lives positively and negatively. It is hoped that this article presents a teachable moment for fathers and in general, parents.

The article also carries a discovery that stopped our family in its tracks. Our father had written a poem in his own hand, found tucked inside his photo book. In eight quiet lines, he revealed the grief and love he had always carried for Anthony but never found the words to speak aloud. It is a reminder that men feel deeply — and that sometimes that depth finds its way out only in

private, on paper, in the still of the night.

Only after our father’s passing in 1999, did we discover this poem, written in his own hand and tucked inside his photo book.

We hold our tears when we call your name

But the ache in our hearts remain the same

No one know the sorrow we share

When the family meets and you are not there

Treasured memories bound in gold

Happy days will never grow old We share the love, and the smiles and tears

Thank you Anthony, for those wonderful years.

I would also note that this article is itself a product of healing. Writing it has been a profound tool for processing and releasing the trauma of my brother’s death. It is my hope that in sharing this story, others may find permission to do the same — to write, to speak, and to heal.

                                     Dedicated to both my brother and my father.

                                             Dearly loved, dearly missed.

About the Author

Rae Sharman Sampson-McMillan, LCSW-R, is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker based in New York with a career spanning NYC Child Welfare and Emergency Domestic Violence Services in clinical, management, and executive leadership roles, including having served as Chief of Staff in the Division of Child Protection within the NYC Administration for Children’s Services

(ACS) — one of the largest child welfare agencies in the United States. She holds a Master’s

Degree in Social Work (MSW) from Columbia University and a Bachelor’s Degree (BSc) from

Fordham University, and is the recipient of the NASW-NYC Mid-Career Exemplary Leadership Award. She is the originator of Oppressiveisms™, a word she coined in 2002, and the developer and author of its framework — A Transformative Framework: Magnified, Collective, Clarified and Inclusive for Social Justice and Public Well-Being — further explored at

oppressiveisms.com. She has authored and published related Oppressiveisms™ articles.

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