If You Grew Up in Church, You Likely Had a Bro. Hinkson in Your Life
Brother Hinkson was more than just a fellow congregant in my childhood Church of the Nazarene. He was more than a neighbor in the lively, close-knit village in St. George, Barbados, where I grew up. He was more than a family friend; he felt like family.
During my early years of living in the U.S., whenever I visited home, Bro. Hinkson and his wife, Monica — though not wealthy financially — would always place some folded-up money in my hand to help with my living expenses in New York. They were rich in spirit and generosity.
I have countless memories of them and their family. Our bond grew even stronger through my lifelong friendship with two of their children, who are around my age. One of them, their son Richard, went to both primary and secondary school with me, and we competed in track for the victorious “Green House.”
Additionally, Bro. Hinkson’s nieces, Lora and Idalia, are dear friends of mine.
Like many who grew up in our church, Bro. Hinkson is fondly remembered as one of the cherished older church members who always had a peppermint or some candy — what we call in Barbados, “a brown mint,” to hand out with a smile and often a hug.
Even more remarkable than his generosity were his incredible skills with the tambourine, or perhaps more accurately, his cymbal-playing during praise and worship.
Throughout my travels across the island, the Caribbean, and later in life around the world as a tourist, believer, pilgrim, and religion reporter, I have yet to meet anyone as gifted as Bro. Hinkson in this regard.
However, the most memorable moment I had with Bro. Hinkson occurred during one of my visits home just before the COVID-19 pandemic. The local golden apple (June plum) is my favorite fruit, and the Hinksons had a tree. By that time, both Bro. Hinkson and his wife, Monica, were aging, and Bro. Hinkson had started to experience health issues that made it almost impossible for him to access the fruit.
Nonetheless, he went into the yard, found a long stick, and, despite it being nearly the end of the season for golden apples, he scoured the tree and managed to pluck whatever he could find.
Afterward, Monica washed, peeled, sliced and packed the fruit into Ziploc bags for me to take back to Washington, D.C.
On my antepenultimate trip to Barbados, I had the opportunity to express to Bro. Hinkson and his wife how special they were to me and how much I appreciated their generosity during my student years. I was at their home
with my mum and several other church members to encourage Bro. Hinkson after the amputation of his leg and due to his ailing health.
We sang hymns, prayed, and shared memories. He reminded me, as he always did over the 20-plus years of my visits back home since moving to the U.S., “You know you’re my girl.”
The last time I saw Bro. Hinkson was in January of this year, just before I returned to L.A. We parted with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. In fact, I turned back to hug him again.
This past Tuesday afternoon, my mother delivered heartbreaking news: “I don’t know how you’re going to take this, but someone very close to you died today. Your boy, Bro. Hinkson, is gone.”
I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. I sat at my desk for a while, feeling numb, before calling Richard and Kathy to extend my condolences.
I was still crying.
I had to call Monica, which I knew would be the hardest call. Their daughter, Judy, answered and put the phone on speaker, so granddaughter, Kia, could listen in as well. Then Monica came to the phone. Before I could finish expressing my condolences, she said, “You know you were his girl.”
We both shared a laugh, and she mentioned that she was trying to be brave despite having cried all day. I reassured her that it was okay to be both brave and emotional.
After we hung up, a fresh wave of tears hit me. Bro. Hinkson is gone; another piece of my heart, a significant part of my life, is lost.
I’m still crying as I write this.
A lifelong servant of God, Bro. Hinkson — Liverson Leroy Hinkson — was 88 when he went home to be with his Savior.
To Monica, Phil, Cynthia, Jeffrey, Judy, Richard, Kathy, Kia, and the entire family, thank you for lovingly sharing Bro. Hinkson with me. My deepest condolences for this profound loss. May our beloved Bro. Hinkson rest in peace and rise in glory. 
~I Keep it Irie ~
Island Soul City Dreams 