I’d planned to make calls to Wisconsin today but after visiting my uncle in the hospital, I’m not in the mood to talk with anyone. He looks fine, not suffering but he has lung cancer and the doctor told him there isn’t much they can do. I was fine during the visit, wasn’t trying to hold back tears because my cousin (his grand daughter) was in the room and there was stuff to do. Make sure his IV was replaced, catch up a bit with my cousin, then another cousin (his daughter) dropped by on the way back to church for an ushers anniversary, and one then old friends dropped by, Mr. Rose and Mr. Giscombe. They are all now in their eighties. As they are want to do, they reflected some on their early days of knowing each other and some events through the years, as well as, matter of factly discussing the location of their burial plots in the same cemetery.These friends are all from Jamaica. They arrived in this country in the 40s, worked on farms and tobacco fields, married southern girls from Georgia and put in their 30 plus years at Pratt and Whitney or Chandler Evans, purchased their home in the 60s and fixed them up. The Johnsons (my aunt and uncle), The Giscombes, The Newbys, The Roses, the Hudsons and The Baileys these where the couples/friends/lodge brothers and sisters, the circle of friends. They first met at the housing project Charter Oak Terrace.
But as I was walking to my car, the tears began to fall. Realizing I wont have Uncle around much longer I guess.
I must explain that Uncle is also a surrogate father. You see, when I was 11, the same year I arrived in this country from Jamaica, I went to live with Uncle and his family. Uncle Eric is my mother’s younger brother and during my years before leaving for college, he always made me feel at home. He built a room for his two sons and then re-do “the boys” old room for my cousin (the granddaughter) and me. I know my father sent him money but I doubt Uncle ever asked my father for anything extra. You see, of all his siblings he was the one to count on. To this day, he is the one who would give you a helping hand if he sees you are also trying and sometimes when you are not. His sister lived in England for many years, owned a business, sold her business, retired to Jamaica but took her money in cash. Well guess what…it was stolen. Although Uncle used to remark on the folly of her actions he would try to send her some money and would always give her something when he visited JA.
Although far from a perfect man, husband, father (for uncles he was pretty good), he had a code and quite a logical mind. My father was very emotional when it came to me and it took me a while to realize his bark was worse than his bite. But my uncle dealt with situations during my cousins’ and my years growing up without much yelling. I don’t recall him hitting (not abuse) any of his children. You must understand this was a standard reprimand in West Indian and African American families. I recall some events such as when his college age daughter was working part-time at the Elks club. He didn’t think it was appropriate because of the way he observed the men treating the “bar maid” at the social clubs he was a member. He had no moralistic view of these men’s actions, he just didn’t want his daughter treated in the same manner. But Deb countered it was different at the Elks, so he visited the club to see for himself. It didn’t change his mind and she eventually quit. I recall another incident when he received a letter from the school his granddaughter and I attended. You see, we had a substitute bus driver whom we took a disliking to and decided to give him wrong directions to our school. My aunt was back and forth between railing against the driver (whom we thought made racial remarks) to asking why neither I nor my cousin spoke up to give the correct directions. My uncle, he just said as long as he didn’t receive a letter from our school specifically naming us in any incident he had no issue because he understand group dynamics (those weren’t the word he used but..) and why we may not have felt we could speak up.
I’m going to miss Uncle. I asked him if he voted for Barack. He voted for Clinton he said but he didn’t realize ……….about Barack (he couldn’t recall the last name). But he was disappointed that he didn’t vote for Obama because he could then tell his grandchildren that he voted for the first African American President of the United States. I hope he lives long enough to do just that. But even if he does not make it to November, it’s good to know that he wanted to.
So tomorrow I’ll make some more calls to Wisconsin. Today, my heart and heavy spirit belongs to Uncle.
