People have always wondered about the content of my character and the relationship I have with my feelings. They have wondered why I am so in touch with my emotions, why I am so straightforward, and why I express every impulse I feel. Some have considered me feminine, evil, sensitive and many other characteristics. But if you know me, there is a story behind it.
February 2, 2007 will mark the third anniversary of my Uncle Kenneth Olden’s death. He died one night sitting at home of a heart attack. He is survived by his wife, my aunt, two daughters, my cousin and me. I may not be one of his children, but I am a product of him. As most people know, I did not have a father, or no males to guide me, but my two male cousins and I were very close, and often times we stayed in San Jose with my Uncle Kenny. To be perfectly honest, for the longest I thought my uncle hated me. I was the destructive kid in my family, if I was left around something valuable I was guaranteed to break it. It didn’t matter if it was a toy or a car; I was guaranteed to damage something. At his house I had a tradition. On every visit I would break the bender board that encaged his rocks and plants. After years of doing this, I finally received the threat: break another bender board and he would break my a**.
But during the years we grew close. I learned many things from him. It was he who taught me to stop “tattle telling”, and he who taught me chess. He worked with me and my cousin on basketball and baseball drills. He even took us both out to drive in his Corvette. He quickly became the first man I trusted since he was the only male I hung around. I loved him. To me, he was my father. Inside I cherished everything about him.
But my thoughts and feelings remained inside.
I never told my uncle that I love him, or how I felt about him. I never told him how much I appreciated everything he did for me and that on many occasions I proceeded just to make him proud. I remember that dreadful night, lying in my bed in Bradford Hall when I got the phone calls. First my cousin Tjrilmel called me, and then Lil Kenny called me. All I could do was sit in awe. I had always pictured he would be around forever, that he would see me graduate and see both me and his son make something successful of ourselves. I’ve never been to a funeral in my life because I can’t deal with seeing so many people in pain, but his was the first funeral I wanted to attend. I never got that one last chance to see my uncle and give my regards. I never got to tell him how I felt.
I have to live the rest of my life knowing I was too proud and ashamed to let my uncle know I cared for him. That is a burden that ate me up for months after he died. To honor his memory I made two vows: I would always wear his picture around my neck, and never again would I hide my feelings from anyone. I have kept both vows. Every little impulse I feel I express it, regardless of what anyone thinks or feels. I may never get to tell my uncle what he meant to me, but I know no one will ever have to wonder if I care for them again. I am a man of my word.
Trying to Uplift My Folks
Categories:
Never wait until it’s too late
January 30, 2007
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