December 7, 2008

• Can shoes really float

   

  I'm six years old. 

  I'm dancing, prancing, happily gyrating to Elvis Presley's, "You Aint Nothing But A Hound Dog" with my 15 and 16 year old aunts. They are teaching me to Jitter Bug. Somehow, somewhere in the distance bearly audible through the music I hear.... "but he's a little light in the loafers". They were pointing in a clandestine sort of way to Richard, uncle's best friend.

  What?

  I start to ask my auntie whatever did they mean when the phone rang. Immediately a chorus of "If it's for me, I'm not home" seems to shoot out from every corner of the little country home. How strange. But that's how it was done at Grandma's. Whomever picked up the phone was the designated "liar" at large. Oh, they all took turns except, of course, when everybody home was not home. The receiver was never picked up untill each person home had registered their availability status. So Grandma's house was populated with part time ghosts and floating shoes.

  I wondered, what is so different about Richards shoes. They looked fine to me. In fact they were well in fashion and beautifully polished. In fact, they looked exactly like Uncle's shoes. Uncle, his best friend Richard and two girls were headed out on a double date. They must have been somewhere in their late twenties or so. It's nice they are all going out together.

  EDIT...   I began this entry on Friday will all intention of posting a cute light hearted, sincere tribute to my uncle. But fate had another plan.

  I was going to bring you back to the present some fifty years from that long ago day of floating shoes and part-time ghosts. I was going to tell you of Uncle's kind heart and Richard's wacky sense of humor. I was going to tell you of a young girl's first encounter with "gayness" and how over the passing of these fifty years, not once has the word gay, homosexual, or any number of epithets has ever been attached to their relationship. It was the time I suppose. One didn't talk about that or acknowledge that there just might be something different happening between Uncle and Richard.

  But life can be unpredictable, choosing a path not desired by anyone. 

  Uncle passed away today. Subconsciously I must have felt death approaching. Why else would the memory of that day insist I put it down in words. Only last week he was doing well. Prostrate cancer had won over; slowly rotting Uncle's body from the inside out. Stealing his peace, his dignity... mercilessly degrading him.

  He and Richard had been partners for more than 50 years. They were each others first true love. They had shared the good times and the bad, always faithful to one another. I remember how close they seemed to be.. one would start a sentance to have the other finish. Smiles meant just for each other. Comfort when the sadness of life became to heavy to bear alone.

  I wonder if they ever admitted, verbally to anyone within the family, what I instictively knew from the age of six, long before I knew the meaning of homosexual or understood all the baggage that word carries... that Uncle and Richard were a couple, a pair, a family just like my family. They were content in each other's company.

  I will miss him. I will grieve his loss. More, I will grieve for Richard as he must cope with the aloneness of being widowed while only admitting that a good friend, his roommate is gone.

  My father's family was always willing to accept that Richard was more than a friend (they won't say gay) but they will not, will never be able to accept that Uncle was gay. Too bad for them.

  I knew at six.

  And I loved him and Richard.

  Then... and now.... and forever.

   

  • 9:53 PM
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