Uncle Earl

Uncle Earl liked to say that he was the first person I ever called the "n-word." When I was four, the story goes, he was taking a nap and I wanted to play. I tried to wake him, and when he didn't budge, I knocked him upside the head and said, "Wake up, nigga!"

If you felt even slightly uncomfortable when you read this story, then imagine how I feel. Uncle Earl loved to share this delightful little tale with everybody every year during the holidays. The last time he told it was when I brought Jerome to meet him and his wife, Aunt Bobbie, for the first time in January. He was standing at the stove frying up a batch of catfish when he turned to Jerome and said, "You know what your girlfriend told me when she was little? Well, I was taking a nap one day and..."

Personally, I think Uncle Earl took pleasure in bringing me, the PhD student, down a peg or two. Here's another example: when I told him that I was writing about the Jim Crow era, he scoffed and said, "What do you know about that? Why don't you go to the country and pick cotton for a few months? Until then, you can't tell nobody about Jim Crow." He was always raw with me, which is why we always ended up talking (and arguing) about history during my visits. But, he said these things out of love, and that's what made him so great. When I asked him once why he moved away from Texas as a teenager, his reply was simple, yet hardcore: "Have you ever heard of eye rape?"

So, I'm going to try not to make my eulogy for Uncle Earl syrupy sweet 'cause he just wasn't that kinda man. Instead, I'll use this space to just say goodbye to the man who cooked the best food I've ever tasted (gumbo, pork fried rice, ribs, greens, ox tails, and most of all, his famous homemade rolls) and who made me watch Roots during a summer vacation when I was 13 so I'd think twice before casually using the "n-word." We're gonna miss ya, Wat.