Uncle Olin... and Otis

(For that Southern Black Gal...)

My Uncle Olin...

He died some 8 years ago. I still think about him to this day.

He was my grandfather's baby brother. And I believe he was 40 years old when I was born. I remember back in 1974 or roundabouts, his birthday came up and I was so excited. I asked how old he was.

"I'm 44 today, baby," he said.

I frowned up when he said that. "44. You real old, Uncle Olin. Real old."

He laughed.

We had several other conversations. For some reason, I liked to argue with him about how he spells his name.

"Your name is spelled O-H-I-O," I would say. I remembered the teacher at school pointing out the state of Ohio on a big map of the United States. It was where she was from. And somehow, I thought because it began with an "O" then it must be how Uncle Olin spelled his name. So there was a big debate between the two of us.

"My name is spelled O-L-I-N, Lisa," he would say.

"No it is not," I would counter with a hard foot stomp.

I didn't believe him, even when he spelled it out on a piece of paper.

One thing that made him mad was me calling him a "brick house". You remember the old Commodores song "Brick House." My Uncle Olin was a 400 pound man. And to my little mind, "brick house" was a description of a fat person. So when he walked in the room, I would start to singing hard...

"Uncle Olin... You's a brick... Hoooooouse! You mighty mighty, just letting it all hang out! 'Cause you's a brick Hoooooouse!"

My mother snatched me one day.

"Would you stop saying that?" she said through clinched teeth.

She went on to explain to me that "brick house" didn't mean a big person, but it meant a very fine woman.

I didn't know what to make of that. I just thought my mama didn't know what she was talking about. I knew what a brick house was, as there were brick houses in the neighborhood and they were large. All houses were large to my little eyes. Mama didn't know what she was talking about.

Another thing about my Uncle Olin: he was a gay man.

And I don't know how that was in the 70s and 80s for him. I was a child and didnt' pay much attention. For you see, there was no gay rights agenda. None to be found. If there was, I didn't know about it.

Uncle Olin had a boyfriend named Otis. And they lived together in my great-grandmother's back room. And I think I basically lived with them from the age of 3 to 5 years old. That time of my life is still fuzzy. Word has it that they just kept me all the time. My Mother left me over there so much that my great-grandmother threatened to take custody of me. I just remember that is where I spent the majority of my time with my grandmother.

And Uncle Olin and Otis, who lived in the back bedroom of the tiny house, just behind the small dining room.

Their room didn't even have a door. The open doorway was covered by a long pretty maroon paisley silk curtain. And I remembered that it was forbidden for me to go back there.

(As a matter of fact, I didn't go into that room until I was 15. Imagine that. I'd asked Uncle Olin if I could go back there. And I did. I thought it would be a trip into some type of wonderland, but it was just an ordinary bedroom.)

I do remember in my young mind thinking, though... "Uh, these are two men together. These two men go together."

One of my fondest memories was sitting in the middle of the floor as a child in me and my mother's apartment over in SWATS, wrapping identical matching bottles of Avon Wild Country cologne for Uncle Olin and Otis, in blue and gold gift wrap (this wrapping paper was set aside for the men's gifts in our family). Each was identically wrapped with navy blue and gold wrapping paper. The presents had matching gold bows.

Or blue bows, if we didn't have any gold bows.

It took a lot to get those wrapped bottles of cheap cologne wrapped just right. I spent much time on them.

I remember the adults having some issues with the Uncle Olin and Otis. I heard them whispering about it, but I had no idea what they were talking about. I knew that Otis and Uncle Olin were adults and I was not allowed to be disrespectful, even though even at the age or 3 or 4 I remember thinking "Hmm... these are two men together."

I found Otis especially interesting. He was a skinny redbone dude with a short fro and a goatee. Sometimes when he would see my aunt he would holler "Hey there girl, you sho is looking good there!"

My aunt would holler back "Thank you!"

I would frown up at this, as it confused me something awful. I thought he was flirting with my Auntie. I always wanted to ask about this. I didn't ask her about it until a couple of years ago, some 40 years after the fact.

"Did he use to be flirting with you, Auntie?"
"Oh no," she said. "He was just my uncle. He was crazy about me."

She told me one particularly hair raising story. When she was in her late teens, she came home crying. Otis asked what was wrong. She said she'd had a bad fight with her boyfriend.

So Otis was sitting on the porch one day and the dude came walking down the street. Otis ran up on dude and beat him down.

"He beat that guy up," Auntie said. "They were fighting with fists, like in the movies. Otis wasn't having nobody upsetting me."

And I am sure that dude didn't upset my Auntie ever again.

And I remember wishing I would've known that Otis got down like that, whooping a dude down for acting up on lady folk of the family. There was a boyfriend or two that had given me a hard time over the years. A good beat down would've straighten them right up.

When I was around 21, a friend and I from grad school stopped by my grandmother's house. My great-grandmother's house has always been next door. (She passed a decade earlier). As usual, Uncle Olin and Otis were sitting out on the front porch.

"Hey, there go my Uncle Olin and Otis," I told my friend. We went over and I introduced them to her.

"This is my Uncle Olin. And this is Otis."

Otis gave me a look. I didn't know what that was about.

My friend asked me about them later. "Is that Otis guy your family member or a cousin or something?"

"No, that's Uncle Olin's man," I said, nonchalantly. "They have been together since before I was born."

My friend was flabbergasted. I was confused by her shock.

Afterall, this was Uncle Olin... and Otis.

When Otis saw me a few days later, he was so sad. "I can't believe you introduced me as Otis. I am more than Otis to you."

Okay, so I knew what he meant. I was suppose to introduce him as Uncle Otis. But that wasn't going to happen.

"Now you know I call you Otis," I said. "If you wanted me to call you Uncle Otis, ya'll should've started me saying that when I was little."

Honey, I had to hear him whine at me a couple of times about that. He let it go after awhile.

There are many more stories. But I remember times of everyday ordinary existence. I don't remember most of our conversations, but I know Uncle Olin made some good grits. My great-grandmother cooked most of the time, but I remember that we all basically lived together, there in that small house.

Uncle Olin was a taxi driver. I loved riding in his baby blue cadillac with the white leather interior. That's what you call a real cab.

And he taught me how to parallel park.

"Lisa, keep backing up," he hollered, as he stood watching my progress. "Now cut the wheel. Cut the wheel!"

He made me do it over and over until I got it right. I taught my brother to parallel park, the same way my Uncle Olin taught me.

I will always remember how when he saw me drive up, he would holler out the door "Hey there, Lisa!!!"

He was one person that was always happy to see me.

I saw him sitting on the porch alone one day, when I was 27, I believe. I asked him where Otis was.

"Oh, we broke up. He been gone awhile."

He went on to talk, but I don't remember a word he said. I just remember being shocked. How in the world do you break off with someone who you have been with for over 30 years.

I was messed up over that for a minute. Every time I saw Uncle Olin after that, I sure did want to question him. Otis had been a constant. The man had been around every since I was little. Needless to say, it took me a minute to get past that.

I say most of this to say that I know what it is to have a gay couple in the family, long before the whole gay rights movement. They were simply part of the family. And it may be a big reason why I am not the least bit phased by gay people as some seem to be.

I remember having to talk to my brother about it all when he was around 13 or 14 years old. He had ran up on me one day and said with huge eyes...

"Lisa, my best friend told me today that he is gay."

I didn't really know who he was talking about, but I knew of one little guy. "Your friend Jerry?"

"Yes."

I'd met Jerry a couple of times. One summer, he and my brother had a mission. They wanted to catch the bus, and then catch the train all the way to my job. And I mean, they were excited about this. And I told them if they came to see me downtown on the job, I would treat them to lunch. And you know how young dudes are: they like to eat. I told them, whatever they do, don't bring a lot of stuff with them because they would have to go through medal detectors. And I remember standing in the lobby, watching them both cracking up as a very perturbed security guard made them remove all these computer disks and swiss army knives and other things that boys carry in their coat pockets.

Jerry was a cool little dude. I thought he was a good friend for my brother.

I asked my brother how he felt about it all. He shrugged. He was just shocked by it. "I don't really feel any kind of way. Because we have been around Uncle Olin and Otis."

And that was true. But he wanted my thoughts and advice on it all. We talked further about his thoughts on it. Was he feeling like he himself was gay? How would he like to be treated by a friend if he told his friend a secret? (This brought a strange look from him. He talked about girls all the time).

My advice?

"That's your friend. That's your homeboy. You love your friend the same way you always have. He just let you know who he really is. That's still your friend. Don't shun him for who he is. He has enough folk in his life who are going to give him a rough time. Don't you be one of them."

And that was the end of that. Next time I saw them, they were still hanging out, doing their computer thing. My brother still talks about the shock of someone telling him that out of the blue. Jerry later moved away, and they lost touch. But my brother learned alot about himself in the process. I would like to think that such early experiences shaped how he treats people who are different from himself.

I never saw Otis again. Uncle Olin passed some 8 years ago. My brother was telling me how he visited him in the care home where he'd later moved. Uncle Olin had a box of pictures of himself from back in the late 60s, where he danced in the clubs and la cage aux folles type shows. I never got a chance to talk to him about those days, but I think my brother did. I didn't even know that side of his life. I wish I would've talked to him about it.

I don't know how many people have gay family members in their families, but I do imagine there are many. Someone once asked what I thought it would be like if Uncle Olin and Otis could have married back then, and if I thought they ever thought about it. I told them, I have no idea. Why? Because it never was discussed.

Now it is discussed. Debated, shouted, and such. Personally, I think people should do whatever they feel they should do. I don't impress my beliefs or thoughts about anything like this or many other things on people. I only know who I am. I can't dictate who others are. For myself, if I do that, then I am placing too much emphasis on the lives of others in an effort to get away from dealing with my own problems. That's just me.

And as I said in the last post, I have had homosexual friends. And we have been friends enough where I ask a ton of questions. And people like to talk to me anyway because I am not judgmental. (This is something I work hard on. We all have too many judgmental people in our lives. Lord knows I do.)

Listen, when LadyLee takes care of LadyLee's issues, then I will pick on what I consider to be the issues of others. And since I am under construction until the day I die, then I won't be out preaching fire and brimstone at NO ONE.

 As I told my brother... Treat others as you would like to be treated. No matter what. Strive for that. Because there is freedom in that.

In the meantime, I will strive to treat people fairly.That is how I want to be treated.  And that is hard work. And it can be done.

At any rate, I know one thing for sure:

I miss my Uncle Olin... and Otis.