Uncle Buck

  My uncle's ghost pays me a visit once in a while. Eastchester & Boston Road all the way down to Wilson Ave was his turf. Of course he roamed streets with other names. The sources of income my uncle had differed. Till this day I still can't figure out the type of work he did. Picking me up from school or coming home from a busy day of work he would be wearing paint stained pants. Painting apartments is the only job I could remember my uncle having.  

  Smoking was of my uncle's past, but drinking would eventually drown him. Alcoholism ran deep at my aunt's house. If there wasn't a hammer or a pack of matches in the house a bottle of Colt 45 would be in every corner. Boxing and similar forms of entertainment would play on the television while my uncle slept in a deep state.

  Believing in a higher power may sound weird when it goes to connecting it with my uncle. But nope, he was a Muslim. Not you typical Muslim though. My uncle fell within the lines of what we in the inner-city would call a Five-Percenter. He never took Hajj. Never wore the traditional costume clothes of a Shia or Sunni. He never fasted on the month of Ramadan. The one thing he loved was kufi's. Yeah, I could picture my uncle walking the streets with a kufi, a freshly shaved face, topped off with comfortable street clothes.

  Growing up I always saw my uncle as goofy and loving. He was my confidence-booster as a child. For example, I wanted to be a rapper as kid. You could see us walking down Wilson Ave. Me rapping and my uncle beat-boxing. Years later I would find out that these goofy qualities were symptoms of mental fatigue. Living under a toxic substance will eventually take a toll on a person.  

  Every young black male needs to learn self-defense. My uncle loved teaching me how to fight. I can remember practicing the punch throws and blocks. Push-ups and sit-ups would become my daily routine. These early lessons would come in handy when it came to standing up to class clowns and schoolyard bullies.

  Whoever told you that pennies are worthless was wrong as two left feet. Pennies were use for magic tricks my uncle would try to teach me. In the drawers of my dresser I have a ton of pennies. Sometimes I place one in between my middle finger and my thumb. No matter how hard I try to snap the penny always tends to ricochet or bounce off a wall. My uncle did it just right, without any effort or strain. My uncle was just as magical as the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus.

  Magic tricks, self-defense, beliefs in a higher being, all wrapped in alcoholism can best describe my uncle. Although his name was Carl Middleton I called him Uncle Buck. His smile falls upon me when a bright sun hits Boston Road. I know if Uncle Buck was here he wouldn't  judge me based off my shortcomings, but my character as a man. Hugs would follow (even though him and my aunt would be separated). December nights go good with a Colt 45. The night still looks young and in remembrance of good old Uncle Buck I toast one up to the sky and say: "Salute."