Guest Post: Uncle Tsao’s By Aris

Dec.13.2011 at 9:10 am | Alix B. Golden

Be sure to check out the first part of this story, Beans & Rice.

August 12, 2000 marked one month to the day I moved out of my parents’ home. It also marked on month to the last time I had spoken to Daddy. By now, every one on both sides of my family knew that I had moved out, but no one knew exactly why. When asked, I told people that it was just time. In that month, Jerry and I settled very quickly into our customized domestication. We added my name to the lease, I changed my address and when Momma told me I could have my old bedroom furniture, I was able to get “my room” set up. We took turns cooking for each other, we argued, we invited friends over for drinks and movies, we shared the bills, we ran together, we cuddled on the couch watching our shows and we alternated sleeping in “his room” and “my room”. We even went back to school together, keeping each other motivated to study and get to classes on time. I was able to afford it because I was promoted to Assistant Manager at Timberland shortly after I moved. So things were going kinda good. Oddly, through all that, the impact of every thing that happened one month before had yet to really sink in. I wouldn’t say I ignored it or couldn’t get my mind around it. It just didn’t seem real in a lot of ways. That kind of drama was so foreign to our branch of the Banks family, so nothing we had ever been through prepared any of us for it. So it just kinda sat there on the side of my mind until I could figure out what to do with it.

On that morning, August 12th, I called my aunt Gloria and left a Happy Birthday message for my cousin Jeremie, got dressed and drove around the corner to the barber shop. As it was the only black barber shop in a 15 mile radius, it was usually packed, and that day was no different. The barbers were never concerned with speedy service presumably because they took pride in giving each customer a great hair cut (and not because they knew our only options were to wait or leave nappy). I walked in, sat down and was about to dive into a wonderful string of reverie when my eyes caught sight of that iconic Kappa Alpha Psi bumper sticker and shiny brick red truck. It was ten year old, but you would have sworn it was just driven off the lot. Daddy always took pride in how well he was able to maintain things he bought. Before I could look away from the bumper sticker, the door swung open and he stepped in, removing his hat as his eyes fell right on mine.

“HEY SON!!”

Is he smiling?

“Hey Daddy!”

Oh, my God, he’s opening his arms…

I stood up.

What the hell?

It wasn’t one of those man hugs where you shake hands, lean in slightly and pat each other on the back. Daddy put both of his arms around me. Coulda bought me for a slice of bread. I probably would have cried, except I couldn’t (I have this weird emotional condition in which only three or four people in the world have been able to make me cry since I was 14. Daddy wasn’t one of them yet). I hugged him back, tightly, but briefly. We were in the barber shop after all. He came and sat next to me and we dove into an hour of non-stop conversation. We talked about my job, his job, my mom’s job, my sisters, my aunts who need to lose weight, my uncles who need to get jobs, old family friends…we talked about everything! We laughed and smiled and made jokes…and it was the first time anything like that had EVER happened between us. When the barber signaled for Daddy to take the chair, he looked over his shoulder at the guy who had come in after him and waved him ahead. When the barber signaled for me a minute later, I did the same. And we continued to talk. I don’t remember ever feeling so close to him. Even though every thing was different, it felt kinda the same again. It felt like the Banks family again. I was safe. Safe in Daddy’s good graces.

We were called up for our cuts again at about the same time and each too the chair this time. My barber prepped me, oiled up the clippers and stopped to change the channel. It was around 11:00 on a week day so The Jerry Springer Show was the natural choice. And in honor of this random, yet profoundly touching reunion between me and Daddy, the topic of the day was “Fathers Finding Out Their Sons Are Gay” (TOP of the list of sht that could only happen to me). So there we sat in this den of Black hyper-masculinity amid all the husky baritone voices yelling “AAW HEWL NAW, NGGA!!! NAW MAN!!! FUKK THAT SHT!!! THAT WOULDN’T BE MY SON!!! MAN, IF THAT WAS MY SON, I’LL BEAT THAT LIL’ NGGA STRAIGHT!! FUKK THAT SHT, MAN!!! THAT SHT IS CRAZY!!” Just like I had done one exactly one month prior, I closed my eyes and tried to evaporate.

Daddy’s barber was slower than mine, so I was done before he was. I stepped over to his chair and we exchanged a few more words before he said “…talk to ya later, Son.” In my head, I was thinking “For real?! You promise?!” I realized that I had taken him for granted all my life. I felt so good to have him back. I finally understood what it meant to have a father. I finally understood what it meant to be a son. I can’t speak for all the sons in the world, but this son admires and emulates his father. And one of my most prized possessions is his pride in me. I was glad to have it back. I love my daddy!

On the same day of the following week, we ran into each other again at the same barber shop and after another long non-stop conversation, he invited me to dinner with him and Momma that same night at our favorite Chinese restaurant in the area. It felt just like it always had (except for the fact that Monica wasn’t there).

A little less than three months later, I was done with school, had broken up with Jerry (that’s a whole other book) and moved to Atlanta with my job. If you were in Atlanta between Fall 2000 and Summer 2001, you would know that there was no reason why you would want to be anywhere else! Daddy came to Atlanta for a week-long TDY (“temporary duty” for you civilians) at Fort McPherson. The night before he left, he came to meet me at my job just as I was about to get off. I worked at the Timberland Store in Phipps Plaza. We walked around a bit before he suggested we get something to eat. Said he wanted Chinese. So we went to Uncle Tsao’s. I remember I had salmon (sht was GOOD, too!). We talked about Monica a lot that night for some reason before he got quiet suddenly while staring at his plate. He looked up at me with a soft smile and said “Son…” I knew it was coming. He briefly recapped the events from that night in the drive way when I wasn’t wearing shoes. He said that even though he doesn’t understand it (the whole “gay” thing), he realizes that it is a part of his son. And in order to have his son in his life, he had to accept that part as well.

And he apologized.

I apologized again for disrespecting him by saying the things I said that night. He paid the check and we left.

I’ve learned recently that love is not the name of that mushy emotion you feel when you think about your favorite person or people. As I’ve learned it, love is an action. Even when you say it– “I LOVE YOU”– you are implying some sort of action toward the person to whom you’re speaking. So its not quite an emotion. At least, I don’t think so. I don’t resent Daddy one bit for all the things that happened because I know they were driven by emotions and had nothing to do with his love for me. The proof is the fact that our relationship keeps getting better and better. He accepts that I’m gay and I accept that its foreign to him, so he doesn’t bash me for it and I don’t force it down his throat. And we’re cool. Actually planning to go into a business venture together soon.

Me and my Daddy.