Black History Month: Uncle Daddy

When I was about 9 or 10, something happened with my best friend G’s family that really freaked me out. They were a nice Indian family, red dot, not feather. His was a single parent household, much like mine. Then later, his Uncle came to live with them. I spent a lot of time over at his house, and he at mine. Our families ate together often. Uncle was the best cook. I loved his curry everything and mango ubiquity. The food was banging. And Uncle was funny too. His Indian accent used to crack me up, not in a laughing at you way, but in a laughing at your jokes way. Man, Uncle was cool. Then something happened that messed with my head: G’s Uncle married G’s mom.

What? Are these people out of their minds?!? G was surprisingly cool with it. He didn’t mind having an Uncle Daddy. I, however was grossed out. I tried to explain it to him, but he just wasn’t understanding me. I told him your uncle can’t marry your mom. That’s creepy. He said “no, it’s not!” I thought to myself, I can’t come over here anymore. No more Atari tournaments, no more slumber parties, no more flipping baseball cards with G. This house is creepy, and I can’t be a part of it. G didn’t realize why I was get freaked out. I repeated that Uncles can’t marry moms!! He asked “why not!”

Because that’s his sister!!!
G laughed at me like I was the stupid one. Turns out, in Indian culture, respected elders were called Uncle, whether they are related to you or not. I don’t remember how he explained that to me, but I finally understood. Man, Uncle Daddy was about to have me up in there praying for them fools. I still laugh whenever I think of that misunderstanding. It was like a bad episode of “Three’s Company”, with me playing Mr. Furley and G being Jack Tripper.