Ain’t God Alright?: Remembering my Uncle Eddie. Part 1: The Gift of a Lifetime

Some lives are miracles the world never saw coming. My Uncle Eddie was one of them. His story began with prayers that defied doctors’ predictions and faith that moved mountains. In this first part, I remember the boy who wasn’t supposed to live, the young man who carried the weight of manhood too soon, and the uncle whose quiet strength mirrored so much of who I am today.

I had the gift of my Uncle Eddie for fifty-one and a half more years than the world ever expected. He was my person and there are no words to express how much I miss him in the physical.

My mom, his oldest yet younger sister – and his mom, my grandma Mattie – shared with me on numerous occasions that he was never supposed to live past early childhood. Rheumatic fever had left his heart enlarged and weak, his entire being fragile. Doctors said he wouldn’t make it. But my grandmother’s prayers and relentless faith covered him, kept him, carried him—and he thrived. Not just for a little while. He lived for nearly seventy-nine years. Am I being selfish for wanting more?

He struggled with the shame of being called “handicap” because he was a part of the stigmatized class of students who had special needs.

But Grandma saw to it that he received all of the support he needed to ensure his academic success – she worked tirelessly to ensure he was supported by Voc Rehab during a time when that wasn’t the standard for a Black child growing up during segregation. He was determined to ensure his keen personal and social success even amid his shy and introverted spirit.

This was another one of those spaces where we mirrored each other. Most folks would never believe that either one of us struggled as much as we do with shyness or understand that we are, in fact, introverts to our core.

He became a husband and father at just sixteen, a child stepping into the weight of manhood, carrying responsibilities that humble some of the most mature men. These decisions would shape the rest of his life. Aunt Ver, the mother of his five children, was fourteen – brilliant and to this day one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known – and in reality, although they stepped up and owned their adult choices, neither was mature enough to shoulder the weight of the all-encompassing adult responsibility that parenting and coupling required.

First, there was my cousin Litha, then Sug came on the scene a year later. Then came Droppy, Corey, and finally Alvy.

“They” say you can’t skip steps in growth & development. I often find myself thinking of what my own life would have evolved into if I’d gotten pregnant and married one of my ninth-grade crushes, but I can just barely remember one of their names. And boy what a mess that would’ve turned out to be! Thank goodness for our Pebble Street village … Big Mama, Grandma Mattie, Papa, Aunt Suzy, so many family and framily (friends who become family)… even Mom created the chrysalis that served as a buffer that helped nurture their unit.

During our conversations I would often ask him what he thought it meant to be a good husband and father (thinking maybe one day he would slip and give me a different response). He always told me that it meant being a great provider. He’d learned that from my Papa, his dad – Rev. Jack “Sweetman” Smith Jr.

And that was his goal. He did everything he could imagine to provide financially, materially, and spiritually for his family. He was a hard worker, driven and could be as stubborn as a mule. Some of the funniest stories he shared with me of jobs he had were his surprisingly successful door-to-door vacuum-cleaner-salesman days and his days as a disgruntled teacher – trying to teach a class of hard-headed children (clearly, not his calling … his classroom management technique was throwing the chalkboard erasers in order to get some semblance of order).

He was brilliant, creative, and talented beyond measure. I often wondered if maybe he was so hardworking and focused because he was always racing against an invisible hourglass – so he packed everything he could into each moment … just in case it was his last.

I also wonder if at times it was to prove he was “as good as my mom.” Someone who is by far the most brilliant woman I know, and I think many people – including me – often felt as though we lived in her shadow. It was a throne that the adults unfairly and probably unintentionally created for her. An unfortunate side effect of being one generation removed from slavery. They didn’t intend to create animosity; they were just proud of what their village of love created in spite of …

My Mom never wanted the weight of her crown for herself … it’s just who she naturally is. Yet she valiantly carries it as long as it is a testimony and tribute to her village. My mom once asked him what he would say to Papa once he reunited with him in heaven. He defiantly said that he’d tell him that he’s not Jacquelyn (my mom). It made me so sad to know that this quiet envy existed and created an unspoken competitive distance between them that my Mom never even recognized – yet I’m also grateful that it helped to fuel his drive towards living in his purpose.

Faith carried him further than medicine ever imagined — and purpose kept him running long after fear tried to slow him down. But the story of Uncle Eddie doesn’t end there. In the next part, I’ll take you into the pulpit, where calling met contradiction, and where his light burned even brighter through the cracks.