The Vicious Circle Chronicals

Preface: I remember...

Woodrow Sinclair was my great-grandfather. Right up until the Sinclair family reunion in 1968, I had only seen pictures of him on the mantle over the fireplace or in some of the family photo albums. He looked to be quite a dignified businessman who was powerful, particularly in those turbulent times. Despite the historical events of the times, it was one of the best times I would experience and remember of the family.
This would be the first time I would come to the small village of Marcellus where my great-grandfather spent most of his years in this old Victorian house that looked very close like a old southern plantation up on the hill on Valley Road, just outside the corporation limits on State Route 11. The house was well maintained and freshly painted bright white. The yard was well decorated with balloons and party favors and the huge sign that draped over the front gate that displayed that you were at the Sinclair Family reunion. The blossoming of springtime splendor complimented the atmosphere for a family picnic. I remember it was huge.
I remember there wasn't a cloud in the sky that day. Before then it must have rained almost every day in that early part of May, but now come Memorial day weekend and the weather was warm and sunny. I thought that the elders all prayed for the sun to shine the night before and the gods blessed us with friendly blue skies and a bright sun.
Mattie Sinclair was my great-grandmother whom had quite a heavy creole accent, almost as profound as my mother's Jamaican dialect. I remember her as a very strong, very beautiful lady from the pictures I had gazed upon. I had only heard stories about her from my mother, although she was on my father's side of the family tree. She remembers how she was welcomed into their home with a grand southern style hospitality, how she put out a grand feast and made you feel like one of her own. In all the photographs she graced, there was always that warm smile. I loved to hear my mom or sometimes my uncle Johnnie tell stories about her and how she held the family all together.
I was only nine years old when I first met my great-grandparents. This was the year that my father, Bobby Sr., had returned from his trip from Europe with his doo-wop group, the Corporations. He had just promoted his latest album just a few months prior to his leaving. It has been three months thus far and there were no letters, post cards, phone calls, nothing. I can tell that my mom was hurting. I caught her trying to hide her face when she cries. I know she misses dad when he goes away for months at a time.
I was never really close to my father and I never see him much anymore since he was awarded a gold record a couple of years ago. He was becoming more like a ghost that appears every once in a blue moon. When he is home, he locks himself down the basement and he practices on his guitar for hours, and we dare not disturb him...not even mom.
It was disappointing that when my father did give a hint of attention, he was more receptive to my brother Reggie that he was with my other siblings, with the exception of Lil' Debbie who had been quite sickly since birth, almost like Reggie had been. This would soon cause a civil rivalry between the brothers, particularly between Reggie and myself.
Lil' Debbie would be two years old in July. She was born Deborah Louise, but was nicknamed Lil Debbie because she was so small and fragile. Mon kept constant watch on her night and day as she was afraid that she would die in her sleep. I t was said that she was born with some type of cancer and she had been hospitalized for a long period of time. She had not grew and hair since birth and he skin was pale. Mom kept her close and expected the worst.
Then there were my other siblings that made up my primary family. Velvet was my oldest sister who is ten, then came me. I am the second born, first son and my father's namesake. Lucas is a year younger than me and was good at always doing wrong. He would get a whipping at least once or twice a day from mom.
Reggie would be next down the tree. He was named Reginald after another of the great-grand relative in our family history. He was two years younger than me and appeared to be my father's favorite son, that is when he paid anyone any attention. Reggie, as well as myself, was proud of our father who was a star in our eyes.
The next brother was Donnie who thought that someday he would be a great singer like Marvin Gaye, who was one of my mother's favorite singers of all time. I remember him trying to sing the words to "Too Busy Thinking 'Bout My Baby" and would make this sort of buzzing hum in spots where he didn't know the words. Still he gyrates and dances as he is now a legend in our living room.
The first four of us were each closely one year apart from each other. Donnie broke the cycle as he was born approximately two years after Reggie.
Then came Angie who turned five early in March. Lorraine was born in February. She is four years old.
As I remember how despite the hard times and how more distant I was with my dad, that one day was the most happiest time I spent with my family ever.
I remember seeing my mom so happy, something that until then I had only seen in slow waves as to disquise in contrast to her sad eyes. As a child I never understood why my mother would cry many times and how sad it made me to see her like that. To see her smile completely was a gift of true delight that could only come from a answer to a prayer.
I remember how the members grew over time. A new found fellowship has morphed and manifested into a massive festival in my great-grandfather's yard. I discovered that there was a bigger circle outside my little circle. I was just a small piece in the bigger puzzle.
My great-uncle Buxley, or as we called him, great-uncle bug, impressed me vividly as he was plucking strings on an old box-like guitar. My uncle Johnnie told me that he was a great blues man who was famous a long time ago. My uncle spoke highly about him as if was a grand figure in history. My great-uncle of the blues.He was the first to had inspired me to learn how to play guitar.
He had a voice that reminded me of those old blues singer on those old 78rpm record that my grandfather Kenny had a grand collection, handed down to him by his daddy and his amongst his massive collection of vinyl recordings.
I remember my grandfather Kenny used to play that Jimmy Smith tune, "The Sermon". I remember that song was over twenty minutes long but he would listen to that song for hours and hours, over and over again. Every time I was there to visit he played that song, and it had begun to grow on me. But I had also grown to love another tune on that same record called "Flamingo" It was a soft tune with a pretty trumpet solo. So soothing to listen to.
Roberta is my grandmother on my father's side, which I had come to spent a lot of quality time with when dad went away on one of his trips and leaves us there until the next time we see him. I remember those moments with my grandparents who were stern and hard, and discipline was gospel in their house and you followed the golden rule. I remember if you were good, you were handsomely rewarded with priceless gifts of affection and the grace of love. Roberta was a great storyteller, rather it was fairy tales or bible readings, her voice was perfect and soothing to listen before we fell asleep.
I remember the traditional Sunday dinners after church. I remember grandpa Kenny didn't like to go to church at all. He'd rather watch basketball or football than to hear the hypocrites screaming at the top of their lungs claiming that they are possessed with the holy ghost. He was quite stubborn and the religious debates went on almost every Saturday night. Despite the disputes over religion, and other matters that came up at the adult dinner table, the meals were prepared with TLC.
I remember the time and care my grandma Roberta put into preparing a feast fit for royalty. Mom would also get into the act in the kitchen along with my aunts Beverly, Christine and Joyce lending their 'flavour' to the mix. One bite of my grandma's sweet potato pie with whipped cream and a sour word was replaced with a mouthful of her sinful delight with a delicate nutty taste that teases the tongue. Then chase it down with some hot chocolate with marshmallows and it was like heaven.
I remember that family reunion in 1968. Until then I didn't really know how the circle really has grown. I remember I met cousin Candance, Uncle Johnnie's daughter. I remember she would later get me in trouble with my aunt Jeanette, Johnnie's wife, as well as my mom who gave me the whipping of my life when she found out that I had one of uncle Johnnie's guns which I thought was just a toy. I was tricked by my cousin Candance in believing it was a toy. Up to that point I have never seen a gun up close because of mom's rule that it was forbidden for any of us to touch so much as a water pistol. I remember hating Candance until I finally let it go about six or so months later. I never wanted to see another gun after that, toy or otherwise.
I also couldn't forget my mama's big brother...my uncle Billie and his devilish daughter, my cousin Barbie Louisa. She was nicknamed 'Lil Bit", but she was very big on making trouble. I remember the grown-ups talking about when she was old enough to walk and then began to run, she was running naked around the project complex where they lived in Buffalo. I have never been there before...in fact I haven't been anywhere out of town before now...never!
I remember that I got along better with my male relatives, I thought. Uncle Julius was my mom's baby brother, and I thought he was the coolest guy that had ever lived. He had the look of a rebel, a true hero, like someone who would never back down or was afraid of anyone or anything, and would never back down on a fight...and he also played a mean guitar. He would be the very first person to had ever took the time to teach me how to strum a guitar chord and to play a song, and how to impress the girls with playing some silly love song. He rode a big Harley motercycle and I was very honored when he took me for a spin with his 'brothers' out to the countryside. I was a rumor that he was one of the black panthers, although I don't know for sure. But he was in a motorcycle gang I remember. Uncle Julius was calm and cool, particularly when we were hassled by a racist state trooper while we all were at a rest stop off the Thruway. He didn't let the trooper get him angry even. I didn't understand why until he explained to me that hate is only baggage and that he was better that that. When he convinced the gang that there was no need to be bitter because of ignorance, they all stood at attention. He was my hero. However he was soon called by the draft board to go do his duty for his country. He gave me one of his favorite guitars one week before he was taken down to the bus station. He left for Paris Island in July and after that, he went off to Vietnam. I would never see my Uncle Julius again.
I remember my cousin Buzz. He was my uncle Julius' only son and my aunt Bertha was his mother. He was twelve when I first met him. He was a bit overweight for his age, but his father was a big guy too. They say that we all used to live on the same block on Carver Avenue. It was a small dead end street that dead ends at a brick wall where a cemetery was on the other side. Aunt Bertha and family lived several houses down the street, which our house was was the last house before the wall that bordered the house next to the narrow driveway. I seemed to have got along with Buzz over most of my other cousins, especially after his father left for Vietnam. He seemed to be in a real need of a friend after that. He missed his dad and I missed my uncle. But at least I had his gift, that shiny blue guitar. In his memory and his honor, I decided I wanted to play the guitar more than anything dispite my father's disapprovements and excuses...but mom held firm that if I wanted to learn, so be it.
I remember vaguely that my cousin Walter and my aunt Moreen lived over my Aunt Bertha's in that two story house. I never knew Walter's father, but it is said that he was killed in action in Vietnam also. They say that her was decorated with many medals and he was a major in the Marine Corps. My aunt Bertha told me stories that my uncle Walter had held me in his arms when I was a baby. My mom told me that one Christmas he gave me a set of matchbox cars and as race set, as I do remember how I used to love collecting matchbox cars. I would buy a new car ever week when I got my allowance. Dad thought that I had some unhealthy obsession with those cars, but I really loved that I own all those tiny little cars. I remember that Walter also received a very expensive telescope that was great for star gazing. It once gave him hope that if he looked to the brightest star, his father would be there, and if he prayed real hard that the star would guide him out of harms way. I remember how heartbroken he was when the letter arrived announcing that his father was killed in napalm flames. He never looked into that telescope again.
My cousin Earleen was Walter's older sister, which I remember how her and my sister Velvet was the perfect pair for each other. I thought my sister wasn slowley changing as her attitude was becoming one of her own. Earleen was turning thirteen and seemed to be growing out more each day. My remember my sister used to play around and wear my mom's makeup. She looked like a clown to me, but she thought she was a supermodel. When my mother saw her I thought she would lose it totally, as she was shocked to see her like that. Seemed like my sister couldn't wait to be a grown-up.
I remember most of my other cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, in-laws and newborns. Most of them were from somewhere else. I never knew that uncle Johnnie was from Ohio, or my uncle Percy who was another brother of my mom lives in Chicago but was born right here at home. I never knew I had family in Kentucky, Mississippi, Arkansas, Indiana, or even as far a California. I remember all the somber greetings from some of these people. All the hugs and sloppy kisses from the elderly women. All the handshakes, smiles, words of wisdom, the blessings, and the history in their eyes while the youth is viewed as the next generation of this family. This is the gathering that I remember made quite an impact on my life, as this would be the last time I would ever see a lot of them ever again in my lifetime. As for my great-grandfather Woodrow, I was very gratified to had a chance to meet him, to talk and listen to him, and to see his gentle smile, even if it was only once.
I remember from the pictures in the photo albums as all whom were there, I could relive every moment of that bright sunny day when we all were together as a family. I also remember that in none of those pictures was my father were in any of them. He was still on tour with his band, or maybe he was in Canada and left us all behind. There were no letters or phone calls since he had gone. But this wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last. We don't see very much of his when he is home as I remember. Dad was a flaming star at that time and that was all that mattered to him.
I remember the beginning of this new decade as I would enter into a changing world that was growing more rebellious and angry. I remember how my mom just was horrified the night we heard on the evening news that Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. was murdered. I only heard a little bit about him from school that he was a freedom fighter who wanted to change things that needed to changed. I remember watching the world come undone...the race riots...Vietnam...protests...marches...speeches...killings...I remember how I didn't understand what was going on. I was only nine years old.
I do remember that my family and my world would never be the same after my great-grandfather Woodrow died about a year later, but I was forever greatful to have met him that one time. It was all forever changed in my lifetime. I will never forget that day.