He laughed, sat next to me, looked at my feet for a second (laughed again) then looking straight in my eyes, lovingly responded, "Those ain't muscles Trapper."
I was no older than 5. My uncle Anthony Prince, or "Pookie" as we affectionately called him, was not around when I made the discovery...
He was tall, brown skin, and his handsome face was perfectly complemented by his manly, near perfect smile. His slender frame was accented by muscles all over. When he twisted open a soda bottle they bulged out of his forearm. When he sat shirtless on the couch, his chest and abs always appeared like armor to my 5 year old eyes. When he would bite down on his teeth to display anger or perhaps confidence the "muscles" would fire from his jawline and temple.
...So, as I said, he was away, perhaps with his friends, when I discovered the "muscles" in my feet. I could not wait for him to return home so I could show him. Show him that his nephew was going to have muscles, his nephew was going to be athletic, his nephew was going to be just like him!
The truth was however, I would grow up to not be like him. Pookie had a problem. His problem was unfortunately all to common on Highland Avenue in St. Louis, Missouri in the 1980's...he was addicted to crack cocaine. As with all drug addicts, family's try and protect the addicted and our family was no different. My grandmother, in spite of her youngest son's consistent disappointments, obvious lies, and occasional theft of things in the very house he lived, tried to protect him from the dangers that he seemed so drawn towards. She could only do so much...
Pookie was murdered near the block of Highland Avenue some years later after I showed him my muscles. I recall people saying how shameful it was he could not overcome the powerful grip chasing "the next high" had over him. They commented on how much potential he had. How charismatic he was and how even at his lowest, he still had a sparkle, however distant, in his eyes that reminded them of his potential. "If he was evvvvaaaa able to break away from the tight hold of crack cocaine..."
That was my uncle Pookie. Seemingly unstoppable. Physically gifted. I wanted to be just like him as a child. Now, as an adult, I just wish I could of been there to see him reclaim his gifts. Witness him live to come out the other side of his addiction. Watch him realize his potential and to correct his wrongs.
I would visit him as I approach my 30's and seek advice. I would confide in him my fears, my ambitions. I would ask him to workout with me. :)
However, I will not have that opportunity. I will only be able to tell stories about how when I was young I told him I had muscles in my feet. And how confused, he looked at me and told me I didn't.
...and that breaks my heart every time I think about it.
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