I’d not seen my niece for nine years before I had the opportunity to attend her graduation ceremony last week. After nine years I wasn’t sure we’d be able take biological relatedness to the next level: being connected, too. The truth is, I wasn’t sure who’d she’d become and whether the person I’d become is someone she’d want to claim as family.
Given this, I wasn’t sure I’d go to the graduation. But my brother implored me to go, reminding me that “she’s your niece, not just my daughter.” He was right, of course. But I didn’t know her as my niece. We had no relationship. I became an “instant” uncle because my brother had a child with someone. I had no say in the matter.
When things go down that way and you’re on the family side looking outward, it’s hard to feel like anything more than a familial predecessor. I certainly didn’t feel like an uncle. For many years I knew literally nothing about my niece other than the fact that she existed. But nine years ago, when I met her and we spent time together, that changed. Within minutes I felt like an uncle. No, I was an uncle. And I knew she was something special. All the instincts kicked in and all I wanted was to know her, teach her. . . be there for her. That’s what uncles do, after all.
I gave her my phone number and encouraged her to call me, anytime. But no call ever came. I wondered why, but I never worried about it. I simply went back to living my life. These years later, I know that was the wrong choice. I was the adult; I should have called. I should have made the connection.
But there were other factors involved. This happened with my brother before. Another child had been born of another failed “relationship”. The child became someone I didn’t know, and an adult I never will for a variety of reasons. I don’t think anyone’s to blame for how this came to be; it simply was what it was. Still, I’ll forever regret not playing a role in that niece’s life.
I didn’t want to repeat that history this time, however. And I’d been told my niece really wanted me at her graduation. Me, the prodigal uncle she’d not seen or heard from in nine years. So I went. As the ceremony progressed, her name was called and she was presented with her diploma on stage. My heart swelled with pride. And when the ceremony was complete, and she made her way over to us, I was atypically nervous, unsure of what to do or say. So was she. But moved by the power of the moment, I hugged her, told her how proud I was of her, and immediately dispatched any perceived awkwardness between us.
Every moment of those nine lost years was washed away in but seconds, and all that mattered was the fact that in that moment, we were more than just related—we were, finally, connected.
Repeating history, I gave her my phone number. This time she gave me hers, too. I spoke with her mother and congratulated her on the fine job she did, predominantly alone, with the young woman who stood before us today. I hugged her, as well, knowing that despite the fact she and my brother are not together, she is family, too.
Graduation from high school is a hallmark, a rite of passage, for every young person. It’s a moment when everything, absolutely everything, seems possible and within grasp; one of the few times we humans are at our most hopeful. But last week, I learned a high school graduation can be all this and more for a once-reluctant uncle who is hopeful for a future that now includes his niece—not just his brother’s daughter—for the remainder of his days.
Charles K. Poole is an author, Communications Executive and PR Expert, popular blogger, inspirational speaker and popular culture commentator. Poole can be reached through his blog, www.iammyowncause.blogspot.com, or you can follow him on twitter @pooleproof.
© PooleProof Communications, LLC 2012
