EVERYONE MATTERS --EVERYONE

My uncle Solly died at the age of 88. He lived in Beverly Hills in a really big house off Sunset Boulevard. I discovered him after not seeing him for 30 years. I had to go see him with my son, Boye. I had to. I knew they would "recognize" each other -- not faces, but spirit, essence, soul. They would just know each other without a word. They hugged silently.

When I was a little boy, Solly was the only adult in my life that knew who I was inside. When he talked to me, his voice didn't change. He looked me in the eyes. He hugged me freely. He laughed easily, and together we could be authentically silly and ageless.

He introduced me to classical music when I was six, by making up stories to match the intensity of the music. Today, when I hear music, I see stories -- any kind of music. He taught me photography. He held my hand. He layed on the floor with me. He showed up when I was hurt. He liked me. I liked him.

I also had two parents that were nice and available, and fed me good. But Solly added the ingredient of recognizing that I was more than a small body of any specific age. He didn't need to teach me anything. He wanted to. And he taught me things that mattered. That we all matter.