My mom is a rule follower, my dad plays with the edges of the rules but tends to stay inside the lines, and I’ve always been pretty rigid about ‘right,’ ‘wrong’ and the non-negotiable space in between. A bit of a buzz kill, actually, always ready to lecture you if I disagree. Going back another generation, my grandmother Willa Mae was definitely a rule follower, always saving money for retirement, teaching kids the right way to read and write as an elementary school teacher, and speaking clearly for right and wrong.

And then, wildly, out of the blue, in a way that completely disarmed and charmed almost every single person he ever met in his far-too-short life, was Uncle Erwin, my father’s older brother. Uncle Erwin was smart — with a masters in divinity from Trinity University. He was handsome — class president, Poteet High School. He was popular, he was kind, and my goodness he would do anything for a good time, for a few bucks, for an adventure.

Jennei, Granny, Mamaw and me in back, with Mom, Dad and Erwin at our house in Houston. See the smiles? Everyone always laughed helplessly when Erwin was around.

My dad loves to tell how he worked his tail off one summer, double shifts at every job you could get, to offer Erwin $200 for his half of the 1936 Hudson he and Erwin had inherited from their Uncle Clyde. Erwin took one look at the pile of money and agreed. He was endlessly patient, endlessly kind, and endlessly willing to raise a ruckus in the name of fun.

I only knew him as a child — he died when I was 16, in 1990, of AIDS — but the stories my dad tells fill me with admiration, envy and terror. What do you mean he spent his last money flying to Mexico, and then made a friend who took him home to his mom, who fed him and sheltered him and became his life-long friend? What do you mean he tried drugs? How could he teach English as a second language at Columbia University, and also be a preacher at a tiny, tiny church in Harlem in the late 1980s? How could he so bravely embrace life without fear? He came over to my mom’s house once, after her divorce from dad, and gave her one of the latest things from NYC — a PAPER JACKET. I know now it was probably made out of an early form of Tyvek, but to us, in 1980s Houston, it was like a gift from another planet.

How could he be at home in Poteet, Texas, growing up gay in the 1950s? How could he find family wherever he went — how could he trust the world would care for him, even if he didn’t worry about it (like I do)? I’ll never know the answers, he was gone far too soon for me to ask, but I like to teach Oliver (Erwin), Allyson and Eleanor that they don’t HAVE to follow all the rules, and they should try to fly more often than I do — the world tends to catch you.

My personal favorite Uncle Erwin story comes from when we were pretty young. Dad and Nancy were married, and we were in Poteet visiting Mamaw. Erwin flew in from NYC, like Santa and the world’s best adoring uncle wrapped into one, and Dad took us all out to dinner. That meant Dad, Nancy, Jennei (12?), Carol (11?), me (10?) and Anna (8?) as well as Erwin and Mamaw. We went to a very fancy Mexican restaurant in downtown San Antonio, that my dad hates to this day (‘tourist trap,’ he’ll mutter good-naturedly, as we stroll by).

We sat on the patio, at a round table, and there were lights strung across the patio. It was beautiful, and we were all high on Erwin’s presence. He loved to play to an adoring crowd (who doesn’t?) so one thing led to another. I don’t remember the food, I don’t remember what was said, but I know that the four of us girls were laughing so hard at Erwin’s antics that our stomach hurt, and my dad, who was DETERMINED to give us a fancy dinner, was getting more and more irritated.

By the end of dinner, my adored and beloved dad was RIGID with anger, and even though I was sad I was making him mad I couldn’t NOT be a part of Erwin’s adoring fan club. In my memory, the four girls and Erwin left the restaurant ahead of the group (honestly, Erwin might even have called them squares, but I may be making this up) and strolled along the river walk, laughing all the while.

The joy of being bad, of disobeying even just a bit, and doing it with an adored and adoring adult, was intoxicating. To realize that you could misbehave and the world would keep turning: A revelation. I have so many things to say to and ask of my Uncle Erwin, but first among them is: Thank you. You lived your life bravely and boldly, and I have always admired your courage.