Uncle Jose — Story Time

I think we were still dating when Lily asked me to tell her about the best day of my life. I hadn’t really thought of this before her asking, but in a flash I recalled the time I had experienced the sweetest satisfaction of willing a lie into truth when I was just a kid.

These were simple times, I was in the third grade and living with my family in suburban Sacramento California. I can still remember being 8 years old and playing sports every day in the summer sun with air conditioners whirring. My parents had me signed up to basketball at school, followed by a neighbourhood football season, and then little league baseball season. Everyday after school I was at some sort of practice, weekends were for matches and church.

Out of all the sports I would say baseball was my favourite, but I was a horrible player. I wasn’t competitive enough, I didn’t care if we won or lost, and I was afraid of being hit by the ball. Though I did like wearing the uniforms, having the equipment, and looking the part. I have to admit, not much has changed.

My favourite player was the baseball god, Jose Canseco. Being that his name was Jose, I swore he was Mexican. Plus he wore a gold chain with a cross dangling from it. I remember he was on the cover of Sports Illustrated when he was named "Rookie of the Year” for breaking records on hitting home run and stealing bases. He had power, speed, and brown skin.

It also helped that Jose played for my favourite team, the Oakland A’s. The stadium was a two hour drive from where I grew up, and I can remember going to watch my first game on a school trip. Baseball isn’t much fun to watch, but I loved being in that stadium trying to spot Jose from the upper decks. I don’t really remember much from that game, but I can recall wearing my favourite bootleg Bart Canseco shirt, buying a poster, and being given an Oakland A’s batting glove.

Back at home, I pinned the poster of Jose up on my bedroom wall. He was finishing a big swing with his bat while watching the ball sail away over the fence. Overlaid in the lower corner was his autograph, which I honestly thought was real. Staring at that poster everyday, I began copying and writing Jose Canseco on everything I owned. I practiced in my notebooks until I thought I had it close to the original, then forged his signature on my baseball cards and on an old baseball I decided was from an actual match. So satisfied with myself, I took all of it to school and started showing them off to my friends. I thought I was slick until this kid Adam called bullshit on all my merchandise and the laughs soon followed. I couldn’t believe this guy was messing with my story. Instead of coming clean, I doubled down and revealed that I had these signatures because Jose Canseco was my uncle! More laughs and my reputation with the guys at school really took a dive.

Fast forward only a few weeks and I’m getting ready to be picked up from home by my Aunt Charlotte. I don’t recall how this was arranged, but she was going to be taking me to a baseball card convention happening in town. I had never been to anything like this before, I usually begged my mom for a pack of cards from the grocery store aisle.

As we were on our way there, Charlotte mentions that she needed to do some work so I’d have to spend a short time alone. My aunt was a journalist for the Spanish speaking television network Univision in San Francisco. My family would turn on the TV at random times and there she was doing interviews or being part of some panel discussion. She was the closest I had ever come to someone famous and we were related.

Charlotte’s actual name was Carlotta. She was my father’s younger sister, but at six feet in height she was usually taller than everyone in the room. She had big curly hair, a radiant smile, and was a former beauty queen. I knew this because there was a portrait of her wearing a gown sash and a crown at my grandparents house. I didn’t really know it then, but my Aunt Charlotte was a world class beauty. She wasn’t pretentious, she laughed a lot, didn’t have any kids, and dated who she wanted even though she was married. It didn’t make any sense to me then, I can recall watching men change their demeanour around her, strangers would introduce themselves, and she would just smile.

When we arrived at this event, I couldn’t believe my eyes as I went from table to table looking at baseball cards under glass I had only seen in magazines. I was so overwhelmed visiting each display case, I honestly don’t think I bought anything besides a chocolate bar. Charlotte led me through each aisle and took me past security into this private area where she told me to wait for her. I remember that it was an empty dressing room with a vanity mirror, some fold out chairs, and the familiar sound of air conditioning. I sat there eating my candy bar and there was a knock on the door. A head popped in and looked around the room, then a massive body of man was being led by a hand extended straight to me. I had no idea who this guy was initially, but it set in that I knew him from my baseball cards, I was looking up at “Bash Brother” number two Mark McGuire in the flesh. He was Jose’s teammate from the Oakland A’s, the two of them together credited with taking the team to the World Series. I couldn’t understand what he was doing in front of me. This guy sat down looked me right in the eye and was talking to me like I had something to say. I was so confused, me and Mark McGuire in a dressing room. He didn’t stay long, I think we took a picture together, and soon I was alone again with my candy bar.

Another knock on the door and a second giant walks in unannounced. Im siting down in front of the mirror as the man in my poster seems towards in the reflection. I must of stopped breathing because the guy shook me by the shoulder and my aunt appears with a giant smile. I shake his hand and notice a big black birthmark with hair coming out of it enclosing my hand. “I’m Ozzy… Jose’s brother” he says. “They're twins” my Aunt adds so pleased with her setup. I’m spinning in the Twilight Zone for a moment before I come to and ask, ”Ïs Jose here?” and both of them start laughing.

The door knocks again and this time I know who’s coming to see me. All in slow motion, the door was kicked off the hinges and there standing over me in a cloud of smoke is Jose Canseco. He’s wearing jeans, white t-shirt, polished boots, that gold chain with a cross, and some muscles. The dust hasn’t even settled and I run to him like he’s saved me, holding onto the guy’s leg while his twin brother and my aunt watch me cry. It turns out my Aunt and Jose became acquainted when she was on assignment, he must of took a liking to her and I’m sure was doing all he could to be in her favour.

“Hey I’m Jose. Nice to meet you. Carlotta has told me all about you…” he says. “I was wondering if you could help me out? I have to sign some autograph’s and It would be great if you could hang out with me while I do it.” The lead up to this moment was so confusing that I honestly forgot how to talk, I must of communicated with nods and smiles like a mute.

We all leave the room and I am following my hero through the corridors of the venue until we reach a stage. He walks out and the crowd goes wild clapping and cheering as I walk in his footsteps. He sits down at a table and motions for me to sit next to him. On the table there is a stack of 8x10 photos, and as we settle in he instructs me to pass him the photos while he signs. I watch as complete strangers try to get close; guys are congratulating him on his stats, women are leaning over the table to give him kiss, and kids are handing him their cards to sign. I remember feeling like the sun was shining on Jose and I, while a continuous line wrapping around the place approached to pay homage.

It was there in that sea of people l noticed the beady eyes of my classmate Adam. He was standing there with his parents and few other kids from school, all of them staring with their mouths open. What a perfect setup. I felt a bolt of lighting run through me and all of sudden I got my tongue back. I started chatting up Jose while he signed, and I watched the line the whole way as Adam and my friends slowly inched towards us. With each step closer, I became more confident and more cordial until they were across the table from us.

"Hey Adam” I said with obvious disdain. He didn’t even reply as him and the other kids were in shock. I gave Jose a photo and put my hand on his shoulder.

“I told you he was my Uncle”.

Bam, the explosions went off as the bomb dropped right on Adam’s head. I pushed the button. Jose just smiled and sort of played along as the situation revealed itself, and Adam and his crew walked away with my pride.

It was incredible, me and Uncle Jose slaying dragons together… what a great team.

I remember going back to school feeling that same confidence every day after. Word got around that Jose really was my Uncle, and I couldn’t have been more proud. What a gift to give a young boy.

I miss my Aunt Charlotte so much. I never really told her the details of this story, or to anyone other than Lily. It’s just a moment that has always brought me joy, as I remember innocent times and my aunt who pulled the stars in to come meet me.