At one of these parties, not long after I’d come back downstairs and was checking out Henry’s different friends, watching the various guests—some playing cards, others in conversation, a few dancing—something remarkable happened. When I arrived, there was one distinct groove going on—with soul music, blues, and standards coming off the record player as singers like Sam Cooke, Jackie Wilson, and Sarah Vaughn stirred up the festive atmosphere. Between the music, laughter, chatter, and smoke, it was hot and happening, boisterous and loud. Then, all at once, the mood changed when a record was put on that I had never heard. Everything stopped: the laughter, the chatter, even the smoke. The record was Miles Davis playing “Round Midnight.” Later I would appreciate the mastery of his trumpet playing, the haunting tone that crept under my skin, and the incredible complexities of tempo and melody. But what got me that night was the power of Miles Davis to alter the mood in the room like that. It was still a party, but much more intimate, more cool, more fluid. It even seemed that I moved differently with Miles on the record player. My decision to study trumpet didn’t happen that night, but I did contemplate for the first time ever how powerful it would feel to be able to change the mood, to make strangers feel something transformational that way. The music bug done bit.

From then on, Uncle Henry and I had Miles Davis in common. The music and the time spent listening together formed a shelter in the storm so that all my angst was forgotten, if only for a while. On those many occasions when he let me stay up late and we’d listen to every Miles Davis recording he could get his hands on, he’d tell me about his overseas adventures in the Philippines, Korea, and Japan. “Come here,” he beckoned to me in the middle of talking one night, and led me to the bookshelf, pulling out the encyclopedia Uncle Willie and Aunt Ella Mae had in their home.

He pointed out the facts and cultural descriptions of these different places, recommending that I always take advantage of resources like the encyclopedia. He made a point of emphasizing that the world was full of many different types of people with attitudes, customs, beliefs, and colors different from ours. Then there was the smile that lit up his face when he described the women over there. He might as well have been spinning the globe for me and egging me out the door, saying, “Here it is, Chris, the world is your oyster. It’s up to you to find the pearls.”

Nothing Uncle Henry said or did indicated that our time together would be limited for any reason, but looking back, I would later wonder if he knew on some level that he wasn’t going to be around forever and was trying to pass on everything he had seen and learned in a short amount of time. In any case, his message wasn’t explicit, but the theme was always clear: live large.