End of Summer Musings: Uncles's Bootcamp, Writing, Nephews and Awards

Each year since the pandemic, my husband and I (along with my younger brother) take our nephews, Max and Xavier, aged ten and seven rspectively, for a week each August. We call it “Uncles’s Bootcamp.” It was originally conceived as a Christmas present for my oldest brother and his wife to give them a break from their two kids, both of whom are on the spectrum.

We planned the vacation as bootcamp because their parents are “free-range,” and thus have pretty lax rules. During their week with us, the boys have a schedule: there are set bedtimes and mealtimes during which they are expected to sit at the dining table and eat. There is an itinerary of activities, combining outings and free time. We’ve visited the zoo, farms; The Natural History museum; the Please Touch museum; went for pony rides and; we’ve fed bison and giraffes and chickens; and petted goats. We’ve been on merry-go-rounds and rides at Sesame Place and watched them on trampolines and in ball pits at Urban Air. They’ve gone on walks with us when we walk the dogs.

I came to be an uncle rather late and unexpectedly—much like I became a writer. Becoming each, changed me as a man, as a person. I’ve always worked to live but now live to write. Our nephews will inherit everything I’ve worked for, but nothing means more to me than the fact that they will one day inherit the rights to my published work. But as I continued writing after they were born, more than helping to secure their future, I found I wanted them to be proud of their uncle’s literary canon.

Our parents were always proud of us, all of us, their children. When they died, I remember asking tearfully, “Who will be proud of me now?”

I’ve won awards for my writing. The one I cherish most is the Lambda Literary award I won in the Gay Romance category for Excellent Sons: A Love Story in Three Acts, which made me one of thirty-four winners in that category. (A previous novel, Unbroken, had been a finalist in the same category but hadn’t won.) So, the Lammy for Excellent Sons meant the world to me.

After I took our nephews back home this year, my brother and sister-in-law sent us a small trophy declaring us “World’s Best Uncles.” I now find it hard to say which award I’m most proud of.

It would never have occurred to me that what I consider my most important roles in life—writer and uncle—that the two biggest loves in my life—writing and my nephews—would share common ground. Or that I’d get awards for both.