He spoke these things, they were his last.
"Henry, give me your hands... i am your uncle. i never made it beyond being able to buy my meals
and do a few other things, but as i lay here on this
bed i always think about you-all the potential you
and your brother possess- and then i smile in my
pain. i know now that there is a successor to
accomplish all what i couldn't in my lifetime. This
conversation I'm having with you is one vital part of
our culture that is missing. i will do my task this
moment, now listen..
May your days be longer than
mine. May you accomplish all that you set to
accomplish. You shall have kids, male and female.
May you never suffer. You will not only be rich but
you shall enjoy your riches in good health. Walk
upright and steal nothing. Honesty and the
products of your head will provide for you. my voice
fails me now, so i will retire to my bed; but i need
you to remember this day... This event."

These were the words of my only uncle as he lay sick.
A broken man unmarried and without kids.. And as
he rambled on, sometimes incoherent, i drifted into
thoughts. This tradition must mean a lot to him.
Could it be, that this was not just a monologue?
Could this have been the passing of a baton; this
ceremonial handover? Just what did this meeting
represent? i haven't quite answered these
questions, but i know with all certainty that i will be
having this same chat with someone, someone
young, years down the line. Whatever this tradition
meant, the baton must be passed.