I had just finished eating dinner on Father’s Day when my mother called on my cell phone and tearfully told me that one of her brothers, Percy Harris, was in intensive care at DCH Regional Medical Center in Tuscaloosa, Ala. Mama was so distraught that she had to repeat her message before I could comprehend what she was saying. She had no details except that Uncle Percy was in intensive care.

That set in motion a series of calls. First, I contacted Aunt Julia Mae Cousin in Johnson City, Tenn. Since Big Mama died in 1968, Aunt Julia Mae has been titular head of the family and Percy’s ex-wife, Gloria, had contacted her first. Aunt Julia Mae told a few relatives who, in turn, contacted other family members. Aunt Julia Mae told me that Percy was in the hospital and as soon as she could, she would head to Alabama, where she and her brothers and sisters were born, to see about her brother.

Next, I called my sister, Charlotte Purvis in Durham, N.C. Charlotte is the oldest of my three younger sisters and she always knows exactly what to do in a crisis. She suggested that I call the hospital and that I find a way to put Mama at ease. I delayed calling my other two sisters – Sue Gandy in Tuskegee, Ala. and Chris Polk in California – until I had more specifics. After speaking with Charlotte, I called my cousin Lynn Stuart in Nashville. I promised to get back to him later in the day.

I telephoned a cousin on my father’s side of the family, Mary Linebarger, who lives less than five minutes from the hospital. Mary placed me on a three-way call with a nurse in the intensive care unit who would only tell me that Uncle Percy was in stable condition. That was encouraging enough to again call Mama and Aunt Julia Mae to give them a status report. By the way Mama had been reacting, you’d think that Uncle Percy had one foot in the grave. But Mama is very close to and protective of all of her brothers. Come to think of it, over the years, all of my aunts have been like that. They call my uncles spoiled and then proceed to spoil them.

Finally, I was able to reach Uncle Percy’s former wife, Gloria, in Tuscaloosa and she gave me the full story, which I was able to relay to Mama, my sisters and my cousin, Lynn. Essentially, Uncle Percy had begun choking on a hotdog last Friday and experienced difficulty breathing. He tried various maneuvers to dislodge the hotdog but couldn’t. He drove himself to the Maude Whatley Health Center, near McKenzie Courts, our old housing projects, and hailed a taxi.

Upon reaching the hospital, they discovered that Uncle Percy had punctured a hole in his esophagus in the process of trying to regain his breath and required immediate surgery. The surgery went well and Uncle Percy is expected to remain in the hospital another week or two.

While frantically trying to discover what had happened to Uncle Percy and his prospects for the future, I thought how ironic that this was happening on Father’s Day and that we have no special holidays to honor our aunts and uncles. That’s a shame. And it’s even more of one when you consider that we have special days for bosses and secretaries at work, but not the people who spoiled us almost as much as our grandparents.

My favorite Uncle Percy story involves another uncle, his brother. Jesse Harris (“Padna”), four years my senior, was the brother I never had. He taught me how to play basketball and agreed to teach me how to drive shortly before my 16th birthday. There was only one hitch – we didn’t have a car. That’s where Uncle Percy comes in. Once he turned in for the night, “Padna” and I would slip the keys out of his pocket and go driving. By the time we came back, someone else would have parked in Uncle Percy’s original parking space. This went on for several weeks before Uncle Percy busted us one night. He ran toward us and we ran toward Big Mama, who told him to leave us alone. I could always count on Big Mama. Let’s add a special holiday for aunts and uncles. At least once a year, we’ll be prompted to reflect on some of our great childhood memories.