By Charles Karel Bouley II

There I sat, in the hills of the San Fernando Valley, in an expensive, fabulous house, waiting for the house's owner to sit down at his own table with three attorneys and me. He was about to be deposed in my wrongful death lawsuit against Long Beach Memorial Medical Center and Dr. Steven Kooshian. But it wasn't who was sitting at the table that had my attention so much this day. I've been through so many of these depositions now, they're old hat (and vile and disgusting, I might add). No, it was who was in the den. There sat Jake and Heather, my niece and nephew. They're Andrew's sister's children, although they're adults now, 18 and 22. And there they sat. They wanted to support their Uncle Charles and give a personal face to Andrew Howard in the lawsuit.

Heather had gone with me just two days previous to yet another deposition. And in both cases, when it was all over, I was so grateful for them, cheering me up, providing a sounding board, being family for me, curling up in the TV room in front of South Park with me. Yes, they live with me. They've moved in to Park Howard (my house) and since they have it's never been more alive.

Since they've been here I've realized something: I've become a stereotype in yet another way, and it's not a bad thing. I'm the gay uncle, a perennial favorite in movies, theater, books, family reunions, and such. Everybody has one, or knows someone that does. The gay uncle.

Yes, they'll be listening to rock (and I'll be singing along) and then I'll make them watch The Rose or All About Eve (and they'll love it). Yes, they'll be playing their guitars and I'll start belting out a song. Yes, we'll be eating a Chinese dinner and I'll wait for chopsticks to eat while they dig in with forks thinking me crazy. Yes, they'll drink out of their favorite glasses with a sports logo on it as I drink out of a crystal stemmed water glass (which I notice is catching on around here).

Yes, I'm a big homo and I'm their uncle and they not only don't care, they care enough to incorporate me into their lives and vice versa. They bring over their friends, not an ounce of shame. They go eat brunch with me at the Paradise (a local restaurant) and watch as drag queens erupt in song and don't even bat an eye. They treat my friends as family as well. We are family and it's fabulous.

Yes, I've turned into Auntie Mame. But don't we all? It's really another uniquely gay phenomenon, this gay uncle (or aunt) thing. Because we forget the family ties and strengthen them just by being ourselves. Many of us, as gay people, will not have children of our own. Yet, I feel as though I have kids. I shop for them. I buy gifts for them on trips. I'm planning a trip to Ireland for St. Patrick's Day with them and we've already gone to Paris and Amsterdam four years ago. I say thank goodness for nieces and nephews. As I look at them both, I know that over the last 16 years, we (Andrew and I) had a big influence on their lives. We were the ones taking them to art galleries, great movies, plays, concerts. And I continue. The world is theirs, I want to show it to them.

And yes, I'm exactly the gay uncle as written. I'm outrageous, bizarre, demanding, bitchy, OCD about some things (could we please put the dishes in the dishwasher after rinsing in the sink, and when you take out the trash you have to put another bag in the can!), mushy about the other things and yes, we have to watch the O.C. (my choice, not theirs) and Desperate Housewives and Grey's Anatomy on TiVo before Family Guy and The Daily Show. Yes, I cried at each of their high school graduations, and took photos with them in their caps and gowns. Yes, I cried when they asked for old audio of me and Andrew on KFI to listen to and laughed with them as we listened to the hilarity.

I am a stereotype. I am a gay uncle. When I die, they get the house, whatever estate there is. They are my kids without the stretch marks.

And I worry. I worry because of my job. People have seen them on my Web site and made comments I don't like ("Oh, Jake is turning into a hottie, look how Heather has developed"). I want to crawl through the Web and smack those people. I worry about the world they're inheriting. I worry about the war because of how it will affect them. Suddenly, my worries aren't just about which club to go to, what guy might like me, or the 1,000 things gay men think about now. Now, there are 2,000+ things to worry about, and I welcome each and every one.

But what's wrong with being a stereotype? Why is that bad? As a community, we run from it. And yet, often, personify it. Gay Pride festivals are nothing but a celebration of stereotypes. So many gay men try to buy into this whole "straight acting" thing, or make it a point to do things "not" very gay. They worry they'll turn into the limp wrist lisping caricature. Well, I am that caricature, and I'll tell you right now, it's not so bad. Because there's no pretense.

That's what we all forget. Stereotypes are based in fact. All stereotypes. They're real. And while we don't want to be seen as only one thing, there's nothing wrong with being seen as that one thing so long as there's balance. Yes, I am one step short of Auntie Mame, what that step is no one can really say, but I fancy myself one step away, and it's fine. It's about comfort levels. You see, by being exactly who I am around my family, around the world, they learn to look beyond the stereotype. Sure, they see me in one light, but soon see there's a lot more underneath.

And that's why we fear stereotypes. We fear we'll only ever be seen as the one thing. Well, I'll tell you this, if I'm only ever remembered for being a gay uncle, Uncle Mame, it's fine with me. If I'm eulogized as a bitchy old queen, it's fine with me. History is littered with them. I'm in good company.

Running from things only makes you tired. I've embraced that I, and many of those around me, are, in fact, stereotypes. And it's fine. It's all good. We become them as we age, and there's almost a comfort in that. A sense of belonging.

My name is Karel. And I'm a stereotype. Get over it, move on. Hey, try it sometime, it's a blast.