"The Uncle"

"So you're here to see the Uncle I take it?" I looked up at who spoke. He had,
in his right hand, a shovel that did not look very light. He was black, about six
feet tall, and with hair that shone like silver in the sun. "E'er bady wanna see
the Uncle" he chuckled and proceeded to depart.
"Sir!" I called out out of instinct.
"Yes son?"
I didn't know what to say. "Er... er..."
"Cat got your tongue boy? Or do you, like every one else, want to know how old
I am?"
"Er... yes, sir.. that's it."
"Let me tell you like this, son," the old man said, a warm glow enveloping me
as his eyes protected me from his glory, "It wouldn't matter if I was the
first Black President in a functional sense... what matters is how you feel today.
And you... you are searching for an answer you can only get from one man..."
"Are... are you he?"
"I am the Nazarene," the old man smiled quietly, then walked away into history...
A garden of tullips and tomatoes. He was, I was to find out later, one hundred
and thirteen years of age, the Nazarene, and with a perfect pair of bottomless
brown eyes to match. The Nazarene.