 |
| How I remember Uncle George... |
It's gray, it's windy, it's cold, it's wet. Forecast for tonight and tomorrow night is another hard freeze, but we will see some sun all week long. Yeh, right!
Well, in order to close the books on my Aunt June I thought I'd mention the other half. Last I checked, if you're gonna have an Aunt you probably will need an Uncle. Strangely enough, I've not as many Uncles as I do Aunts, but Uncle George stands far an away the most interesting of the bunch.
Much to the dismay of his wife!
At Aunt June's funeral, my brother, who it seems is perpetually late for everything, brought with him as a gift a six pack of Barq's root beer. He gave it to Debbie, Aunt June's daughter, to the delight of her and all that knew the story. It was a rather strange thing to do, but that's my brother... The Doctor!
He has a penchant for presenting the deceased or their survivors with appropriate but still strange gifts. He'll quote some ancient pagan, Mayan, Aztec or Egyptian tradition of taking "toys" to the after life. One "gift" he delivered nine years ago was a classic:
Uncle George was a rather gregarious guy who during the War worked for the Merchant Marine. He had a lot of friends including my parents. Uncle George, on occasion, would join my father's company softball games just so he could join in on the after game festivities.
He and dad grew up together. So, we were always invited to join him at his home in Gentilly and sometimes, we'd get to go. But, whenever the drinks were past around, Uncle George would take us into the kitchen and offer us a "Barq"s", but it was ALWAYS watered down. He seemed to take pride in it. I complained once and got my mom's stern Marine stare.
No words needed to be said.
Anyway, it became a thing with Uncle George and the six of us kids. We never learned to enjoy it, but it was just Uncle George.
Uncle George also, having hung around sailors most of his career could really sling some salty language in the course of a conversation. My dad excused him because "He grew up in an orphanage" and my mother would always try to assuage Aunt June's dismay, by playfully running interference on George's next sentence and offering to give George "such a punch!"
Whether the party was over or still running at full steam, when George would quietly disappear we all knew it was time to go. If we didn't, he would appear in his pajamas and slippers and, in so many words... ahem, tell everyone it was time to go.
Poor Aunt June!
Copyright 2021/Ben Bensen III
No comments:
Post a Comment