Uncle Joe

I always wanted an Uncle Joe, that generic uncle who is a little crazy, but good-hearted. The uncle who is kind of a father figure, but a little looser, a little more free wheeling. My dad's great, and my two uncles are as well, but they're both solid, upstanding members of society, responsible. I don't have crazy stories about them, just normal stories.

It makes me wonder about myself. I'm an uncle now, to a little girl named Lily Grace Wyatt. Soon, she'll be joined by two other little girls and I'll be a three-fold uncle. Right now, it's fairly easy. I see my niece when I can, which isn't as often as I'd like. Our conversations are mostly one-sided, but one day we'll be able to talk and I don't know what I'll say. There are the usual uncle things. I'll tell embarrassing stories about her mom, my sister. I'll take her out for ice cream or take her to the movies, introduce her to lattes. But what do I say when she asks me The Questions. How do you live life? How do you make choices? What's it all about? If she asks me how they make marshmallows, it's simple to answer: they are harvested from clouds. The logic, taking tiny white things from big white things, is obvious. But how do I answer the questions that I still struggle with, the question of what to do with your 78, on average, years? What do you invest all of those days in? Who do you invest all of those days in? How do you find the middle ground of not being selfish, but making time for yourself?

I'm thankful she'll start with simpler questions: Knock Knock jokes, why's the sky blue (it's made out of the ocean), why's the ocean blue (it's made out of the sky), etc. Questions I can answer on a whim or a whimsy. But how do you answer all of the other questions?

Uncle Jug

My mother has one brother. He was named after my grandfather, so he is a junior, but we all call him Jug. My mother insists that she gave him that nickname because when he was young, he liked to read Archie comic books. Or maybe it was my mother who used to read Archie comic books. Nevertheless, he acquired the name of Jughead from somewhere. All I've ever called him is Uncle Jug.

Uncle Jug was always my favorite uncle. My Granny used to tell me that my Daddy was always jealous of Jug because I would do anything in the world for him, including eating everything on his plate. I wouldn't touch a tomato with a ten foot pole, but if Uncle Jug had it on the end of his fork, it was soon in my belly. Everything he fed me was pure ambrosia!

When I graduated from high school and went to college, I chose a college thirty miles away from where my Momma grew up. I saw Uncle Jug every weekend when I went to my Granny's house to wash my clothes and fill up on home cooking.

Every October, hunting season began in Effingham County, and Uncle Jug continued the family tradition of belonging to a hunting club. He decided to initiate me into the family tradition of deer hunting as well. While there are plenty of details I could share about our hunting trips, the most unusual one is Uncle Jug's CB handle.

The first morning I went hunting, I didn't realize how important the CB's were. The hunters used them for communicating, especially when they were trying to find missing dogs. In Effingham County hunting deer with dogs was allowed. The sun was barely up as we were heading to the meeting place. Static played a fanfare on the radio as first one and then the other hunters started calling for "onion head" and asking if he had his ears on. At first I didn't realize they were calling Uncle Jug until he responded to their calls. It seems that onion head was appropriate--when he was in his twenties, Uncle Jug lost every bit of hair on the top of his head except for a halo about ear-level.

Weird Relatives

Hmm, I know I came up with the topic, but I worry immediately that someone will recognize his or her portrait if I start getting very specific. I'll just write about the ones who can laugh at themselves.

My oldest first cousin

• When we were playing kickball after Thanksgiving lunch several years ago, one of our cousins hit his wife on the butt with the kickball to tag her out. My cousin said, "Not much to be proud of there. How could you miss that target?" His wife is maybe a size eight, definitely not huge, but everyone is a target for his tongue. He is really funny, always teasing people. I love that man.
• Another time we went on a cruise. He had heard that you had to pay for soft drinks on the cruise, so he packed a whole suitcase full of Mountain Dew, his soft drink of choice. When he was unloading his suitcases, one of the soft drinks apparently got a hole punched in it, so it looked like his suitcase was taking a leak.
• When we were planning that cruise, he kept threatening to bring a cane pole so that he could fish off the side.

A good friend from college

• In the pre-cell phone days, she called me on my home phone one day. "Hello?" I answered. "Where are you?" she asked. There was a long pause. "Um, at home," I finally responded, thinking, "Duh!" Finally, she realized what she asked and started to laugh.

Okay, I'm blanking on specific incidents and characters, but it seems like my family and friends are all characters in different ways. I can't wait for the boys to get to know my family. At Thanksgiving, we lost the boys as soon as we entered my aunt's house, only seeing them in passing as they were being passed from one person to another. A few people came to me to complain that someone else wasn't sharing the babies as if I was supposed to mediate that conflict. I heard people negotiating: "I'll let you hold Tucker while I eat, but you have to give him back when I finish."

Those boys are loved, but they will still be in for a big spot of teasing as they get older. In my family you must have a sense of humor and not be thin-skinned--and I like it that way. I show up for Thanksgiving lunch and Christmas lunch, expecting to hear lots of laughter and arguments over who gets to go through the line first. My cousin and my sister are usually pretty close to the front.

I'll have to start jotting down notes at each family gathering because I forget them too soon now. I want to remember family moments to share with the boys, but my brain seems like Swiss cheese. My memory is shot. Now that I'm back at work, maybe my memory will return as well. I hope so. I miss it.

January 2011 Write Night

Hi folks,
It's a new year and a new write night! I'm opening write night early to make it more convenient for posters. The topic for January is Uncle Joe. Okay, maybe you don't have an Uncle Joe, but since we just came off the holidays, where we spent tons of times with our relatives and friends, it might be a good time to tell some stories about our favorite (or least favorite relative). Maybe it's Uncle Joe who always shares too much information about his bodily functions, or maybe Aunt Doris (who's 93) always flirts with her great-granddaughters' boyfriends. Let us hear about it. Or, as always, ignore the prompt altogether, and write whatever you want. Just write and read and respond.