I lost my Uncle on Monday. I’m not keeping score but that’s two down and two still around.
He was a good guy. Some of my closest friends have the same
qualities I attribute to my Uncle. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.
I wasn’t super close to my Uncle, but I cherished the time I
got to spend with him. Now I wish for more.
As a young boy I saw that my Uncle could do anything, and he
put his best in everything he did. Even plowing the snow off the airport runway
in my brand-new Starter jacket on a snowy Christmas night. It was oh so cold
and the machine was far past its prime. My Uncle disappeared under the hood to
investigate. He was engulfed in a cloud of steam as he found a rotten radiator
hose. Not one to leave anything unfinished; I’m pretty sure he repaired that
old truck with duct tape, and got the job done. There really wasn’t much he
couldn’t fix.
I imagined in my mind that he went to every Scout camp,
although I do not know if he actually did. He certainly knew every knot and loved
being outdoors. I didn’t ever go camping with him, but I’m certain I used knowledge
gleaned from him each and every time I went. From how to setup a camp, the ways
to start a campfire, but usually the knots. He taught me the best fisherman
knot. I still use it to this day.
He enjoyed escaping reality in fantasy books and games. When
the Internet came along and combined the two it was easy to see how he would
have fallen in love. From old Quake clans to older IRC chats, WoW, he really made
connections and felt right at home.
The Uncle I knew would do anything for a friend, or even a
stranger, and if you were closest to him it might be easy to think he would put
those people before you, but I doubt that was his intention. My Uncle was not perfect, I don't think he pretended to be, but I do believe he did his best and was the best man he could be.
Like everyone, life is hard, and he would escape it as often
as he could, at a great cost. But he knew how to enjoy the happy moments, the
good times, and cherish the joy he got from them.
For a long while he had a little dog that carried his heart.
Everywhere. They went together. And I am so happy they had each other.
There is so much more I want to tell you about my Uncle.
About the go-cart he let me drive. The BB-gun he let me shoot. By myself. When
I had no business doing so. He was there the first time I shot a real gun too.
I want to tell you which Shel Silverstein poem still conjures up an image of
his old, cluttered garage. The three-wheeler I flipped, and the boat I borrowed
for a whole summer.
I’m so thankful for everything about my Uncle Tod, and I
wanted him to know that.
-Ryan
