My Two Uncles

Another tale from a dysfunctional family

Growing up, my immediate family wasn’t large. My mother had one, much older sister, and she had one daughter, my cousin. Both, I met only a couple times.

My father had two brothers, my uncles. One uncle, we referred to as “slow.” He did marry briefly and had a child. The woman, his wife, was also “slow.” They didn’t stay together that long. I’m not sure I ever met that cousin.

The other uncle married and had three children. These were the cousins I remember.

My father was viewed as the most successful of the three. I’m not sure the word successful fits, but I suppose if you’re comparing the three.

The “slow” uncle, David, lived alone in an apartment near his parents, my grandparents. The little I remember of him, was from Christmas gatherings at my grandparents’ home. He would buy me and my sister the fake Barbie dolls. The ones that had the really thin, limp plastic. And we were told to always be polite and say thank you. We knew he didn’t have much money.

My other uncle, Dale, just never seemed to get it together. He was always in between jobs. I knew that he, my father and my grandfather drank a lot. Later knowing the term was alcoholism.

I remember there being multiple times where my mother would criticize my Uncle Dale, for drinking too much, during the holiday get togethers. One time, in particular, stands out. My mother saying that he wanted to leave early to make it to the bar before it closed. My father coming between them so that my mother didn’t get hit. Pretty typical family gathering. I don’t recall the emotions too much.

I do remember fun times of playing, hide and seek with the three cousins. Different houses as they moved around. All the homes needing work.

My father was always helping. I know my grandmother counted on him. He would sometimes pick my grandfather up from the local bar in a town over and take him home. I remember phone calls in the middle of the night.

My father received a lot of criticism from my mother for helping his brother, Dale, whether it be fixing his house or lending him money. I know how much my aunt Cookie, Dale’s wife, appreciated my father. And I know that’s why my aunt and my cousins couldn’t understand why I didn’t attend the funeral for my grandmother, my father’s mother.

I remember my grandfather’s passing. My cousins were so distraught. They were close to him. He always frightened me. Simply because he was very loud. So, I avoided him. My mother was very critical of him. He had diabetes and never ate properly for it. He made candy, for everyone, at Christmas time.

When my Uncle David passed, we were told that he was trying to fix his car in his parents, my grandparents’ garage. He had forgotten to leave the door open, and the car had been running. In my young mind, I just knew that he was “slow.” It didn’t make sense till much later in life.

After Uncle David passed, I remember tagging along with my mother to clean his apartment. There were watches and clocks everywhere. Apparently, he was very good at fixing them. Looking at it now, I wonder if “slow” was high functioning autism. It always seemed to be more social cues that he struggled with.

It was in my teenage years, after my parents divorced and I lived with my father for a time, that I saw my uncle Dale for the last time. The families had not gotten together for Christmas in many years. Although, I knew my father saw his mother, my grandmother regularly, helping her with different things.

It had been decided that Uncle Dale would go to Florida to kind of start over, I guess. It was unspoken that he was the fuck up of the family. His oldest child, my cousin, was a few years younger than me, so maybe 12? So, he would leave his family because he was causing more harm than good.

My father drove him to the bus stop and that was the last time I saw him. I heard my father visited him once before he died. My Uncle Dale had cancer. He was with a woman living in an RV at the end. And so, finishes the tail of my two uncles.