Wednesday, May 6, 2009

My Uncle Bo.

I’ve had two glasses of wine, which allows me to talk without filters and use this blog for exactly what I didn’t mean to use it for.

I have this uncle I haven’t talked to in a long time, because I thought I’d have more time. Which it turns out I don’t.

He’s one of the first really, really funny people I ever knew. He’s got a dark, sarcastic sense of humor that never crosses over into mean-spiritedness. (OK. Maybe a little. But only when truly called for.) When I was little, I called him “Fish” because he reminded me of Abe Vigoda—which means Mr. Vigoda’s appearances on Conan have a specially, completely different meaning to me.

Of my mom’s four brothers, he’s apparently the most like the grandfather I never met—and would apparently have had wrapped around my finger, mostly because tall, bald dudes with darkly sarcastic senses of humor did not freak me out when I was little. (Probably because I didn’t get it.)

We spent lots of time at his house. In the basement/playroom, shooting hoops (badly, badly, badly) on his patio, sitting on the fireplace in the den, on the sunporch. Of all the uncles, it’s just his house that I know the way around.

He gave me shit before I knew what that meant. And was one of the people who taught me to give it back. Considering the fact that this sort of playful antagonism defines a great majority of my relationships, that’s a pretty big gift.

Damn it.

2 comments:

  1. Update from my mom from early Saturday morning:
    After a 5 month struggle with glioblastoma, the cancer won. He left this world this morning at 243am in Johnson City, TN - his wife, Em, children-BO and Cindy, and granddaughter, Savannah, were with us at the time.

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