June 24: I Barely Knew Them

I'm plowing through old photographs this month and realize there are some relatives I barely knew.

Like my Dad's oldest sibling, Uncle Phil (Philip) who had already left the farm for Northwestern University before my father was born. He worked as an engineer for  NYC Transit and lived in a small brick house with his wife, Aunt Nettie. They had no children, but shared their narrow home in Brooklyn with a disabled niece. I think we visited twice and remember the smell of his cigar filled the house and made me feel sick. They shared boxes of chocolate candies wrapped in foil. When I was in high school, he spent several months before he died in a NYC hospital ward. My mother asked me to write a note to put in a card to send each day. After he passed, someone found a note gifting me with his black, side-mirror-less, rear-mirror-less, and radio-less 1954 Ford sedan. I had just gotten my license and part of me felt like the luckiest person in the world as I decorated it with big flower stickers as if I was a real hippy. Even then, I knew I really did nothing to deserve that gift. 

Like my Dad's second oldest sibling, Uncle George who had also left for the Army (I think) before that last child arrived. He married Aunt Madelyn and settled in his hometown working in the infamous NY State prison of Sing Sing. I remember going to their very modern (to me) ranch home one time, but I was young and have no idea why we were there! They had one child, my cousin Sheila, and spent their retirement playing golf and raising her children in Florida. Through stories, I know my uncle thrived for many years after much of his intestine was removed and outlived two pacemakers! After my son was born, I found my son's given name was Uncle George's middle name. Coincidentally, they were gifts from God.                                                                        Uncle George, Sheila Jimmy and baby