Father’s Day was last Sunday. While I’ve had many “Fathers”: blood, adoptive, step’s and in-laws, I have no living “Dads” to celebrate with anymore. I received a message from my cousin from Seattle. She was going to be in the area spending a few days at her dad’s house for Father’s Day and invited me to share him with her. He lives 30 miles away from me and is my mom’s only brother; one of six siblings, four others deceased. There is an aunt in Arizona still hanging on the limbs of his family tree.
My childhood was uncannily like Augusten Burroughs, of the Running with Scissors fame, but this particular uncle and his family were clearly the most “normal” in the bunch. Running with scissors, was the story of my bizarre life as well. We didn't go live with the therapist, just many other people, and it took a long time for me to realize that the average kid didn't grow up inside upper-middle class crazy. I may have really just grasped that in the last several years. On an extended trip, my brother and I spent some memory lane time, laughing hysterically (good word) about specific incidents, and kookiness from our childhood. I don’t think we really knew this wasn’t the norm, until we saw the look of horror on my sister-in-law’s face and then decided we were clearly frightening her. Not everyone can appreciate the humor in Augusten's and my brother and my childhood. Back in the day, when I spent time with this uncle and his family, it was like being shipped to a foreign land for me... so ordinary, peaceful, and what I perceived normal would feel like. They were the Cleaver family from the 50’s sitcom, Leave It To Beaver. Even their family photo was cheerful and wholesome. Dressed in church attire, with movie star smiles, they were the ideal family for me. I loved being in their presence, mostly because it was different, and also because I learned how to laugh... I laughed a lot. Humor seemed to pervade every area of their lives, healthily humble, the self-deprecating sort; but the kind that wasn’t biting or harmful: just accepting and honest. Truth be told my mom’s entire family, humor was a huge part of my memories of big family gatherings. Stories retold with wit, and laughter, never designed to make anyone feel bad, but clearly a way of looking at the brighter side of things. A side that made you feel better about making mistakes, being human, finding a degree of cleverness and wit in our fumblings with our own nature. I loved that about my mom’s family.... and, it all came back to me when I visited my cousin and uncle last Saturday.
I arrived early afternoon, and was surprised to see how rapidly my uncle has deteriorated since I saw him a year or so ago. He is 87. That’s sometimes hard for me to imagine. He looks the same in many respects as he did when he was a young man, not quite as robust, but, handsome. Even his hair is still thick and luxurious. He has a smile that’s a combination of mischief and flirtation, and his eyes twinkle, still. His wit... oh, my goodness, his wit is as razor sharp as his intellect. His body just moves slower now, like when a toy's batteries are getting low. (I wonder what wit he would interject here). Words seem more difficult for him to force out of his vocal chords. You have to listen very closely to what he has to say in order to hear them. It’s worth it. His humor didn’t fail me. I just felt at home and happy in the moment, in a space of levity and playfulness. My cousin followed suit, never missing a beat, and I found myself totally aligned, tossing out the one-liners, and catch phrases right along with them, just like in the old days. It was a badly needed reminder that no matter how dire the outside circumstances appear to be, we benefit greatly when we take off our prickly, protective armour (which I’ve been wearing a lot lately) and approach life, on life’s terms, engaging in a more positive game of wit, humor and laughter. While the euphemism is true, "It is, what it is".... why not turn it around and find something humorous in what it is?
When I got home, I recalled it was my humor that drew my soulmate to me, and a bond we shared. Few ever understood it, but it came natural to both of us, from first date. One of my most treasured material possessions is a lively meditation book he inscripted with: Dearest Rebecca... You have brought so much laughter into my life. I will love you forever. The name of the book? Laugh- Thought I'd Die If I Didn't. How could I make jokes about being downsized from the job I spent half a lifetime working so hard in? How was I able to laugh at my bald head at the tender age of 24 from some unknown cause and a condition called alopecia? How was I able to find laughter in living in a car? How could he and I joke about something so serious as addiction and the appalling behavior that often accompanied it? How could he later joke about his cancer, his colostomy, and the mysteries of digestion, as he was getting used to his freshly butchered body and its new manner of functioning? We did. We joked about it all. A match created in heaven. We joked about our foibles, insecurities, disappointments, and accomplishments. It kept it all in perspective.
Seeing my uncle this past week, I have him to thank, for this blessed reminder. Maybe it is just one of those positive leftovers from my childhood; and maybe a coping mechanism. Or maybe, it’s just a good gene from that side of the family - optimism, lightheartedness and a desire to see people and incidents as they can be ....bizarrely human and humorous. More likely, it is a general knowledge that life can be crazy, scary, and incredulous. When life hands you those scissors, and it will, maybe the best way to navigate is use them, rather than letting them use you. Cut your way out. Be silly. Do your scissor dance. Most of all laugh. It'll help keep you from falling on them. You'll die if you don't. WooHoo! Thank you my dear, dear Uncle Henry for your legacy of wit and humor.
No comments:
Post a Comment