My Uncle Neil
Uncle Neil was a kind of legend in our family. He was a small man who had
odd habits that sometimes puzzled and frustrated our side of the Wilson tribe.
Neil was married to my father’s
sister Janie, and I was never certain if she was a sister, or a step sister to
my father. There was some kind of distance, yet strangely a bond between them,
but my father was such a reticent and sometimes surly man, I was never able to
gather the courage to question exactly what was going on. We would get together
with Aunt Janie and Uncle Neil for holidays, and
I would listen closely when they talked for any information that would clear
the matter up for me. Instead of sharing stories about their childhood, the
small ‘remember when?’ stuff that gives children insights about their parents
everything was kept within the range of the moment. They were like people stuck
on an elevator for a few uncomfortable minutes waiting for the time to pass.
The best answer I had to
this riddle was
my father and Aunt must have shared a lousy childhood or had a terrible falling
out at one time.
Aunt Janie was a sweet and kind
pleasantly obese Aunt who seemed to have been born with a look of sudden
surprise or astonishment on her face. Being my father’s sister, she shared
Dad’s bright intense blue eyes, but the resemblance stopped there. My Dad’s
eyes had a very singular aspect that denoted fixity of purpose, or indignation
at the world around him. As children, we were never really sure when he was
boiling mad at everyone
and everything or just needed more roughage in his diet.
In contrast, Aunt Janie’s eyes
though roughly similar, always seemed wide open with a look of childlike wonder
and curiosity. Aunt Janie sometimes had trouble following what was going on
about her, and was given over to odd silences that made conversations
difficult. Dad claimed she was “a little forgetful”; but Mom preferred to call
her “just crazy”.
But let’s get back to Uncle Neil.
Neil was a small man with slightly greying hair, who made a habit of over
dressing for family get-togethers. He paid much attention to his hair, had
neatly manicured nails, and was always closely shaved. Quiet and reserved, he
was always courteous but somehow remote.
Every year Mom and Dad would
gather for Thanksgiving or Christmas visits with Aunt Janie and Uncle Neil for
a big meal, a long afternoon of drinking beer and euchre. The card game euchre
was the highlight of the day, though the game was often interrupted because
Aunt Janie often forgot whose turn it was, or trump her partner’s lead during
card play. Traditionally, the big event
was planned weeks in advance, with phone calls exchanged, a date set, and the
big meal planned. Dad left the logistics to Mom and she engineered how to move
five kids, the green bean casseroles, carrot salads, and candied yams in the
old station wagon for the trip to St. Marys, Ohio.
But there was another annual tradition strictly observed that was the most fun for us kids to watch. Everyone in the family knew Uncle Neil was wily cheapskate, and he practiced his craft whenever possible. Somehow Uncle Neil would always find a way to stiff my Dad for most of the costs of the holiday meal. Every year Dad would swear on the long drive to St. Marys that Uncle Neil would not ‘nail him this time’. My father, a serious and self-possessed man never saw it coming, and was always undone, much to our enjoyment.
It always started simply enough
like this: We would arrive for the big holiday meal and Uncle Neil would turn
to my Dad and say; “Jack, I’m a little low on gas in my car, can we take yours
and pick up some more soda?”
Dad would of course say yes, and
we would go to the grocery store and pick up pop, and Uncle Neil would decide
we needed a case or two of beer, some more pretzels, coleslaw, and they were
also out of milk; he remembered suddenly. Generally the grocery cart would be
full by the time we made it to the checkout stand.
All the goodies were loaded onto
the grocer’s belt and totaled up, and Dad looked up and discovered Uncle Neil
was gone. A few uncomfortable minutes would pass as more customers would line
up behind us waiting for their turn. My sisters and I would exchange knowing glances,
trying hard not to laugh and Dad reluctantly swore and paid the bill. By the
time we loaded the groceries in the car Uncle Neil would suddenly appear
saying:
“I had to get some chips! Golly, Jack you didn’t have to do that, we will
settle up when we get home, OK?” But, of course he never did.
The tradition lasted for years
and last time I recall going to St. Marys for Thanksgiving dinner Aunt Janie
met us at the door and seemed confused and surprised at our appearance. Even
though Mom and Janie had exchanged phone calls weeks before about Thanksgiving dinner, Janie had somehow
forgotten. Uncle Neil, my sisters and Dad all went to the grocery store and
bought enough beer and food to put together a big Thanksgiving meal for
everyone.
At the checkout stand I watched
Dad’s face as Uncle Neil hastily explained he somehow forgot to bring his
wallet along and was surprised to see Dad smile. I never understood why, but at
the time I was a child and had little understanding of the real meaning of
Thanksgiving and family.
