Tuesday, November 12, 2024
While I have been blessed with five wonderful uncles, I only had one Uncle Richie. That is to say, he was the only one whom we would address familiarly. He was the uncle whose arrival meant good times for everyone. The uncle who joined in backyard football long after he should have stopped. The unabashed cheerleader of his nieces and nephews. The nature lover who longed for adventure even after he forgot how to paddle. The man who taught us by example what a well-lived life looks like.
Sixty or so years ago, he briefly stopped at our house on Red Fox Run only to find us playing football in the street. He was immediately chosen quarterback and enthusiastically told everyone the play. He had to take extra time to teach me what “button hook” meant. Any way, I outran the coverage and turned around unsure of what would happen next. The ball would have hit me in the face but I turned just in time, held on and stumbled into the Byers’ yard for a touchdown. I can still hear the echoes of his jubilant shout. You did it Scottie! Only he could have joined the game, thrown the pass and then heaped praise on his teammate.
It is written that love knows not its own depth until the hour of departure. I have lived long enough to know how true it is. I don’t know where the bottom is now.
