When I was a child, I often visited my Aunt Alice and my Uncle Dick during the summer. One thing I remember from those golden days is that Uncle Dick worked long hours, leaving in the morning before I rose and returning in the evening just in time for dinner.
Then it was bath and bedtime for their four children, who were all younger than I. Not having a hands-on father myself, I often envied how Uncle Dick pitched in and spent time with Bob, David, Kathy, and Stephen. It was he, after all, who monitored the nightly bathing chores.
Today I’m older than he and my aunt were when I was a young guest in their home. I’m eligible for social security and they’re almost eligible to celebrate their sixtieth wedding anniversary. Needless to say, my cousins bathe their own children now.
Aunt Alice and Uncle Dick visited a few weeks back, and laughter was the reigning mood while they were here. We teased each other about political leanings, family memories, food, television shows, books, you name it. Anything was grist for our humor mill.
Those hours spent together have stayed with me, mostly because I’m gaining a new appreciation for my Uncle Dick. When I visited his household as a child, I held him in awe. He was the “Father.” Like Robert Young on “Father Knows Best,” that wonderful TV show from the fifties.
Now I hold Uncle Dick as both mentor and co-conspirator on how to attack the aging process. As mentor, he demonstrates how to continue learning new things and putting them into everyday practice. As co-conspirator, I listen to what’s going on at his age and factor it in to what I’ll experience when I get there. He is funny, intent, dependable, and a myriad of other attributes I probably have never acknowledged him for personally. I look forward to our visits together, and can only wish that everyone had an Uncle Dick.
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