to my Uncle Bob, who is ailing

Back during the Great Marriage Debacle that was the year 1987, my dad loaded up my sister and I in the minivan and took us to see my grandmother--without my mom. Needless to say, I didn't want to go. I was (am ) very attached to my mother and I had never been apart from her for any length of time other than for the occasional slumber party.

And now we were headed to Abernathy. It was going to be weird enough, with my grandaddy gone, weird seeing the big red chair where he sat, vacant. Without him to snatch us in his lap and tickle us when we walked by, or see him drinking coffee with his brother-in-law, hearing my grandmother fuss and complain about him in the way she did the people she loved. Without him, the whole house felt bleak and cold and empty.

And now I had to go and face that big creepiness without my mom.

I wasn't sure who was going to do our hair or fix our snacks or kiss us goodnight or make the trip fun, in the way that my mom always did.

When we got there, it seemed that everyone was putting on a brave face. Pretending that nothing was wrong, that no one was missing, and so I went along with the gag, pretending too, combing out my sister's hair, making her snacks and trying to make the trip fun for her, in the way that I always do.

And then my Aunt and Uncle Bob came over. People were scattered around the house and it was just me and him in the living room. I remember he read a sticker on my shirt that said "besame, yo hablo espanol" "Hmmm, that does that say kiss me I speak Spanish?" "Yes," i said. "I seem to remember that from when I took Latin." We talked--he actually talked to me like I was an adult and then he did what no one else on that entire dreadful trip did.

He asked me how my mom was doing. And I never, ever forgot that.

If you lived in Siberia, and were dreaming of the sunny skies, dear hearts and gentle people of the Friendly State and were trying to conjure in your mind what a Texan looks like, the image you would see would surely be that of my Uncle. Tall, jet black hair slicked and parted neatly to the side, western dress pants and a white shirt, taciturn, dry humored, and begins most sentences with the phrase "this ol boy...." Oh, and the rocking chair. Always sits on a rocking chair. The last time I saw my grandmother, she complained about him sitting in that ol' rockin' chair....

And now he is ailing, and I hope he gets to felling better real soon.