Following this line of thinking might make your head spin, but each of us can remember high-school. High-school breeds that kind of destructive thinking that pushes men and women to do things that make no sense, and it also pushes them to commit offenses against other people.
My Uncle who lies in rest at Rose Hill Cemetery in Georgia. One space away from my Father. My Uncle was a great man to my father, a great friend, and confident, and my Uncle wept openly when my Father died at the age of 56. My Uncle told his daughters, that he had hoped that he and "Jimmy" would be around to see the golden days of their retirement. My Father saw some of those days. And he went on trips with my Uncle and his family. He visited Hawaii with my Uncle--he always thought well of my Uncle.
This is why it is fitting that they lay next to each other, and that at my Uncle's funeral, the church was packed with people who loved him, and who at his own visitation, the funeral home was worried it would have to extend its hours of operation, because, my friends, the friends of Uncle David simply did not stop. They came around the corner of this small Georgia Funeral home, and parked across the street and in vacant lots.
They had their husbands and their wives park cars two blocks down, all to pay tribute to a man who lived an unassuming life, and who made an impression on everyone he met, in a community that was small, but loved him for being simply himself.
My Aunt and my Mother are currently looking through my uncle's paperwork. They discovered the will yesterday, and today, my Mother is helping her settle all his accounts--and on the top of his desk is a set of trophies. Little white and gold trophies--marble bases with small golden footballs.
These trophies are from the Kiwanis Club--an organization that he attended and was a model member of. The truth is I never knew what the Kiwanis Club was, but I was proud he was a member. He was a member in good standing, and every year the Kiwanis club has a "football Picks" championship. My uncle loved football, and so he knew his football and his stats, so here's what happened, my uncle was the pic champion for 87, 88 and 89.
Three years in a row, my uncle David picked the most winners and they gave him a little trophy for being the first place winner (with the most picks.)
The story I heard from my Mother is that a year or two after, they wouldn't let him play again at least, by what the trophies say, for 3 years, wherein, he was rewarded second place at unknown year and second place in 2004.
Now, I laugh at the story, and I know in my heart that it is true. You see, I've been to gradschool, and from what I can remember, from other gradstudents, is when you are good at something, you become a targest for other gradschool students. You become what they must eliminate, and I believe with my heart that someone told my uncle not to play anymore (at least for 3 years or more), and I know this about my Uncle, by his kindness and the life he lived.
I believe this-- he didn't care.
If I can learn anything from my Uncle, he was above that kind of petty jealousy, jealousy of the type I have let eat up my soul, have let shape my actions and my anger and have lost it over. As I sit in my Uncle's office and type this, I know something more--I too can be above it.
At my Uncle's funeral, I have never seen so many people cry. I have never seen my Grandfather weep so openly and even though I know he is sick and the medication he is on makes him overly emotional, I know he wept genuine tears for my Uncle, in the same way, his son-in-law wept for him, and in the same way, when I was woke at 3 a.m. by the woman I love and hope to marry, that I leaned into the couch and cried a little, leaned closer to Hollie and wanted to hold her.
I love my Uncle, David , a rock of our family, and I know he has gone on to his rich reward after this, one I hope to go onto myself If I am good enough. God Bless you Uncle David. I hope you and my father are enjoying your new bodies, while we wait a bit longer to join you. I know you and my Father, two great men will be the first to greet us at those tall, great gates.
Maranatha.
More Soon.
Me
