Me and my RC

I’ve always admired those that use genealogy tools to trace their family tree and search for lost relatives. Born in Indiana, I have several relatives in West TN that I wouldn’t know if I were speaking to them directly. I have other relatives, however, that live within mere miles of my home, yet I haven’t seen or talked to in ages. I imagine everyone has a similar scenario. As you grow older and pursue your own interests, you simply lose touch with those that seemed so familiar to us as youngsters. There’s always the occasional run-in at a restaurant, convenience store, or Wal-Mart. After the “Good to see you” and “How have you been”, we go back to our lives. We might even mention to someone that we ran into so-and-so, but we soon forget about the encounter and the person as we become wrapped up in our own lives again.

I don’t know if it is possible to stay in contact with everyone. Furthermore, I’m not sure if it’s a great idea anyway. The simple, occasional run-in works for some people. For instance, I ran into a high school buddy at Wal-Mart recently whom I hadn’t seen in over 20 years. I’d thought about this friend numerous times over the years and all the fun times we used to have. It was great to see him even though I could tell the years had made him a changed man. For whatever reason, he seemed bitter on life in general. I ran into him again the next 2 times I went to Wal-Mart. Since we had already done the “what have you been up to” bit, the uneasiness was apparent as we attempted cordial small talk. I saw him a few other times and I simply avoided him by going down a different aisle.

Even though that instance didn’t turn out pleasant, I still wished I had done more to stay in touch beforehand. Our memories are what shape our lives. It is all too often that as we pursue our dreams and desires that we forget the people and events that helped us charter our course.

As a youngster in Indiana, I didn’t see much of my uncle RC with the exception of the yearly trips to Tennessee we seemed to always take when my mom and dad got into an argument. The routine was the same. They would get into an argument and my mother would threaten to go home; home meaning Tennessee. We would usually stay a week at my uncle’s house before returning back home to Indiana.

Tennessee was a culture shock to a young yankee as I was accustomed to calling all soda drinks pop and not Coke as it seemed all soft drinks were identified by in the south. My uncle embodied the culture that was so unfamiliar to me. He would pick at me for saying “you guys” so much, while I swore to never say the word “ya’ll”. Of course, that vow didn’t last long as “ya’ll” is now part of my normal vocabulary, but I have never been able to master the word with the innocent, southern charm that he spoke it with.

He would always send me home with a souvenir from my visit. The souvenir was usually a patch of raw leather taken from the plant that he worked at. He had went to work at a small leather plant in Milan, Volunteer Leather, as a teen with no skills, but the desire to earn a decent living without leaving home. Before long, he ended up managing the plant and was the Plant Manager until the plant closed near the beginning of the millennium. I do not know how he was as a manager. I have heard some say that he was tough. I do know that he put a lot of people to work and helped many people along the way.

A raw piece of leather may not sound like much, but it meant plenty to a young boy who had no idea where it came from. Heck, the only time I ever saw a cow was on our visits to Tennessee. I remember the smell of the leather as if it were yesterday. To this day, I have never smelled leather as fresh as the small patches he used to give to me. I was so enamored by it that I even took it to Show and Tell. I described my prize with so much enthusiasm that all of the other kids wanted me to get them a piece of leather from my uncle’s factory in Tennessee.

On one of his rare visits to Indiana, he demonstrated how to use a set of weights. As I vowed to become as strong as him one day, he challenged me to set a goal and let him know when I reached it. A year or so later when we visited, I saw the Polaroid on his refrigerator of me struggling to keep the 40 lbs above my head until the picture was taken.

Over time, we would eventually move to Tennessee for good after a spat between my parents. Whereas I should have become closer with my uncles, aunts, and cousins, time kept moving along as we all lived our separate lives. It was always a pleasure to run into my uncle albeit if it was at Wal-Mart. He was always one of the friendliest persons that I have ever met. Whereas you can always spot and sense the fake “good to see you, etc.”, he always seemed genuinely happy to see you. Since it had usually been a while since I had seen him, he would always in a Gomer Pyle-like manner say, “Gollllly,” when I updated him on my life, the kids, etc. Genuine enthusiasm like this is what I received whenever I interacted with him. People spend money on books and courses to teach them how to become interested in other people and show enthusiasm. It was naturally instilled in my uncle.

In the early 2000’s, my mother told me that he was diagnosed with a terminal cancer. I had heard stories of how positive thinking had overcome such cases, and I told her that if anyone fit the mold of someone that could overcome it that it would be him. He fought it all 12 rounds. Each time that it looked like he had given it the knock-out punch, however, it would come back swinging. Each time, though, he fought back just as hard. After nearly 10 years of battling his foe, a blood clot dealt him a fatal blow.

I wish that I had talked to him more besides the occasional run in like the one that happened about a month ago at McDonald’s. I remember the “Gollllly” he exclaimed that night when he talked of how beautiful my kids were. Genuine enthusiasm at its finest. I can only try to be as fine of a person as he was. Humanity lost a great person, but in heaven a star is born.

But Seriously Folks

I like to make humor of any situation, but I’ve never considered myself a cynical person. As I’ve mentioned previously, I’ve had the chance to attend numerous positive thinking and spiritual seminars. I had a chance recently to participate in the famous Dale Carnegie leadership course. I had always wanted to do this and was happy that my employer decided that they would pay for it. Then again, that could be why I didn’t enjoy it quite as much as I thought I might.

An interesting aspect of the course is when each member of an assigned group writes what they like most about each member in the group. Every member of the group complimented me on my ability to tell a story with a sense of humor and a slight amount of sarcasm. Sarcasm? Me? I didn’t understand where that was coming from. To make matters worse, the facilitator noted “gotta love sarcasm” when he presented me with my participation award. I didn’t get it. Was I really that bad?

I guess I do have a problem taking things seriously at times. Well, probably most of the time. I remember once during the course when the facilitator had us recite Mother Goose nursery rhymes. He usually did silly things like this to get us warmed up for class. The problem was that I didn’t really know Mother Goose. For most folks, reciting the nursery rhymes was no problem.

As it turned out, I knew a little Mother Goose as well. The first nursery rhyme we recited was Mary had a Little Lamb. I knew this one. “Mary had a little lamb,” I shouted in harmony with everyone else. However, that was about as far as I got when I realized that the nursery rhymes I was familiar with were different than the nursery rhymes everyone else grew up with. While everyone else recited “Mary had a little lamb its fleece was white as snow,” I recited it the way that I knew it. “Mary had a little lamb she kept in her back yard.”

Luckily, no one noticed. I realized, though, that the rest of the nursery rhyme I had learned growing up probably wasn’t appropriate for class. I just kept quiet for the rest of the recital, but wonder what would have happened had I recited the rest. After all, this class was about public speaking and Andrew “Dice” Clay once sold out Madison Square Garden reciting his nursery rhymes that were etched in my memory.

As hard as I try, I can’t remain serious for an extended period of time. It certainly doesn’t help me at times professionally. Sometimes, I feel like Chandler Bing when he was applying for a job (Chandler's boss: Let's talk about your duties". Chandler: "You said doodies"). I must admit that I take great pleasure in seeing the bewildered looks on people's faces after a wisecrack that is usually at their expense. When it gets me in trouble, I can always claim that they misunderstood me or something. As a wise man once told me, “even us geniuses are sure enough absent minded.”