Uncle James

My Uncle James died a few weeks ago. I know I've been terrible about keeping people updated with my life, but I feel a need to do a post in his memory. This is tougher than you know.

Because....

My family is crazy. I know everybody says their family is crazy. Mine really is. Really.

And I love them all more than I could say.  Most importantly, however, is that growing up with this family, I felt very loved and a part of something special. Because I was.

Now onto Uncle James. He was my Dad's younger brother. I grew up seeing him all the time because he worked with my Dad at our family business. As a child, I remember James being the tallest person I knew in real life. As a result, I was constantly asking him to pick me up so I could reach all the tall things in the store. He would hold me up so I could touch the elk antler's hanging high on the wall. Just when I would reach to touch them, he would grab me and growl, scaring the daylights out of me. It never got old. For me anyway.

As I grew older, I spent even more time with James. I was able to work alongside him at the store. James knew more about cars and auto parts than anyone I've ever met and every day, he patiently worked with me to teach me how to work the counter. He stuck up for me when people were rude and only made fun of me for seven years after I scratched Dad's new Dodge pickup by running into the mailbox only a few months after he bought it.

I think James was the most patient person I've known. In retrospect, one boss's kid is a pain, imagine if you had to deal with five of them. Still I remember him fixing our cars, being the first call after some major accidents, coming out to our house to shoot a cat or fix the garbage disposal, calling to warn my parents when I was being detained at the police station, and quietly driving my boyfriend home after he snuck over when I was babysitting his kids so my parents wouldn't find out.

Honestly, I only saw him lose his temper once. When I cleaned the breakroom and ran his coffee mug through the dishwasher. Apparently it had taken years of use to get the taste just right, and in one day I had ruined it. But he forgave me.

He also forgave me for making fun of his eccentricities. Like his refusal to have a checking account because he didn't want "them" to know what he was spending his money on.

I admire his patience, kindness, and his remarkable accomplishments. Like raising 3 kids on his own, building a house from scratch and having it completely paid for, and dealing with half those jerks that came in the store on a daily basis.

I'll close with the only two pieces of advice James gave me (which I have found to be both true, and invaluable)

1. The secret to a happy life is to get up in the morning and work very hard every day.

2. Watch out for mailboxes. They're everywhere.

Thanks for everything, Uncle James