THANKS, UNCLE JOE!

  CHAPTER 10.

                     “UNCLE JOE’S LESSON.”

On Veterans Day Weekend 1973(for a time during the early ‘70s, it was one of the five Monday holidays), I learned that my Uncle Joe had been hit by a car down in Marshfield(my summer home).  He was seriously injured and wouldn’t recover; he’d be dead the next night.

It was very tough for me to digest it right away, because it came as a shock to me.  You see, Uncle Joe was born with what was referred to as “mental retardation.”  I never knew about that until years later.  Which meant that he had a really tough life.  But that didn’t stop him from working hard and making a living for himself and for the family.

He was employed at the City Incinerator in Boston and worked hard every day.  He and I bonded especially.  I saw in him a very special man who was able to live and be productive in the world despite his troubles.  His other brother Francis, who I know as Uncle Franny, worked for Boston Edison and was up at the crack of dawn jogging.  They were very friendly towards me in spirte of their hardships.

Did you know that my Mother’s Dad died when she was 9 years old?  Yes, that left Nana(as we liked to call her) with the difficult task of raising 5 children alone.  It affected them a lot, especially Franny, who ended up becoming an alcoholic and died as a result of it In the winter of 2005.  I know how that must have felt, being the object of Franny’s anger whenever I did something out of the ordinary, but never mind about that.

Yeah, Uncle Joe was a really tough guy, but he was very gentle with all the kids.  He’d always come down to the cottage on Marshfield with us on weekends during the summer and through the rest of the year.  And he’d find time to relax with us.  My brother Coleman was very close to him, too.  And indeed, we all were.

I guess my best memories of him were when he spent New Year’s Eve with the kids!  Yes, we’d watch the ball drop on TV while we were having a party.  Yes, we’d watch Guy Lombardo, and then Dick Clark, count down to a New Year while we had soft drinks and snacks.  It was a great experience.

A few days ago was his birthday(at the time I’m writing this), and I was talking with Uncle Jack, My Aunt Betty and Mary Theresa, one of my cousins.  And I heard Mary Theresa give a very tough observation.  She said, “If that car hadn’t hit him, he’d still be alive today.”  I know that very well; when I heard the morning after the accident, I couldn’t really grasp the meaning.

It was probably one of the first times in my life that I’d experienced death.  I think the first time was a year earlier, when my Aunt Dolly had fallen off of a porch in Dorchester and was in a coma for weeks.  When she finally got taken to Heaven, it was a shock.  But it wasn’t until Uncle Joe got hit by the car that I really learned what grief was.

I saw Uncle Joe later that week at the funeral home, but I didn’t bother going to the funeral Mass the next day.  I wasn’t really knowing how to deal with it, but I believe that the dam broke on Thanksgiving Day when I was watching the end of a CBS Thanksgiving program and hearing William Conrad sing a Christmas song at the end

And that’s when I burst into tears!  I was crying my eyes out for…well, I can’t remember how long.  But I finally realized that Uncle Joe was gone and wouldn’t come back.  However, I knew that his memories would stay in my heart and that his spirit would always guide me in everything I did.  The lesson that he taught me was to always have love in your heart and a childlike faith.  And most importantly, I would be willing to share what I had with those who didn’t have much of anything.

This lesson came home to me on Christmas Night of 2000.  It was a cold and windy night, and we were just winding down our day.  All of a sudden, a man knocked at our door and asked if he could call his wife.  His car had broken down and he needed to get a ride from her.  We let him in and allowed him to warm up.

We gave him some of our Christmas dinner and we talked a little about him and his family.  He had a daughter whose name was Noel.  Noel, the French word for Christmas!  And he told us about his struggles and everything; I don’t remember exactly what the conversation was all about.

Before he left, I gave him one of my winter coats so he wouldn’t freeze on the way home and we gave him and his daughter some food to take home with them.  And what an epiphany I had that night.  I learned a lesson about how to share what my family and I had with those who needed something that they didn’t.

Uncle Joe taught me that lesson and, on that cold millennium Christmas night, I seemed to put it into good use.  Every family like my own has their struggles, so it’s up to us to look out for each other.

Thanks, Uncle Joe.