I had this Uncle who was a very colorful character. Actually, he was a Great Uncle. He didn’t get many visits from the family because either they lived too far away and only visited once or twice a year or they just couldn’t deal with his “colorfulness”. But my Dad loved that old man for more reasons than one.
And over the years as Dad and I visited my uncle I learned to love him, too. Once you get through the rough outer layers that come from years of living a hard life and living alone (his wife died at a young age and he never remarried), you find a sweet old soul full of knowledge he’s just waiting to share.
Have you ever watched the movie “Second Hand Lions”?
The two uncles remind me of my great uncle. They come across as mean old coots, but that’s just a protective layer that eventually peels away if you try hard enough to get through.
It’s one of my favorite movies.
I have posted about my mason jar memories of him before.
Over the next few weeks I will be posting more of those memories for future generations.
To begin with, I’ll give you a little history as I was told by Dad.
I understand he was married with children when he was drafted into the Army.
While he was gone serving our country his money was being sent home to provide for his family. But his financially savvy wife saved that money and cleaned for others to provide for herself and their children.
With that saved money she bought the farm that is still in the family. It’s way back in the hills of West Virginia. It was a 45 minute drive, one way, for us to visit. Over hills and down in valleys, through twists and turns in roads that can make even the strongest of stomachs uneasy.
As I said before, she died at a young age. In her last breath, she was trying to tell my uncle something that she could not make him understand. And she took it to her grave. This drove my uncle to the brink of insanity trying to figure out the message she was trying to convey.
Knowing how wise she was with money he had convinced himself that she had hidden money in the house somewhere and was trying to tell him so.
He was determined to find it.
For years he searched. He had probably removed every floor board and wall board atleast once over the years. And maybe crawled around the attic a time or two……searching.
Searching for something he would never find and maybe that was never there.
Until the morning he awoke to the smell of smoke and the sound of a burning fire.
But that’s another story.
So here’s to the memory of Uncle C, may he rest in peace.
I hope you’ll come back and read more about Uncle C.