The Flog – The Fabry Log

My Uncle Willy was a hulk of a man, bigger than life itself. Tall and rotund, he walked with a sideways gait, as if the world were a listing ship and he was the one who was centered. We always looked forward to his visits because we knew we would laugh. He had the biggest laugh in the world. The biggest heart. A big appetite, too.

When we visited his home in Virginia (he had a blueprint business in Richmond), we would always play endless games of pool in his air-conditioned home. When Uncle Willy came to our place in the hills, it was late night games of Rook and dominoes punctuated with bodily noises and ribald stories. We laughed until midnight.

Uncle Willy had served in the Navy and liked his apple pie with cheese on top, something I could never understand. Still don’t, but then I’ve never been in the Navy. He loved bowling and smoked big cigars in the big car with leather seats he always drove.

Uncle Willy’s lap was a place of comfort and felt like home. As long as he didn’t take his shoes off, you were fine. I’m telling it like it is, not nice and neat and sugary sweet. His feet smelled like something that had been left beside the road. But it didn’t really matter. That was one thing I learned early, love covers a multitude of fungal problems.

There was a fair amount of rancor anytime he and Aunt Aileen came to visit because at some point the two of them would get into an argument. That’s when things really got interesting. I hardly ever heard my parents argue so it was a treat. Like Archie and Edith to a certain extent. Uncle Willy’s booming voice. Aunt Aileen’s alto whine. The argument crescendoed and then they’d make their way out to lawn chairs that were never the same afterward. Lightning bugs rose and whippoorwills called. And arguments faded.

Uncle Willy sang a song about “Tweedle O’Twil.” I guess it was an old Jim Reeves tune. I’d never heard it other than his version. I remember the line, “Sittin’ there wishin’, he could go fishin, over the hill, Tweedle O Twil.” Somehow that embodied my image of Uncle Willy.

And then the parting would come. Aunt Aileen’s eyes would grow red. Tears would stream. Hugs all around and then I’d watch their car disappear around the corner. The house always felt a lot quieter after their visits. More lonesome. Like some beautiful, ravaging storm had passed through and had left you different than before it came.

Aunt Aileen died many years ago, but Uncle Willy hung on and kept going. Today I got the news that the health problems that plagued him finally claimed his life. But death's cruel tug cannot take away the laughter I can still hear. I still feel the comfort of his embrace. The morning coffee on his breath. The sound of pins toppling from his powerful delivery.

I do not know why God favors some and not others. Why he blesses us with sunsets that shimmer all the colors of the rainbow while in other places the sky is gray. But I am grateful I can say I was one of the lucky few who had an Uncle Willy.