looking through me

Dad had two uncles (see cousins as uncles): Ehrie and Marv. Brothers. One tall and lanky. One short and stout. One born with an extra kidney. One born a kidney short.

On Christmas Eve during the candlelight service they would stand on the stage and rasp out Silent Night in German. Their voices weren’t what they’d been in their youth, but their passion was unquestioned.

When Uncle Marv died—several years after Uncle Ehrie became a widower—I worried about Ehrie. His best friend gone. No one to whisper and laugh with in church. No one to sing with in German. He rallied and folded Marv’s granddaughters in with his own grandchildren.

Early one Sunday morning the sound of screeching tires filled the empty parking lot. I bolted out of my office to see a grinning Uncle Ehrie heading to the choir room. He waved at me and called out, “Ya gotta come in hot—let ’em know you’re coming.”

That was Ehrie. He lived life to the fullest and found pleasure in everything from playing the piano to bowling to mowing the lawn. My parents recall his sterner years. His playful years clad in Hawaiian shirts are the ones etched into my mind.

It’s quieter without Marv and Ehrie. There are missing threads in the fabric of the family we’ll feel for a long, long time.

This post is part of the 31 Days: Family series. Read the beginning, and see a full index of posts, here.

Growing up I took dinner for granted.

I assumed all families were like our family. I assumed every mom prepared a complete dinner with vegetable, meat, salad and starch at a table set with full place settings and seasonally selected decor. I assumed every dad made it home for dinner. And I assumed all families had assigned prayer nights.

By the time we were teenagers juggling multiple extracurricular activities apiece and still eating a homemade dinner together each night I began to realize we had something special.

Some meals were favorites. Mom maintained an elaborate system to ensure equal opportunity for each child to have the ends on meatloaf nights.

On birthdays each of us got to set the menu. After several years of the middle requesting Brussels sprouts as his vegetable—and Mom crowing that at least one of her children loved Brussels sprouts—the eldest and I finally broke it to her. He didn’t like them. He certainly didn’t love them. He requested them because he knew we didn’t like them. She was astounded.

Our family has changed shape and spread farther, but when we’re together, there’s nothing quite like a meal around the table. Even if it includes Brussels sprouts.

This post is part of the 31 Days: Family series. Read the beginning, and see a full index of posts, here.