My mom is back in touch with my long-lost Uncle. This is the man who helped to shape my obsession with Christmas, forged from cardboard boxes, filled with popcorn hiding ornaments that were usually beyond belief, even for Christmas. The same man who gave me an undying passion for cats, my last clear memory of him was standing in my grandmother’s living room with a cat perched on his shoulder. I trained two of my cats to do the same thing.

Long-lost… I guess I was 3 when he pulled a vanishing act that ought to be the envy of any practicing magician. He was the only uncle I actually liked… my mother’s other two brothers are ignorant, arrogant, uneducated, close-minded, mind-numbingly stupid, assholes - and unfortunately, that is an insult to assholes because it doesn’t describe 1/4 of how really and truly bad (if not evil) these two men are. But, my mother’s oldest brother was a hero to us, even though he wasn’t there, I can’t remember going long without thinking of him at any time.

He was injured in Vietnam and was the last of 6 marines in his company. While many questioned his honor upon arriving home… his family was proud of his sacrifice, of his selflessness, and heartbroken over the damage and mental anguish inflicted on a truly brilliant soul.

Born in 1976, I was oblivious to the emotionally charged reprecussions of the Vietnam war. While many disagreed with it, choosing to take out their opinions on the boys who arrived home with pieces missing and heavy-hearts holding nightmares that no word in the english language could begin to describe with accuracy, I instead was raised to be incredibly proud of my Uncle’s sacrifice. I grew up with the results of severe survivor’s guilt, I had no contact, save the few precious Christmas deliveries, with the man who was, without question, a hero to his country, but a hero in the eyes of a girl that he hadn’t seen since the age of three.

I grew up understanding that my uncle couldn’t be around us because it was too painful. The guilt of coming home in one piece while many of his friends did not, the guilt of coming home to a mother, knowing that the mothers of many of his childhood friends would never see their sons walking up to the front door. The fear of becoming attached and the possibility of losing more loved ones… I can’t possibly know all the reasons, but I know they had to have been pretty serious to keep him away from a family that loved him, a sister that worshipped him, and nieces who would have adored him had they been given a chance, all these years.

And, now, he’s back. Although neither my mother or I will begin to question or wonder how long it might last. She’s received what she terms as the “greatest birthday/Christmas present” ever and I think she’s living in the moment and enjoying each conversation as it comes.

My uncle is retired, lives alone, travels extensively, and is obsessed with fly fishing. He is an avid supporter of the marine corps - avid might be exchanged for rabid… and thinks the country is being run by a few morons. In short… this man is cooler and more brilliant than I could have EVER dreamed.

Oh, and he writes… wonderful, vivid, children’s stories and more serious adult stories as well. Things that would knock your socks off.

So back to my obsession… my mother said that she’d love for him to read some of my things.

*pause* *insert crickets chirping here*

Only, I use “language” and I say “things” that she wishes I wouldn’t have on my blog.

Ummm, look, the guy has been gone for 27 years - and he was in the MILITARY. I’m fairly certain that he’s either used or heard every word I might have slipped on this blog. At the very least I’m sure that he’d understand that calling your hamster a little fatass after you had to cut up a perfectly good vaccuum hose to rescue the sorry little bastard, is perfectly acceptable.

And, now another of my dirty little secrets is out… I swear like the bastard child of a sailor and truck driver.

Worse yet, even though my mother is the one who taught me to string together more profanity in one sentence than anyone might think humanly possible, she’s still embarrassed for someone to think her daughter says “things.”

Oh, and the sentence? The MOM CURSING CLASSIC? Well, stub your toe, rip off a fingernail down to the nailbed, what do you say? Hmmm? It goes like this (holy shit, I’ve never TYPED it out before):

OHGODDAMMUTHERFUCKINGSONOFABITCH

Only, you have to say it FAST… REALLY fast.

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