A small dose of family (day 6)

I think I'll actually write about one of my family members today. I didn't think I would; family doesn't mean much to me. Well, blood means little; my friends, my mate, my child are my family. I never really knew my father's side, and there weren't that many people I saw from my mom's side; so there wasn't that much to see there, anyways. Most people I know are just given grief by the majority of their blood relatives, and end up wishing they'd leave them alone. I just never really understood why people think blood ties mean they have to pretend to like someone they can't stand. I'm actively surprised when I meet someone (anyone) that has a family member they actually have a good working relationship with, and they both fully like each other. It seems so rare.

Regardless, today I shall remember my uncle Pat.

I think his name was Patrick, and I don't even remember his last name or anything. I think he was my grandma's brother (my mom was an only child, so not her brother), so technically my great uncle? He was allergic to nearly everything. Seriously, like badly allergic to two dozen things. I always wondered how he lived if he had to avoid all that stuff. He had other health problems, too; but I don't remember exactly. He was also balding.

I can almost remember his voice, but, as Arsh pointed out before, how do you really describe a voice? Especially a barely half remembered one. It seemed very deep to me as a child. I didn't know many male adults, not well.

He used to come by and play basketball with me. I sucked despite his best efforts. We'd play 20 minutes or so, and his body would give out a bit. I think it was his knee or leg. Then he'd go in and talk to my mom and grandma for a couple hours. I don't know now what they talked about, it was boring/insensible to me as a child. Very rarely, he'd come out and play a little more with me before he left, if it wasn't already dark by then.

He'd pick me up every so often and take me fishing. We went to the nearby Warrior river landing under the bridge and tried to fish, but it was badly muddy and probably kinda toxic. It probably sounds like bs, but no shit, the first or second fish I caught was this little brown thing (I don't remember what they were called :[ ) with three eyes. At least that's what I remember. It's a creepy looking creature in my memories. I caught a few more of those little brown fish over 2-3 trips. The rest were normal. One got a hook through its tiny little eye... I was really sad. I had never understood that the hooks hurt them, could kill them, before then. I guess I though the fish didn't feel pain like we do. It actually makes me sad again. That poor tiny fish... It died for no real reason, without even understanding why. We can be so casually criminal sometimes.

I once caught a pair of rainbow trout (I think that's what they were, they were colorful and shiny and I remember the word trout) and put them in a bucket. I was going to take them home. He tried to explain that they wouldn't live in the purified water (from a water processing plant) at home, or in tap water, but I didn't understand. I just thought water was water, ofc. One it finally sank in, the fish were already home, but he took them and threw them in the stream anyways since we really had no other recourse. I doubt they lived, but you never know.

I'd go to his house sometimes. He had this old, stereotypical male tabby cat. I wish I remembered his name. He was an awesome old cat. He was missing a bit of an ear from where he would chase dogs and (I think) take their food. He ate cheeseburgers and fries from Mc Donalds (hipster) before it was popular. He wasn't usually friendly, but I remember him liking me. I've always done well with cats. I like them. I think his name might have been Mr. Tabby. Or perhaps that was just what I called him. Then again, I think it might have been something else... just not sure. I don't think it sank in when he died that he was dead... I doubt I understood. I would have been sad that Mr. Tabby passed on.

Sometimes he'd have a big cup of pennies sitting out. I asked for them once, or at least mentioned them, and he started giving them to me if I'd take them and roll them. Turns out that was part of his unemployment somehow; I didn't understand the details back then. I didn't even understand his relations with jobs and the lack thereof. He was unemployed a lot due to health issues. Sometimes it would take a long time for little me to roll all those pennies, but when I did, I'd feel so rich. Sixteen dollars in pennies is a lot of solidity to a little kid with no allowance. I think the weight and mass made it feel like more. When we turned them into paper bills I think I was usually a bit disappointed.

I think I got it confused where he lived. He had a trailer in one spot while I was really young, then moved it. Later, my mom would drive by this area I could swear was where it used to be and I'd say, "Hey! That's where Uncle Pat used to live, right?" And she'd look at me like I was retarded and tell me that no, he never lived there. Weird cause I remembered that area so well, and still do. How did I fixate on that place so much if it wasn't where he lived? I don't remember any other connection with that area. Maybe it just looked similar or something.

Once he took me to a big city place really far away (probably Birmingham, like 30 minutes away lol) to meet a cousin or something of mine. The kid was near my age, and a little retarded. He showed me video games for the first time close up, some Super Mario thing and Duck Hunt. He didn't really let me play as much as I wanted, but I don't remember if that was my greed or his. I had always thought the concept of video games was stupid before then. Boy was I wrong. :] We played a little outside, too, on their car port. Threw rocks or something. When we left I made some comment about something being wrong with him and Pat admonishing me severely along the lines of that he was "a little slow, something he can't help, and we don't make fun of people for that." No one had told me anything about his condition beforehand; I remember feeling bad for asking the rest of the car ride.

In recent years, hearing my mom talk about him occasionally, I think Uncle Pat might have been a hypochondriac. And/or lazy. She talks about him as if she lost a lot of respect for him over time due to his issues and family drama. I guess that's why I stopped seeing him after a while. Still, I appreciate him being a friend to the little me that had pretty much no friends, and not really a soul that I could actually talk to.

I wonder if he's even alive now. It's highly unlikely. I don't really keep up with such things to know.