Uncle Dan
When I was a little boy I had a great uncle, my grandmother's brother. His name was Dan. He was Uncle Dan to me. All my uncles, all my aunts were never addressed by their first names.
My Uncle Dan was a loving, kind man who came to our house every day for dinner. He married late in life and lost his wife early in their marriage. He said he could roll a head of cabbage in the hole her loss carved out in his heart.
He never had children. I was his youngest great-nephew and he lavished love upon me. He took me on spins to the seaside in his small blue Mini. These were wonderful adventures. Uncle Dan was a daring driver.
One time, he had parked the car between two lampposts, not leaving himself much room to maneouvre out of. Not deterred by this, my uncle Dan put the car in reverse, hit the post behind him, popped into gear clipped the post in front of him and off we went. All the while he was telling me stories of hurling matches of old, not missing a beat as he banged off each post.
He was a hero to me.
Together we visited all the beaches around Cork. My favourite was Red Strand. We would stand on the shore skimming stones out over the waves. I can never recall swimming with him. I imagine he was not able. I can, however, see him with his pants rolled up, shoes, stuffed with socks, caught in one hand and the other holding mine.
He died before I became a teenager. That hole in his heart, hollow. Funny, how it is that looking at this image brings him back to me. No hole in my heart, but there he is, filling it.
...
Have a good weekend!
Uncle Dan
When I was a little boy I had a great uncle, my grandmother's brother. His name was Dan. He was Uncle Dan to me. All my uncles, all my aunts were never addressed by their first names.
My Uncle Dan was a loving, kind man who came to our house every day for dinner. He married late in life and lost his wife early in their marriage. He said he could roll a head of cabbage in the hole her loss carved out in his heart.
He never had children. I was his youngest great-nephew and he lavished love upon me. He took me on spins to the seaside in his small blue Mini. These were wonderful adventures. Uncle Dan was a daring driver.
One time, he had parked the car between two lampposts, not leaving himself much room to maneouvre out of. Not deterred by this, my uncle Dan put the car in reverse, hit the post behind him, popped into gear clipped the post in front of him and off we went. All the while he was telling me stories of hurling matches of old, not missing a beat as he banged off each post.
He was a hero to me.
Together we visited all the beaches around Cork. My favourite was Red Strand. We would stand on the shore skimming stones out over the waves. I can never recall swimming with him. I imagine he was not able. I can, however, see him with his pants rolled up, shoes, stuffed with socks, caught in one hand and the other holding mine.
He died before I became a teenager. That hole in his heart, hollow. Funny, how it is that looking at this image brings him back to me. No hole in my heart, but there he is, filling it.
...
Have a good weekend!