When I was a child, Uncle Freddy's visits always started wonderful playtime. Once, he arrived unannounced as I was making mud pies. I ran and gave him a muddy squealing hug and kiss.
When Mom protested at the mud trail I left all over him, he said, "Don't worry, Sis. It'll wash."
Mom frowned.
Unruffled, Uncle Freddy swung me onto his brand new black patent leather shoes, hummed a waltz, and danced me around the pine floor of the living-room.
But I always knew when it was his last day to visit. Uncle Freddy would get his German beer-stein and sit in the family room, caressing the silver-domed lid before pressing it for a sip that he's swish in his mouth before swallowing. Lost in thoughts as his fingers traced the beer-stein letters, he would not hear me calling him.
After finishing the beer, he's turn the stein to face the sunlight shininh through the window. This made the silver-domed lid gleam like Mom's furniture on polishing day.
Uncle Freddy would give a final tap to his beer-stein, smile broadly, and call "Goodbye" as he left.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
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