5/18/2025 An Ode to Uncles
Last week my uncle Jerry died. I found out right before leaving on a conference. The funeral on Saturday was quite beautiful, and I was glad I was able to attend. It’s not a fun way to start a social media post but I had some realizations there that were profound to me and hopefully are useful to others, so let’s frickin go.
First for accountability’s sake it was a full Log Cabin Saturday and Sunday. I’ll summarize the rest of the events at the end as usual but I think it’s important to say that I left my phone in the car the whole Saturday. I hope that I would have gone without checking notifications otherwise, but know unfortunately in my heart of hearts that there would have been moments when I would have sneaked out and caught up. I would have missed out.
All the normal things I find fulfilling about celebrating someone’s life was there, with our undoubtedly unique Utah twist; I saw cousins I haven’t seen for a very long time, heard funny (and frankly, terrifying) stories about Jerry I had never heard before, and cried what I believe is the normal amount during the service.
What destroyed me, though, was the dinner afterwards. In his final few years of life, Jerry took to writing poems. While we ate, his grandchildren and siblings read some of them. These were unpretentious, Shel Silverstein style dedications. A poem to a grandchild told the story of their birth, some memories Jerry treasured, and predictions of how their lives would end up. They are funny and silly and sincere. I believe at least two of them had a stanza regarding an infant grandchild that was a variation on “she wasn’t much of a sleeper/but we decided still she was a keeper.”
His poem to his wife talked about how special a day it was when she was born. Even though it was on that day many years later that Jerry was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. His poem to his sister talked about how jealous he was that she still had her bladder. I cried so much.
In the day since I can’t stop thinking about how wonderful it was to spend an hour listening to Jerry’s family talk about how meaningful he was to them, followed by an hour of listening to how meaningful they were to Jerry. I think that should be something we do more, culturally. I’ve always thought that the saddest thing about funerals were that the person who everyone is celebrating isn’t there to hear it. Jerry’s last action was to make sure that the people who he loved did.
I was also struck while being in those rooms how lucky I am. I’ve talked multiple times over the years about how my view and experience with masculinity feels so different from the one I see on social media, and I credit that to my dad and grandfathers. My paternal grandpa was a marine in World War II and fought in two of the biggest battles of the Pacific Theater. My dad spent Vietnam on an aircraft carrier and the rest of his career as a fighter jet mechanic. My maternal grandpa was a fire chief and ran a grocery store. When I think of masculinity I think of men who have nothing to prove to anybody because their lives spoke for themselves.
But I hadn’t really thought until this weekend about how grateful I am for my uncles. Between my parents I have 7 of them and I wouldn’t hesitate to call any one of them a hero. I can’t believe how lucky that is. They’re humble guys who tell funny and embarrassing stories about themselves and idolize their wives. I’ve seen a lot of them cry and not seem the least bit ashamed. They cook for us on camping trips and do the cleaning, even when it’s not their turn. I’ve hunted and fished and worked on roofs and wired houses with them. They’ve had a lot of patience for a kid who was (is?) pretty annoying sometimes.
All this to say I’ve got some big uncle shoes to fill myself and am humble and grateful for the opportunity. And I thank Jerry for his part in helping me be who I am.
Was that self-indulgent? I know people’s families are so different. I know the problematic uncle at Thanksgiving trope is a cliche for a reason. I hope that you have some that are important to you, too. And if not, may you be the uncle (gender neutral) you wish you had.
On to Log Cabin Log
Saturday during the drive to and from my hometown we listened to Andy Serkis’s performance of the Lord of the Rings audiobook. It continues to be in my book the definitive way to experience those.
I finished Pagan Kennedy’s The Secret History of the Rape Kit: A True Crime Story, and read Mya Rose-Craig’s Birdgirl. The review of the former is on Instagram and the latter is coming soon.
Listened to the following records:
Against Me: New Wave
AFI: Sing the Sorrow
They Might Be Giants: Book
A Perfect Circle: Thirteenth Step
It rained for most of Sunday, but the sun came out in the afternoon long enough for a walk and some yard work. We roasted a chicken and made stock. We cleaned and reset for the week after being gone. I guess a boat crashed into the Brooklyn Bridge? That seems nuts. Anyway, have a lovely week all I love you.