Here’s a true story from my past that is a bit on the gross side…not too much so. If you can hang in there, it’ll be worth your while! One night when I was about eight years old …
A short time ago, Uncle Mike died. That’s not entirely accurate. He stopped being my uncle about 40 years ago. My aunt, who is my mother’s sister, got divorced from Uncle Mike back in the 1970′s. It was a short marriage, just long enough to have a couple of kids. She remarried Scott, who feels much more like an uncle than Mike did.
But I never did call him “Uncle Scott.” In an effort to establish my independence and maturity, I decided to call him simply by his first name. My parents and my aunt didn’t seem to object, nor did Scott. So Scott he was…and continues to be to this day.
There has been black ice all over the roads in Connecticut this week. Even as I type these words onto my laptop, I’m looking out the window and seeing another fresh coat of snow. I know it’s going to turn to ice before the sun goes down.
It started with coming back last Sunday from Ken MacArthur’s jvAlert in Philadelphia. Two hours to get out of the city limits with all the accidents and construction. I didn’t love it, but I didn’t fear it either. Traffic was moving slowly enough so that it was an inconvenience, but not a danger.