Oh how I miss those phone calls. My dad's older brother would call us up on a Sunday morning to ask what time we were having dinner--his way of asking if they could come in town for the day to visit.
My uncle was so much like my dad. Quiet. Thoughtful. With a little twinkle in his blue eyes and a little smirk that told you he was thinking things he wasn't going to share. He was a bit shorter than my dad. But strong. In my memory he is wearing blue jeans and a plaid shirt. His blond hair is just a bit wind-blown. He has a toothpick in his mouth. And then he spoke to you, so fast with such an old Dutch accent you could hardly understand him.
So his early Sunday morning call came across more like:
"ElloRosyWhattime'sdinner?"
He's been gone for nine years. I'm guessing my parents haven't had that call from my uncle in 15-20 years. We kids grew up and things just changed for us all.
Time marches on. . .and leaves us with sweet memories of how things used to be.
No comments:
Post a Comment