Today is my Uncle Leo's birthday. For a man who's tried to kill me several times in this life, I still like him.
My Uncle Leo started dating my Aunt Kathy in high school, when I was a baby, not that I went to high school as a baby. You know what I mean. Snot ass.
The other day Ned called a poor driver a dick ass. Then he said, "I have never called anyone a dick ass before. It kind of makes no sense." However, we agreed it was a good swear.
The point is, they dated when they were in 10th grade, Uncle Leo and Aunt Kathy, not Ned and any member of my family, as that would be weird. My Uncle Leo came over to meet my family, and he thought we were rich because we had grass. Does that not make you completely 100% sad? He was from a family of five boys, who, by the way, were born one after the other in rapid succession.
(Catholic.)
My Uncle Leo's mom had five boys under the age of THREE. I mean, kill me now. Anyway no wonder they had no grass. Is my point.
He stuck with Aunt Kathy, and eventually I became less of a baby and more of a little kid, and Leo was the kind of adult who was fun to be around. He didn't get sick of you or tell you the adults were talking now. Which, if you are an only child, there is no greater kiss of death than that "June. The adults are talking now" thing. I mean, what'm I supposed to do? Mature 20 years right then because ooooo, stop the presses, the ADULTS are talking. They never talked about anything interesting anyway. There seemed to be a lot of discussion about what was on sale at any given locale. Whatev.
The point is, he'd ride me around on his shoulders sometimes, and that was delightful for everyone but my grandmother, who was what you'd call a nervous soul. "Oh dear God in HEAVEN, Leo. If you hurt that baby..."
He'd always assure her it was fine, and then one day there I was, on his shoulders and
BAM!
he smacked my head into the entryway of the dining room.
Man, did that hurt. Uncle Leo, of course, thought that was hilarious, and in between mocking my pain, he kept whispering, "Don't tell grandma. DON'T TELL GRANDMA."
I totally shoulda told on him and let her kick his ass.
Eventually, he married my Aunt Kathy, and when I was 12 they had my cousin Katie who is now, you know, 86 or something. The point is, everyone was gathered at their house to see the new baby, and you know, the ADULTS WERE TALKING NOW, so I went up on the balcony that faced the back yard, but what Uncle Leo had FAILED to tell me was that the railing was super extra King Kamehameha loose and
BAM!
I fell right off that balcony. Two broken wrists, a spleenectomy, then sepsis and a perforated bowel and four more hours of very touch-and-go surgery.
Okay, at THIS point, gramma should've kicked his ass.
There are many, many, MANY family stories about my uncle. There was the time he dragged everyone out, wayyy out, to the country to go to an antique store. Once the dusty long drive was done, someone said, "What're you LOOKING for, anyway, Leo?" And he said, "I'm really looking for something contemporary."
Sigh.
There's also the story of how he wore two watches for awhile because the one on top was broken.
But really? Most stories? Involve his terrible terrible awful scary awful driving. I can't remember the details any more, but I know he drove a nun to some function once and she said, "Leo? I will never get in the car with you again."
His daughters--and who knows how they lived through their childhood--talk about a time he was driving scarily and they complained. My uncle has had a brain operation, which is a whole 'nother story, and he turned to face them in the back seat. While he was driving.
"Girls," he said matter-of-factly, "THIS side of my brain is the side that affects your motor skills and driving abilities." He grabbed one side of his head. While driving. And facing the back seat. "And THIS is the side of my brain where I had surgery." He grabbed the other side of his head at the same time. While driving. And facing the back seat.
So, Christmas day 1985. I had a perm, and kind of a mullet, and Uncle Leo and I, yes, GOT IN THE CAR to have Christmas dinner with my mother and stepfather. At this point, he and my aunt had divorced, but we kept Leo anyway. It was way icy and scary out, and I was nervous, and Uncle Leo was mocking my pain and pretended to lose control of the car.
Which resulted in us losing control of the car. And
BAM
we got into a huge accident. On Christmas day. Broken pelvis and a concussion for me. My Christmas dinner was an IV.
So the part where I still like Uncle Leo. It is some kind of Christmas miracle. I ask you to join me in wishing him a feliz cumpleanos (he is 1/1000th Mexican and pronounces all Spanish words as though he were the Frito Bandito. Did I fail to mention that?).
Do it fast, before he hurts me again.
