In Memoriam....
So, I was thinking, today, that I'd get on here and write some kind of dissertation on where I feel George Lucas went wrong with the Star Wars prequels (believe me, I can go on at length on that one...yeah, I know it's his story to tell, but it irks me that he did such a half-assed job of it).
Instead, I want to take a moment to pay respects to my Uncle Earl. I found out this morning that he had passed away earlier this week. It's really an odd kind of emotion I'm feeling. I never really felt close with him...in fact, when I was younger, he actually kind of scared me. I was well into my teens before I realized that his being an irascible curmudgeon wasn't anything to be taken too seriously...it was just his way of relating to people. He always did let us know he was happy we came to visit...he just usually managed to give at least one of us a really hard time somehow first (teasing runs in my family...I don't think we'd know how to relate to each other if we were not allowed to do it).
In another way, though, I feel a real affinity for him. He always seemed to me to kind have been the black sheep of his generation of the family. I can't really put a finger on where that came from, aside from the fact that he never seemed to enjoy showing up at the family reunions we had (he was always happy to see family...he just seemed to prefer them a few at a time.) I have, on a lot of occasions, felt like the black sheep in my family (I'm the only one who works in the arts, I'm the only one who has stayed single well into my 30's...although my brother Rob--the same one who sent the 'Find the Mormon' picture earlier posted--is also a good contender for the title. For that matter, I can make an argument for any of my siblings being considered a 'black sheep'...but I feel that, at this point in life, they have more in common with each other than I do.)
I have a lot of memories of my uncle...most of them are fragments, snippets and brief flashes of images. Like he lived next door to a tennis court, and kept a bushel basket of all the balls hit over his fence on his back porch. In all the years I knew him, I only once ever saw his front room--we always went in through the back door. He was almost always watching TV when we visited...he'd talk with us while watching the news or whatever. But there's one memory I have of him that really defines who he truly was, I feel...
In his prime, he was quite an outdoorsman...camping, hunting, snowmobiling, all that stuff. As he got older, it got more and more difficult...and when it finally got to the point where he felt like it was more trouble than it was worth, he decided to get rid of all his gear. He called my dad, and we went down to pick up a bunch of stuff...some big tents, a few other camping odds and ends, and a snowmobile. Dad pointed out that we'd likely never get around to using this stuff--and Uncle Earl looked at him and said, "Maybe not. But I know your kids will never fight each other over it." Part of him sounded so sad when he said that...like he felt he'd somehow failed to teach his kids something. I don't know...but that's the way I remember him.
Our last visit was kind of a shock for me. Mom told us that he was not doing well, that they were probably going to have to put him into a nursing home, and asked if we wanted to go for a visit while it was still an option. All of my brothers living locally went down, all four of us with Mom. He was skinny...not like I am, this was kind of disturbing--emaciated kind of skinny. And he couldn't remember any of us. But when my aunt reminded him of whose children we were, he was overjoyed, and kept going on and on about how great Dad had been, and how honored he felt to have 'such distinguished gentlemen' visiting him. I'd heard him say the occasional kind word...but it was unsettling to hear him just be so effusive with his praise--of Dad and Mom, of my aunt, of us...it was then that I was pretty sure I wasn't going to see him again. I just got the impression that he knew that; and he was trying, in that one visit, to tell us all the stuff he'd always wanted to say, but never felt comfortable opening up to say.
I'm glad I made that visit. He lived for several months afterward; but that last visit gave me a chance to see him as I never expected to, and gave me a whole new appreciation for him. I'll miss him...
So, I was thinking, today, that I'd get on here and write some kind of dissertation on where I feel George Lucas went wrong with the Star Wars prequels (believe me, I can go on at length on that one...yeah, I know it's his story to tell, but it irks me that he did such a half-assed job of it).
Instead, I want to take a moment to pay respects to my Uncle Earl. I found out this morning that he had passed away earlier this week. It's really an odd kind of emotion I'm feeling. I never really felt close with him...in fact, when I was younger, he actually kind of scared me. I was well into my teens before I realized that his being an irascible curmudgeon wasn't anything to be taken too seriously...it was just his way of relating to people. He always did let us know he was happy we came to visit...he just usually managed to give at least one of us a really hard time somehow first (teasing runs in my family...I don't think we'd know how to relate to each other if we were not allowed to do it).
In another way, though, I feel a real affinity for him. He always seemed to me to kind have been the black sheep of his generation of the family. I can't really put a finger on where that came from, aside from the fact that he never seemed to enjoy showing up at the family reunions we had (he was always happy to see family...he just seemed to prefer them a few at a time.) I have, on a lot of occasions, felt like the black sheep in my family (I'm the only one who works in the arts, I'm the only one who has stayed single well into my 30's...although my brother Rob--the same one who sent the 'Find the Mormon' picture earlier posted--is also a good contender for the title. For that matter, I can make an argument for any of my siblings being considered a 'black sheep'...but I feel that, at this point in life, they have more in common with each other than I do.)
I have a lot of memories of my uncle...most of them are fragments, snippets and brief flashes of images. Like he lived next door to a tennis court, and kept a bushel basket of all the balls hit over his fence on his back porch. In all the years I knew him, I only once ever saw his front room--we always went in through the back door. He was almost always watching TV when we visited...he'd talk with us while watching the news or whatever. But there's one memory I have of him that really defines who he truly was, I feel...
In his prime, he was quite an outdoorsman...camping, hunting, snowmobiling, all that stuff. As he got older, it got more and more difficult...and when it finally got to the point where he felt like it was more trouble than it was worth, he decided to get rid of all his gear. He called my dad, and we went down to pick up a bunch of stuff...some big tents, a few other camping odds and ends, and a snowmobile. Dad pointed out that we'd likely never get around to using this stuff--and Uncle Earl looked at him and said, "Maybe not. But I know your kids will never fight each other over it." Part of him sounded so sad when he said that...like he felt he'd somehow failed to teach his kids something. I don't know...but that's the way I remember him.
Our last visit was kind of a shock for me. Mom told us that he was not doing well, that they were probably going to have to put him into a nursing home, and asked if we wanted to go for a visit while it was still an option. All of my brothers living locally went down, all four of us with Mom. He was skinny...not like I am, this was kind of disturbing--emaciated kind of skinny. And he couldn't remember any of us. But when my aunt reminded him of whose children we were, he was overjoyed, and kept going on and on about how great Dad had been, and how honored he felt to have 'such distinguished gentlemen' visiting him. I'd heard him say the occasional kind word...but it was unsettling to hear him just be so effusive with his praise--of Dad and Mom, of my aunt, of us...it was then that I was pretty sure I wasn't going to see him again. I just got the impression that he knew that; and he was trying, in that one visit, to tell us all the stuff he'd always wanted to say, but never felt comfortable opening up to say.
I'm glad I made that visit. He lived for several months afterward; but that last visit gave me a chance to see him as I never expected to, and gave me a whole new appreciation for him. I'll miss him...
posted by Curtis at 12:31 AM
1 Comments:
If Lucas went wrong with THe Prequels, then why did he make so much damn money off them? Why did millions go see them?
Sure there were flaws,but so did the originals. Get off the band wagon of hatters,cuz you know you went and saw them!
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