Uncle Bobby

On Father's Day, I always think of my Uncle Bobby. He was the closest thing to having a father in my life. Yes, I had a biological father and a father who adopted me when he married my mother, but it was Uncle Bobby who gave me the unconditional love that a father would his child. There wasn't much I wouldn't do for Uncle Bobby. He is the only other man, other than my beloved, that I've ever adored.

He and my aunt started having me over for weekends when I was a week old. When I was with them, I could be a child, something that I could not be with my parents.

I grew up watching television on a quilted blanket on his floor or on the couch. He had a color TV long before my parents did. He loved to watch me dancing around the room to American Bandstand.

He bought a vacation house on the coast when I was six and that is where I spent vacations and weekends when I was growing up. He taught me how to fish and I would spend hours fishing, until he would come out and call me inside for the night.

On weekends, my family would often go to my aunt and uncle's house for Sunday dinner. I would often crawl in bed beside him for a Sunday nap. I can remember him fussing at me to be still.

At the ripe old age of 12, Uncle Bobby taught me how to drive. I loved it and would drive him all over the countryside. He always fussed that I drove like Mario Andretti. Even so, I sometimes think he invented trips, just so I could drive him somewhere.

When I graduated from 8th grade, he fenced in his property and bought me a horse ... something I had wanted from infancy on ... the joke in my family was that my first word was "horse". Since he lived outside of town, he would have to drive into town each day and pick me up from schools so I could take care of my horse and ride. Afterwards he would drive me home, or I'd get a turn behind the wheel.

I still grieve at his loss. He died of cancer just 6 weeks shy of my graduating from High School. I still miss him and grieve at his loss.

When I die, I hope he and my aunt are there waiting for me. I imagine he will do what he always did ... reach out and grab my arm and say, "I love you, Baby." Of course, I'll answer, "I love you too, Uncle Bobby."