Some relatives

My mother’s parents had died; my aunts and uncles and cousins were all older than me or lived far away. “Far away” in this case also means that, while some lived quite close, within a block, they were not in my own social group. I knew, for instance, Aunt Lavonne and Uncle Alfred; I even had their son, Troy, in my graduating class in high school. While I was co-salutatorian and spoke at graduation, he rebuilt cars for the demolition derby, drank, and never attended church. Our paths only crossed in the school hallways. All their other children were older, married or not, with children or not; I didn’t know them.

I knew Aunt May, who was proud of owning car license plate number 8. She kept that number all her life. I didn’t meet her to remember her until I was in my early teens, and then my life got busy.

I knew an elderly aunt and uncle who lived across the vacant lot behind our house, half a block away. They gave my sister and I candy bars when we visited. We went through a phase of visiting them every few days. And then we stopped. I don’t remember why. Perhaps they were unwell.

My mother took us to meet an uncle who was on an IV in his home, in a wheelchair. His legs had both been amputated at the knee; I saw the rounded stumps sticking out of his shorts. He smoked “like a chimney”; my mother made it plain to me that she brought us out of a sense of duty. We needed to know who he was. I was told his name, but I may be confusing him with the other elderly aunt and uncle whom we enjoyed visiting. This guy with no lower legs I was intrigued to meet, but had no desire to stay. His house stank.