Flying

Flying, originally uploaded by IThinkYouShould.

One week from yesterday, we'll be back down at the Gulf. This picture if from last July and it was the prettiest I've ever seen the water. Of course, the water was also full of sharks, so we didn't venture too far out. Ironically, I'm the bravest ocean-goer in my family, but was standing on the shore to take this shot. Shortly after I took it, I spotted several small sharks and ordered everyone out.

My sister picked up my buddy today. I called them to check in while they were on the way home. She put him on the phone: "Sissy? I yuv you! I went to the beach. I yuv you. You talk to her." He spent last week at the beach with his male biological donor and that side of the family, but I know he'll be excited to go back next week.

I was a little older than he was when I started going with a friend from Hometown to the beach every summer. My family was never much for family vacations--there was always a swim meet or a choir tour--but I was lucky to join with my friends' families. There is no place better than the beach. I hope we'll get to make this a family tradition for him. After all, I'm really hoping he'll be able to buy me a house at the beach when he hits it big. He better love it.

We pull up to the interstate McDonald's and I wonder how many other such exchanges are happening all over this country. We all put on our brave faces and my sister does her best to hide her fear and sorrow and worry behind her big sunglasses. My buddy does his absolute best to distract me from loading him into the car seat in his grandmother's car by requesting that we run in the grass instead. Only, once we get into the grassy area, there was no "red light/green light" game as we had played that morning. He just kept one arm wrapped around my leg.

He eventually consented to holding his grandmother's hand and was able to keep his brave face on right up until the moment his mama leaned down to give him a hug. There are not many things more sad than the crumpling face of a 2.5 year old who is trying to be stoic.

If I Had David Sedaris's Talent, I'd Be a Gazillionaire

How do you explain summertime humidity in the South to someone who has never experienced it? I know greater writers than me have tried. It's like the air is so heavy you can feel it weighing down on you. We very often end up having late afternoon thunderstorms that feel completely inevitable. We're having one right now, and it feels like a fitting end to the last 48 hours.

My mom, dad and I headed to L.A. (Lower Alabama) on Wednesday afternoon in the middle of an early summer heat wave for Uncle Robert's services. Along with his mother and brothers (and technically a sister, but I try to marginalize her as much as possible), Uncle Robert left a wife, a grown son and a 16 year old daughter behind. My family is always high drama, but as one of my aunts observed tonight, funerals really bring out our best--drama that is.

If I were David Sedaris, I could tell you about how my 16 year old cousin with developmental delays chose to dress her father for burial and it would be funny. The story of my cousin who has been excommunicated from his mother's life (but not the rest of our lives) bringing his girlfriend who chewed gum and examined her belly button ring during the service would bring an out-loud chuckle. I could accurately describe my Southern Baptist cousin's face when she realized we were going to say the Hail Mary 50 times while praying the Rosary. Or maybe I could explain why we all held our breath when the aforementioned marginalized, excommunicating aunt stood up to speak at the service and why I snorted when she said she was speaking for her brothers. If I had talent, I could do all of this while still portraying how incredibly sad the whole situation was.

But, in spite of my southern roots and our proud literary history, I just don't know how to accurately convey the unbearable sorrow of my cousin's primal cries at the graveside or how that sorrow was tempered by the levity of the two largest floral arrangements being University of Alabama tributes complete with a little bear declaring that God blessed the Crimson Tide. There's really no way to explain how incredibly sad it was to see my big teddy bears of uncles and Daddy trying to figure out how to walk away and leave their brother there in the ground or to explain their excitement at seeing their former Pony League coach--Tiny. I can't vividly describe my great-aunt Margie,the epitome of a Steel Magnolia,who at 77 sat on the floor and played with my three month old cousin and helped her big sister bury her son without shedding one tear--until we were processing out at which point she discreetly buried her head in her own daughter's shoulder only after my grandmother had passed her by.

We ended the day as all southerners do--surrounded by food prepared by a Sunday School class. Of course, this time it was served in a volunteer fire department--it was for my family. And when it comes to funerals, we really know how to bring it.

The rain lasted about 10 minutes. And like most summer rains, it didn't really bring any lasting relief from the heavy air. But, it did give us just a moment of balance.

Uncle Robert

The Boys, originally uploaded by IThinkYouShould.

When I think of my Uncle Robert, I hear him laughing.

My dad is the oldest of 5--4 boys (all within 8 years of each other) and 1 girl (16 years younger than my dad). Next was Robert, then James, then Steve. You can imagine the trouble four boys got into growing up in the 50's and 60's in LA--Lower Alabama. My grandfather was a no nonsense disciplinarian and when one of them failed to own up to any wrongdoing, he would line them all up and dole out punishment one by one until they caved. Uncle James caved by saying, "Wobbie did it!" This exclamation has become such a part of our family's lexicon that my dad doled it out to me yesterday when I was blaming my errand inefficiency on a store's closing. "Wobbie did it," he told me--right about the time Uncle Robert went out to mow his lawn 100's of miles away.

Unfortunately, mowing his lawn is the last thing Wobbie did. He collapsed and died yesterday, leaving a lot of life un-lived and a lot of people who loved him very much behind.