I was young when they entered my life, just twenty when Jeff was born, twenty-two when Brad was, in ‘86 and ‘88 if I recall properly. I was at school much of that time, only around on holidays and during the summer, and I worked shiftwork then, and far more interested in spending time with my friends than hanging out with my sister and her babies. So, I saw them Sunday dinners, more often than not, and not much more than that. That said, they had a profound, if not direct impact on my life. I am Godfather to the elder, but not the younger. That’s pretty light work. That sounds horrible, but it’s true. I loved them, love them still, but they’re not my children. I was not the babysitter; they had my mother for that. I’m peripheral.
I suppose I was the cool uncle. I bought video games and taught them how to play them. I bought them more gifts than was ever required of me, instructional at first while still preschoolers, whole Lego sets where I could get my hands on them later. We’d sit together for hours putting them together. I bought them bats and balls and baseball mitts, footballs, basketballs, whatever my mind could imagine was fun. I bought every Disney animated feature, and those others I thought as good, An American Tail, and All Dogs Go To Heaven, and the like. And I was there for them, were they ever to need me. I don’t suppose they ever did.
There were moments when I was of some use, I suppose. One Sunday, unbeknownst to us, Jeff had been playing with a three-ring binder in the living room while we had tea in the dining room, and it clamped shut on his belly. He screamed. I was the first to respond, releasing him from its jaws, but Mom and Grandma were there less than a moment later, and we all want Mom to make it better; that’s her job, after all. No need to break that belief too early. Mothers have power. Mothers are protectors. Uncles are peripheral.
Another weekend, years later, my sister had need to go get diapers on some summer day. For some reason my mother went with her. No sooner had they left, Brad had a mistake. I didn’t believe that someone could small that bad, but there you have it. There was a bit of a breeze flowing through the house, so I placed him as close to the exhaust as possible. That helped a little, not a lot. I looked high and low for a diaper, not knowing that there were none to be had. Had I some parental skills I should have stripped him down, cleaned him up and rinsed out his soiled clothes, but as I said, I was lacking in parental skills. Luckily for Brad, he didn’t have to wait too long for proper parental care to return, because I was at a loss. I can’t say I wasn’t relieved when my mother and sister were back within a half hour. I’m sure Brad felt the same.
So, yeah, I wasn’t much of a caregiver. I hadn’t had much practice. I’d never been a babysitter. That wasn’t a guy thing then. And I’d been away during the baby years, too. Karen had married during my college years and divorced soon after I’d returned. Andy, my future brother-in-law had entered the picture, and I found that if I wasn’t actually required before, I wasn’t needed afterwards, either. I was peripheral.
Probably a good thing. I was suffering arrested development, failure to launch, a number of other clichés. I’ve covered this before, so here are the Coles Notes: More than a few people had filled my head with imminent disaster, that the market had crashed, that inflation was rampant, that interest rates were so high that I’d never be able to buy a house, that just then was the very worst time to graduate from school. There were layoffs hinted at. Indeed, six months after I’d been hired, there was a hiring freeze, not just at Kidd, but just about everywhere in the mining industry. That freeze only lasted for seventeen years; not worthy of mentioning, really. Then the axe fell on 250 employees two years after I’d been hired. We were informed as much beforehand, invited to take an early severance if we’d a mind to. As I’d only been working for about two years, that severance would have been a pittance, so I elected to take my chances. The only thing that saved me was my payroll number. Someone in Human Resources had not taken note of start dates, only payroll numbers, never imagining that an employee kept the same payroll they might have had during an earlier employment. Long story short, there were people with more seniority than me who lost their jobs. Rumours of further layoffs were never far off. Copper slipped to 67 cents, zinc to 34. We expected to close. I grew no roots.
The kids grew up, becoming pre-teens and then teens. Jeff and Brad stayed over more often as Karen and Andy worked night shifts. They were thrilled. More time to play Uncle D’s games.
I suggested what I thought were better movies, doing my best to steer them away from Happy Gilmore and Dude, Where’s My Car, and the like. Jeff liked them, then. I didn’t, and tried to convince him otherwise. Jeff wasn’t convinced, not then, anyways. I didn’t argue with him, sure his tastes would develop with time. I probably watched a ton of crap when I was his age, too.
When my parents moved from Hart Street to Victoria, I thought it was high time
for me to move out. After years of uninterrupted and unrealized predictions of
doom, I’d become to desensitized to it, and had begun to think that it was just
talk and that I ought to get my own place. My parents convinced me otherwise.
Dad had been out of work for a while, only recently finding new employment, and
my mother convinced me that having me around, paying room and board was the
difference between making ends meet and not. So, I stayed. Big mistake. I ought
to have spread my wings. But I didn’t.
Once we’d moved to Victoria, I began visiting my sister, just once a week, for
a chat and a coffee; she only lived a few blocks away, so I thought this was a
good opportunity to bond with her after my being away for so many years.
Sometimes it was just her and I; sometimes I’d help Jeff and Brad put together
their Legos. On occasion, Andy joined us. So, until then, I think I was a constant
presence in my nephew’s lives, more or less, certainly more of a presence than
my uncles had been in my life.
Then one day I was not.
Maybe something was lost in translation, maybe the message was somehow misunderstood, but one day my mother told me that my sister had called and had told her to tell me not to come over anymore. Just that. Don’t come over anymore.
It was like getting hit in the gut, like being slapped across the face. I was floored. I was confused. I was hurt more by that than by anything before.
I was never offered a reason or explanation; in fact, it was never brought up again. Ever. Not by me, not by my mother, not by my sister. I doubt they even remember it.
I’ve never actually been close with my sister since. We meet on holidays, on special events; I’ve always been there when asked. And I suppose, so has she.
But I’ve always kept my distance, from that moment on. Emotionally.
