Remembering a Family Hero

I remember spending a lot of time at the townshouse in Waterloo that was home to my Uncle Ken and his family after they made the move from Windsor. I was a young teenager in the early 1970s and my seven cousins formed a raucous crowd so different from my own small family. I loved spending time with them. My cousins Maggie and Teresa became the sisters I never had. I knew I qualified as family simply by surname but the love shown to me by my Uncle Ken and Aunt Theresa indicated that I had become an honourary member of their brood as well.

I remember the late nights at my parents' home with their playing cards with my Aunt and Uncle for hours. I remember the sounds of my Dad banging the cards on the kitchen table, the clink of highball glasses and the smell of my Uncle Ken's cigarettes. I also remember the commotion that resulted whenever my Mom and Aunt Theresa won a hand of euchre. The men loudly accused the women of cheating and this increased the noise level. I struggled to stay awake so I could listen to them laughing.

I remember the road trips I made with Maggie and Teresa to London after my Aunt and Uncle moved there in the early 1980s. Aunt Theresa often had some story to tell us about her latest attempt to scare the crap out of my Uncle by hiding behind the door at the top of the stairs, jumping out and yelling "BOO"! Uncle Ken always had some homemade craft to show me, like the infamous "footstool" with real running shoes on the four legs. I never found it too difficult to sweet talk him into making me one of his tart lemon meringue pies.

I remember a visit from my Uncle Ken after I got married and moved to Ottawa. Before he retired, he came there on Post Office business and took me to dinner at a revolving restaurant. We had a grand time talking about the family and the "olden" days. We laughed like hell when we discovered my purse had remained intact on the window ledge while we circled the restaurant for over an hour!

I remember my Dad and I meeting Ken, my Aunt and my cousins on King Street in Waterloo across from the Ali Baba Steakhouse to watch the Oktoberfest parade every Thanksgiving Monday. Uncle Ken and my Dad entertained the crowd with their smartass remarks to all parade participants, especially the two mayors and sports celebrities. I can still see the pride on my Uncle's face and the tears in his eyes as he saluted the dwindling number of verterans marching in the parade, from his wheelchair.

I remember going to see him in the London Veterans Hospital after his stroke and seeing the sparkle in his eye when he saw me. His mind remained sharp but not as sharp as his tongue as he barked his orders to the nursing staff. I pitied them from my exalted status of Favourite Niece. I tried to talk him into moving closer so we could see him more often but he was stubborn to the end and insisted on ending his days there.

I remember my cousin Mark running across the funeral home parking lot on that cold November day to pass a photo of his late father to my Dad through the open window of the car. And I remember my Dad's frosty breath as he told Mark, "Your Dad was my hero".

In fond remembrance of my Uncle Ken, who left us on November 2, 1998. You are gone but never forgotten.