[Part I: In which Rob uses humor to remember his Uncle Tony (plural)]
My Uncle Tony passed away in April.
For many readers of this blog, that doesn’t mean a whole lot, but it means a really big something to me. Enough that it’s been hard to sit still, buckle down and focus on anything, or add anything to some of my bigger, ongoing writing projects, before I’ve said a thing or two about him.
I had two Uncle Tonys (Uncles Tony?)… on the same side, no less, because when my dad’s family immigrated to Canada, they took English versions of their Dutch names, and both their names anglicized to Tony. To keep things clear, the older Tony was originally Teunis, named after my grandfather, so we might call him Tony Jr.. The other Tony was the younger sibling of the two Tonys, named Anton, which anglicizes into Tony as well. As the younger of the pair, for clarity, I’ll call HIM Tony Jr.. Clear? Clear.
If you know my dad, or me (the apple doesn’t fall far), and the kinds of jokes he (and I) enjoy, you won’t be surprised to learn my Uncles Tony Jr. (Uncle Tonies Jr.? Uncle Tony Jrs?) got a lot of mileage out of the humor in the same-name situation, partly by hanging out with a third guy, also named Tony. (Introductions got repetitive.) Both Uncle Tonys (Tonies?) have now passed on, and if heaven is the way the cartoonists and joke-writers imagine it, they’re probably hanging out now by the pearly gates now, looking for other Tonies to hang out with, and making as many dad jokes as they can get away with before St. Peter downgrades their Heaven Passes.
It makes perfect sense to start a eulogy for my Uncle Tony (the recently deceased) with a bit of humor, as my every memory of him involves his wry smile, a twinkle of merriment in his eye, and a sly sense of the silly or absurd that always kept time with him interesting. Uncle Tony was a theater stage manager, and anyone who has worked in the theater knows what stage managers are like: they are the coolest, most mellow, problem-solvingest, level-headedest people in the world, and the final ballast keeping most theaters on an even keel as all the other theater people (chaos-muppets, every last one of them) dance fractal trails of destruction, glitter, tears and flower petals everywhere they go.
With the passing of the final Tony, my dad has now outlived all his brothers: my Uncle NotTony (on my dad’s side) also left this earth (and his lovely family) about a decade ago, predeceased, too, by the oldest brother Tony Jr., back in the ‘00s. His oldest sibling, my amazing Aunt Margaret (love you, Auntie Margaret!) is still around, every time I try to imagine growing up around three brothers, spending my entire life talking, joking, checking in, and sounding out ideas, hopes and plans with them, and then aging into being the last remaining brother, my brain kind of glitches out.
[Part II: In which Rob makes his uncle’s sad passing about himself…]
Among other things, middle age has really impressed on me the irrevocability of some of the choices I made back in my twenties. A conversation I had with one of my siblings and their spouse a while back really brought it home to me what I’d missed out on by choosing to live in Korea, where the time zones (and my poor track record of initiating/returning contact) mean I am just not in the loop with my relatives’ lives, their preferences, what kinds of conversations, jokes or gestures of affection do and don’t land with each of them. I haven’t sent nearly enough music recommendations or made nearly enough dumb jokes to my siblings’ kids, and the whole lot of us, and various combinations of us, haven’t eaten nearly enough meals together. Where at some point, I think I had a really good read on all the faraway relatives I love, I don’t think I necessarily do anymore. And that is a choice I made. And twenty-plus years have gone by. It is far too late to retrace or take a mulligan on that choice. I could move back to Canada, or start making weekly calls, or arrange monthly family video chats, but whatever developed out of that would be something new, not a continuation of something old. And that is a choice I made.
I used to justify living in Korea partly by saying that even if I DID still live in Canada… my cousins and siblings don’t all live close by anyway, and I wouldn’t be driving across the rockies every year, or flying out to Ontario every year to touch base with the extended family anyway, so what difference does it make whether I’m not seeing them from Vancouver or not seeing them from Seoul? …but then, when a Big Life Event happens, and I don’t have the option of driving out, either for them or for some of my dear friends (who live spread out across Portland, Calgary, Seattle, Toronto, Hamilton) upon receipt of a certain type of phone call.
As my Uncle Tony’s funeral approached, my extended family started sharing photos and video clips of the late Uncle Tony, and stories about the last time they’d seen him. I got to see that smile, hear that laugh, and a big part of my grief was that I hadn’t made a point of seeking him out nearly as often as he deserved. Every person who shared a memory of Uncle Tony had something to say about his kindness, his welcoming and inclusive attitude, the way he made people feel seen, appreciated, and worth his while. And I wish I’d spent more time basking in that goodness myself. That is a good kind of goodness to bask in. May we all be pickled in such goodness, enough that we can’t help but share it and pass it on.
None of this is to say that my life in Korea has been barren or devoid of good people, good times, or wonderful experiences. We all make choices in life, but thinking back on the three uncles I’ve lost on my Dad’s side (and the one on my mom’s side, my grandparents, former roommates, and the list goes on…) it strikes me, again and again, that the snatches of memory I have of each uncle aren’t nearly enough. Sitting on the floor watching one uncle play guitar, walking around the cobblestones of old town Hamilton with another uncle, or one of his awesome kids, bobbing up and down on Lake Superior’s waves as the latest late uncle showed our family around the islands and coastlines of Lake Superior on his sailboat.
[Part III: In which Rob pontificates, because that is what Rob do]
It’s amazing how different the world looks, just based on where I fix my gaze. One of the things dragging on my mental health lately is doomscrolling: the social media, youtube or news feed links and clips about a world that is becoming more chaotic, less stable, where the most powerful and wealthy humans seem to be grabbing power and wealth as fast as they can, meanwhile capturing, corrupting or rendering irrelevant every institution that I thought could help the world figure out its problems. And as I’ve paused to think back on the wonderful uncles I’ve had in my life, the contrast jumps out like a camera flash: somehow the worst humans in the world hold all the power and influence, and litter every news cycle with their latest garbage attempts to cash in, instrumentalize or exploit the decent, ordinary humans who don’t have the power or influence to push back on bullying and exploitation from the powerful. Yet my actual, lived life, my circle of friends, relatives, and acquaintances, is loaded with good, kind, interesting, fun, generous, and good-hearted people, who mean well and want to make life better for the people they know. The world is full of good people, wonderful people who deserve more of my time than I have to give them. Who deserve more of my time than I could give them if I could live each day three times. Most people are decent, good, and want to do good to or for other people, and leave behind a trace that includes memories of kindness, helpfulness, generosity, humor, patience, and all kinds of other goodness.
I’m not sure what it would take to put people like Uncle Tony in charge of the world. I know that the kind of people who raise their hand and offer to run things are usually the last people that should — “it is not that power corrupts, but that it is magnetic to the corruptible” (Frank Herbert), and when good, decent, conscientious and well-meaning people end up in charge, is more likely due to sheer luck than their actual virtue. I do know that I wish I had more of Uncle Tony in my life, and that the world would be a better place if there were more people like Uncle Tony in it, running as many of the important parts of the world as possible.
Uncle Tony is survived by a wife and two kids who ARE echoes of the goodness, the humor, the grace and mischief that made Uncle Tony so much fun, and my life is richer for knowing them and their families as well. And they’re still around, so it might be time to start reaching out a little more, while we are still sharing this silly planet, so that neither of us feel these kinds of regrets when one or the other of us moves on.
Rest in Peace, all my Uncles.
Be excellent to each other.
