Sunday, March 21, 2004

Damn Good Uncling

In honor of Maile, my brand-new niece out in New Jersey, I am going to have to step up.  Two brilliant and renowned bloggers have in the past undertaken some sort of competition as to which among them is the better uncle.  This purported competition involved things like avoiding diapers.  Let’s settle this one right now - all my nieces and nephews are on the east coast and I’m in California - I can’t avoid diapers any more thoroughly than that.  But moreover, I have uncled with sensitivity, vigor and aplomb even in person.  You want examples?  I’ve got two:

#1:  Paul was about 10.  He and his family and Kel and I were all at Oma and Papa’s house - my in-law’s Wilkes-Barre party pad.  We were sitting down to second brunch and Paul, his dad Pat, and I were in the dining room.

Paul is sharp and curious.  He asks, “Is a tomato a fruit or a vegetable?” Pat and I exchange a glance that says, “braingame on.” Ever the pole position player, Pat jumps into the fray: “It’s a fruit.  It has seeds.” Pat turns to me, and so does Paul.  “You could say,” I say, “it’s the fruit part of a vegetable.  All plants are part of the vegetable kingdom, and some vegetables bear fruit, like tomatoes.” Pat’s eyes narrow slightly.  Paul’s grow wider.  “Uncle Dan wins,” he announces.  “He has more information.”

#2: Paul and his twin brother Chad were visiting four or five years ago, which would have made them seven or eight years old.  We were at the Yerba Buena Gardens, an orderly oasis of lawns and fountains between the museums and performance spaces to the east, and Metreon to the west.  The watercourse is very attractive - a long slim crescent of water that pours like glass into a catchpool that, in turn, feeds waterfalls curtaining the MLK memorial shrine.  The water up top at the crescent purls invitingly at the level of my knees, or that of the kids’ elbows back in the day.  It was a hot day and seagulls, sparrows, starlings, blackbirds and pigeons frolicked and bathed in the pools.  The boys wanted to join them, splashing each other and running their fingers throught the glossy liquid mirror.  Their mom and dad repeatedly instructed them to stop, but the pool was too cool and beautiful and each time only a few minutes elapsed before the temptation grew too great. 

After three or four of these cycles, I strolled over to Paul and Chad, both almost sholder deep in the fountain water.  With broad grins they turned to me.  “Hey,” I asked softly, “ya know what happens in this water?” Their eyes gleamed with anticipation.  “No, what?,” they said almost in unison.  Conspiratorily I confided to them: “Birds poop in it.” First, they froze; then they looked at each other briefly and simultaneously relocated themselves several feet back, yanking their appendages out of the suddenly distasteful water as if it were a lagoon of pure liquid waste.  A few minutes later Paul stepped up and told me, “Uncle Dan, you give good explanations.”

Damn straight I do, nephew.  I’m avuncular that way.  Goes with the territory.  You can spread the word to the new kid.  Tell her she’s in luck: Dan has taken uncling to the next level, and now she’s going to get uncled but good.  It’s my committment to uncling excellence that sets me apart.  These kids these days don’t just uncle themselves, you know.