Uncle Ted

I was named for my mother’s Uncle Ted. Soon after my parents purchased a farm machinery dealership, Uncle Ted and Aunt Florence moved to our town. I have a clear memory of the green, yellow and red Mayflower truck that brought their household goods from California. Uncle Ted became the parts manager at Big Timber Farm Supply. When I remember him, I remember the green John Deere jacket that he wore at work, the tall stool on which he sat, and the way he taught me to sharpen knives, scissors, and other blades. I still have that stool. It is in our shop beside the bench where I keep my stones for sharpening knives. When I sit on that stool and sharpen my pocket knife, a lot of memories return.

I don’t remember very much about Aunt Florence. She died of a heart attack, but I can’t remember whether or not she had been sick prior to her death. I think it was sudden and unexpected, but I can’t recall the details. What I do remember is Uncle Teds years of being widowed. He adapted to living alone successfully and developed his own routines and methods of doing everyday household chores. His life had been shaped by the shortages of the Great Depression and he was a frugal man who didn’t throw out anything that he thought might later be useful. His tiny workspace at the end of the garage and a pair of outside garden sheds were crammed with all kinds of bits and pieces. He had worked as a machinist and was a skilled sheet metal worker. He made all kinds of useful objects out of bits of metal that had been discarded by others.

Uncle Ted had his own version of “instant” coffee. He would take a 1 pound can of coffee and dump the entire contents into a sauce pan, saving the metal can so that he could reuse it as a can or cut it up for sheet metal. Then he’d fill up the pan with water and boil the contents until it was a thick sludge which he would pour into a quart jar and store in the refrigerator. When he wanted a cup of coffee, he would take a teaspoon of that sludge, put it and the teaspoon into a mug and fill the mug with boiling water. Then he’d stir it up and drink it. I wasn’t much of a coffee drinker when I lived at home, but he offered me coffee after I became a teenager. It tasted awful. I learned to drink it anyway.

As I approach the age that he was in the years that I remember him the most, I discover that I share a lot of his personality traits. He loved to tinker. He always had something that he was making. I’ve got a host of projects. I love to make things from bits and pieces that I can find in my garage or shop. I have a tendency to keep things that others consider to be junk.

Uncle Ted was rather stoic about his feelings. He didn’t express them too much. I think I am a bit better at that than he, but I’m not one who likes to make a public display of emotions. When I am moved to cry in public I feel a bit embarrassed. Uncle Ted was a bit awkward around women, even members of our family. When I find myself in a situation where there are lots of hugs going around, I can understand how he felt. I’ve learned to accept hugs from people I know, and I enjoy a hug from family members, but I’ve no desire to hug strangers. I used to make suicide calls with a woman who gave everyone hugs. She was good at offering a reassuring hug to a grieving person. I never developed an ability to do so with ease. One of the few things I enjoy about covid is that I’m at home with my circle of close family and keeping physical distance from others. I’m perfectly happy passing the peace in church with waves and elbow bumps.

I’ve wondered how much of my personality has been shaped by the name I was given. I certainly identify with Uncle Ted, but I don’t know how much of that is because we shared a name. Maybe I would feel the same way about him had I been given a different name. My brother Vernon doesn’t seem much like my mother’s father with whom he shares a name. Then again, grandpa died before my brother had a chance to know him. My brother Randy isn’t very much like our Uncle Randy. I don’t know whether my siblings think I’m like Uncle Ted.

If a name shapes a personality, I’m a very luck person to have inherited a name and had such a great relationship with my uncle. It has been a good name and a good identification for me for all of my life.

There are many qualities that Uncle Ted displayed that I admire and which guide me as I move into my aging years. He didn’t seem to need to be the center of attention. He was happy to simply get to work in the background. He could always find some job that needed doing and he’d just pitch in. He was always present for family. He showed up for Sunday dinner and for every birthday and holiday gathering. He was happy to sit in the corner and observe what was happening. He retained useful skills, such as sharpening all of the knives for everyone in the family, and making useful objects out of scraps. He didn’t need to go shopping or to have new things in order to be happy. He faced grief in his own way and embraced life even in his sadness.

I also want to have a few quirks that set me apart from others and give my family stories to tell. I don’t mind being the guy who has collected too many canoes or who always has a story about something that happened years ago.

I have a great nephew whose middle name is Theodore. No one in the family except me calls him Ted, but I’ll be watching him to see what personality traits he displays as he grows up. I’m pretty sure he will give his family plenty of stories to tell as well.

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