As I recall it... from my days as a youth... Connellsville was about eight hours away. We would stock up on comic books and candy for the long trek. We would jump in the back of my dad's station wagon and sit in the way back. Often, we would sit facing backwards looking at the vehicles driving behind us.
I am getting nauseous just thinking about that.
Once we arrived, we would greet my grandmother in her roomy townhouse before running out to play kick the can or hide and seek. Once it got dark, we would play tag with a glow in the dark ball. In between games, we would run to the candy store that was, oh, I dunno... about two or three miles down the road... all by ourselves... like we were adults living on our own.
During most visits, we would head into town and hit Bud Murphy's for pizza.
I loved those visits to Pennsylvania.
I mentioned that my Uncle lived with my grandmother.
Uncle Dave had down's syndrome and lived with my grandmother until she passed away several years ago. He then moved in with one of my aunts. Uncle Dave passed away at the age of 62 last week, and Cheryl and I drove to Connellsville for the funeral with my older brothers Jeff and Joe.
Some of what I am about to write I knew before this trip... but some of it I learned on Saturday.
Turns out that Connellsville is only about three and a half hours away. My grandmother lived in a small public housing community in a small brick dwelling. I have no idea how we were all able to walk around in that home, much less find sleeping space for six or seven people. And the candy store was about 200 feet away... just at the end of the sidewalk. Joe informed that my dad would stand in my grandmother's doorway and watch us every time we made the trip for some candy.
Bud Murphy's was not really downtown, but was right across the highway from my grandmother's home.
But we did play for hours and hours, and I did love those visits to PA.
One of the things that made those visits enjoyable was seeing my Uncle Dave.
Uncle Dave did not talk much, but that did not mean that you couldn't understand how he felt or what he wanted. If he were thirsty, he'd put his hands to his lips as if sipping from a cup. When you forced him to tell you want he wanted, he would say Waaater! as if he had been crawling in a desert for days.
Whenever he met one of our girlfriends, he would point to the girl and look at the boy and ask You? as if he wondered how "You" could get someone this pretty. That was always followed by a demand to Kiss her! which would then be followed by Uncle Dave kissing her hand and mockingly claiming her as My girl! as he faced you chest to chest.
One of Uncle Dave's biggest advocates was my father.
My dad would do anything for Dave, including making him say and do things for himself. Dave did not always like being forced to ask for the water. And he sure did not like it when he would ask for water and then be told that he had to get up and get it himself. In fact, on his way to get the water, he would often brush by my dad and say, in a slow almost-whisper: I hate you Paul!
If you ever met my dad, you would know that not too many people could get away with that. We loved that line and my brothers and I often used that line when my dad would ask us to do something that we did not want to do... of course we never had the guts to say it within earshot of dear old dad.
During the service, the pastor mentioned that Dave loved hot dogs, pizza, listening to music and most especially, Elvis. When the mood struck him, Uncle Dave would grab a microphone... typically a clothes pin, a pen, or a spoon... and shake his hips while lip syncing the words to Jailhouse Rock.
I would add John Wayne to that list of things he loved. When John Wayne died, or anyone who Dave associated with being a hero would pass away, he would put his GI Joe in a shoe box and drape a rag/flag over the casket. Always paying his proper respects.
The pastor concluded that Dave enjoyed the simple things in life and commented on how Dave was able to make an impact on so many people's lives. And with that, I would whole-heartedly agree.
In my own life, when Cheryl was pregnant with our first child, the doctor asked if we would like to have amniocentesis performed, explaining that it could reveal potential problems. The doctor specifically mentioned down's syndrome. This made the decision to pass on the procedure very easy. I remember immediately thinking about my Uncle Dave and thinking... that would not be the worst thing in the world. I would have a child that I would take care of for the rest of my life.
The pastor mentioned that we were not saying good bye to Dave, but instead we were saying good night. He opined that Uncle Dave was probably greeting people in Heaven. At this point, I turned to Cheryl and said, I hate you Paul! I thought that was funny... and appropriate for the moment. Cheryl just blubbered at the thought of the two of them being reunited.
Uncle Dave also had nicknames for most people. My mom was Ma'am. As in How do. Ma'am? as he hiked his pants up and puffed out his chest. Another of his sisters was Toots, and an older brother was Sonny. Most pretty girls were Cookie. He couldn't really whistle, but he would pucker his lips and make the whistling noise... right before he would call them Cookie!
I am not sure how he came up with most of these names, but there was one name that had an obvious explanation.
One of my younger cousins was Whaa Whaa because like most babies, she cried a lot. Unfortunately for her, when she was a baby, she spent a lot of time around Uncle Dave. Whaa Whaa was at the funeral, and as she turned to leave, I could see that she was crying as she was leaving him for the last time. Again, I turned to Cheryl and told her that Whaa Whaa was appropriate. This made Cheryl smile through her tears.
Uncle Dave had a special place in Whaa Whaa's life, just like he did in everyone else's there.
I said earlier that if I had a child with down's syndrome, it would not be the worst thing in the world. When I said that, I was thinking that I could have a positive impact on that child's life.
In reality, it was a child with down's syndrome that had the impact on our lives.
You hear it all the time... that every life matters. It may not be what you wanted, and it may not be what you expected. But every life is a gift from God... and He makes no mistakes.
Good night Uncle Dave... you will be missed.
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