Ronald S..... is my Redneck friend. He is also my uncle. And next to my father, I owe everything in my life to him. I truly do.
He knows what he has contributed to me, and my adulthood...as do I. I love the man. I truly love him. I'm pretty sure he's sorta fond of me as well. I often post comments to the effect that "the problem with partisanship isn't in Washington...it's in our own neighborhoods."
And that's true. My uncle is full of contradictions. He worked for at least 20 years for
Buckeye Steel Corp in Columbus, Ohio...Hot, dirty, union work, and he belonged to the Steelworkers Union. When Buckeye closed down, he moved back to my home town and snagged a job with the local school district...another union job. Both of those jobs provided him with pensions that not only allowed him to retire comfortably (for southeastern Ohio standards) but to acquire some real estate after his retirement. He's now sitting on about 90 acres. Ask him about Unions, however, and you won't get any soliloquy on how the union helped him get to where he is...
What is also true is that I love my uncle. Next to my father, he made me what I became. He fascilitated that journey. He took me under his wing. He put kin above philosophy, and at the end of the day, while my Dad and Mom paid for the tuition...he got me my first real job, a union job, and drove me to and fro. He was and is a Redneck...but I love him with every fiber in my body.
And if anyone were to point their finger at him, and say "He's what's wrong with this country..." I would be conflicted. On the one hand he clearly is. On the other hand he represents everything that is RIGHT with this country. I have a hard time squaring that.
It's hard to process sometimes, except for this: Your family doesn't fail you, mostly, and mostly they hold you up. My Redneck uncle held me up...
And more than that, he loved me like I was his own kid. He is my favorite relation, even though we don't agree upon anything whatsoever. I know it. He knows it. We both know what topics to avoid, and what topics to have a go at when we're in the mood for a debate. And we know when the debate is over. And when we have each had our say, over a couple of beers, and something on the grill, and say so long...we know that we love each other and have each other's back.
I would put my life on the line for this man...and I don't know the words to say to him "thank you for being there for me, and helping me. I love you." That's not because I am normally at a loss for words...just because I'm a Midwestern male who is a little circumspect when it comes to expressing deep gratitude and deep love towards a male relative. He's the same way as I am...and part of the beauty of our relationship is that we both know we are so different, on certain levels, yet so connected and so similar in others.
I sometimes think he cares for me as much as he does his own children, but that would be presumptious on my part, and neither one of us would ever broach that subject.
He taught me so many things. How to hunt. How to garden. How to make beer. How to work on a car. (well...more or less, but it was more than my father did). How to do some basic carpentry. How to mix mortar and lay blocks. How to harvest honey from wooden bee boxes. How to steer a canoe, on Raccoon Creek. How to skin a frog, and how to dress a deer.
He helped me buy my first car...a 68 Beetle, and when I was ready to get rid of it upon going into the Peace Corps, he bought it from me for his son. He teased me later about the roach clips and other paraphernalia that he found in it while cleaning it up (I thought I had cleaned it out). That was the relationship we had...different people, but connected by birth and kinship, and devoted to each other...and not particularly predisposed to judge.
Over the arc of my uncles' life thus far, he has gone from carefree joker, to a guy who worked and drank equally hard, to a Holy Roller...back to a good ol' boy who enjoys an afternoon cocktail, to another religious nut. He also has an arsenal of guns that would make many people's hair stand on end. Not hand guns, although I'm sure he has a couple. Mostly long arms. Rifles and shotguns. Two cabinets' worth. Last time I went squirrel hunting, some 10 years ago, I knew just where to go. Ronnie lent me a 20 gauge that was just perfect. Didn't even have to run down to Walmart for a box of shells. And since he lives on 60 acres of woods, I didn't even need a license. I got 8 squirrels that afternoon, and we skinned them together and his wife made squirrel and rice. We opened a couple jars of that summer's green beans, and had some butternut squash.
He and I have argued before...I won't say we haven't. He's as stubborn as a mule. And so am I.
But I love the man, and as I said...he's helped me along over the past 30 years as much as anyone has.
I wouldn't trade him for anything, even as much as I can't stand the fact that he listens to Rush Limbaugh. He is a part of me. And if you pushed him to the wall, I'd be willing to bet he feels exactly the same way about me.
What all of that means...I have no idea. But I haven't seen my uncle in a good 8 years now, and I'm sort of missing him...and just felt like writing about him.
I love you, Ronnie. You're quite full of shit, and I'm sure you feel the same about me, but just want you to know that I'm thinking about you, and it's friggin' 90 degrees here, and I wish I were sitting out on your back porch, looking out on your apple trees, and the martin box, and the creek, and your rabbits...sharing a cold beer together and debating some topic that we both know we disagree on, but not so ardently as to actually get angry with each other.
You take care, hear?