My uncle Jim died Sunday. He was 85. He lived a good life.
I haven’t seen him in a couple years, and I never really saw him that often, but family (and I include true friends in that category) is family no matter the distance, which was long, or the differences in opinion, which were many. The love is there.
I know he never knew it, but he influenced my views in many ways. He suffered and eventually died from blood cancer caused by Agent Orange in the Vietnam war. He also essentially had PTSD before it was identified as PTSD, which led him to drink heavily for a while. He didn’t talk about the war much, he mentioned losing buddies over there a few times, but he did talk about Agent Orange. There were times when his platoon would be eating and US planes would drop the chemical on a target nearby, coating their food in a mist of the poisonous chemical. The government never admitted how toxic the chemical was and how much damage they were doing to their own soldiers, which rightfully pissed him and a whole lot of people off. His experience helped shape the way I feel about the military. I learned to love and support the soldiers, but never the war and never the military as a whole. It was apparent to me that the military just didn't care about its own. And the government certainly doesn't care about individual soldiers. We talk about honoring veterans in this country, but don't do nearly enough to actually support them. It's a cause I have become greatly invested in, and I attribute that directly to my uncle's experience. I remember the first time I went to the Vietnam memorial in DC. I figured he would come with us. He didn't, and it turns out, he never visited the wall. He couldn't handle seeing the names of his buddies. That stuck with me forever. I never looked at war the same.
He was an FBI agent into his 50s, the oldest agent in the country when he retired. He served in the Air Force and Army. He was stationed in Korea and Germany and several other places. He fought in Vietnam in the late 1960’s, some of the worst years of the war.
He was also a husband, father of three, an uncle, a granddad and a great granddad. He was the real life version of the stereotypical perfect American military family man from the movies. He was the True American Hero.
For my childhood years, my uncle Jim and his wife Charlotte (my Dad's older sister) and their family lived right outside of DC. He worked with the FBI at the time. We’d visit semi-frequently and see all the historic DC sites. Once we toured the FBI headquarters. I thought it was so cool to have a family member in the FBI. I remember watching Silence of the Lambs when Clarice is at Quantico and being so excited that I had been there.
I remember his chair at his house. It was in either a den or a furnished basement; there was a tv and sofa, I think there was a bar there, too. But what really stood out was my uncle's massaging recliner. I remember how amazed I was by that chair. It seemed futuristic at the time. I’d sit in it whenever he wasn’t there and giggle as my whole body vibrated.
He was also a husband, father of three, an uncle, a granddad and a great granddad. He was the real life version of the stereotypical perfect American military family man from the movies. He was the True American Hero.
For my childhood years, my uncle Jim and his wife Charlotte (my Dad's older sister) and their family lived right outside of DC. He worked with the FBI at the time. We’d visit semi-frequently and see all the historic DC sites. Once we toured the FBI headquarters. I thought it was so cool to have a family member in the FBI. I remember watching Silence of the Lambs when Clarice is at Quantico and being so excited that I had been there.
I remember his chair at his house. It was in either a den or a furnished basement; there was a tv and sofa, I think there was a bar there, too. But what really stood out was my uncle's massaging recliner. I remember how amazed I was by that chair. It seemed futuristic at the time. I’d sit in it whenever he wasn’t there and giggle as my whole body vibrated.
I remember watching old movies there with him and my family. There was one movie we watched about the Holocaust. It was very graphic, nude bodies walking to the gas chambers, etc. I felt like I was too young, but I also felt a sense of pride that they were allowing me to watch it, like they thought I was ready. I think my uncle and parents wanted me to start understanding the realities of the world.
My aunt and uncle moved to Florida in my early teen years. We spent one Christmas down there (I’ll still never get over palm trees and 75 degree weather during Christmas but it was a great time). One year he took me out on his boat into the intercoastal behind their house and let me steer. I remember the manatees that came up to his deck one year. I remember how he’d have the water in his pool at 90 degrees. I remember falling into the sea of catfish at a seafood restaurant (inside family joke).
My aunt and uncle moved to Florida in my early teen years. We spent one Christmas down there (I’ll still never get over palm trees and 75 degree weather during Christmas but it was a great time). One year he took me out on his boat into the intercoastal behind their house and let me steer. I remember the manatees that came up to his deck one year. I remember how he’d have the water in his pool at 90 degrees. I remember falling into the sea of catfish at a seafood restaurant (inside family joke).
I haven’t seen him in a couple years, and I never really saw him that often, but family (and I include true friends in that category) is family no matter the distance, which was long, or the differences in opinion, which were many. The love is there.
I know he never knew it, but he influenced my views in many ways. He suffered and eventually died from blood cancer caused by Agent Orange in the Vietnam war. He also essentially had PTSD before it was identified as PTSD, which led him to drink heavily for a while. He didn’t talk about the war much, he mentioned losing buddies over there a few times, but he did talk about Agent Orange. There were times when his platoon would be eating and US planes would drop the chemical on a target nearby, coating their food in a mist of the poisonous chemical. The government never admitted how toxic the chemical was and how much damage they were doing to their own soldiers, which rightfully pissed him and a whole lot of people off. His experience helped shape the way I feel about the military. I learned to love and support the soldiers, but never the war and never the military as a whole. It was apparent to me that the military just didn't care about its own. And the government certainly doesn't care about individual soldiers. We talk about honoring veterans in this country, but don't do nearly enough to actually support them. It's a cause I have become greatly invested in, and I attribute that directly to my uncle's experience. I remember the first time I went to the Vietnam memorial in DC. I figured he would come with us. He didn't, and it turns out, he never visited the wall. He couldn't handle seeing the names of his buddies. That stuck with me forever. I never looked at war the same.
Of course, he also helped shape my understanding of what it meant to be a man. He was one of the three male role models in my family. My father and my two uncles helped me establish the definition of manhood. My uncle Jim did so through his service to the country, but moreso through his dedication to his family. And his wit. I remember I always thought he was funny as hell. People would be having a regular conversation and he’d say something kind of goofy. Sometimes my aunt would get flustered and "upset" with him but she obviously loved his irreverence just as much as I did. She put up with it for 61 years. (61 years!) I remember sometimes thinking that with his past, he would be more serious and intimidating. But he never came off as the uptight military guy. He'd always have a sly, knowing smile, crafted through eight decades of pain, joy, service, and love.
I hope he's enjoying warm weather and cold gin and tonics somewhere. He deserves it more than anyone.
Rest in Peace, Uncle Jim.
I Love You All...Class Dismissed.
