Jonathan S.
Language arts I-A
Description of uncle Steve
10/3/10
Uncle Steve
Standing next to the open kitchen refrigerator is my very lovable uncle Steve. He is wearing the familiar faded dark green T-shirt with his flimsy, black sunglasses in his breast pocket. His worn out black baggy sweatpants are mud stained from his nightly treks in the woods. Uncle Steve’s brown boots have left a trail of dirt, leading from the front door straight to the refrigerator.
The stench of alcohol and cigarettes radiated off of him, emitting the smell of an old bar. His wavy salt and pepper hair lay matted on the top of his tired and unshaven face. Wide-eyed, yet not fully aware of his surroundings, he looks very animated and excited. It is a very recognizable look, one he wears when he is about to share a funny, (often crazy) yet true observation.
Clearing his phlegm filled throat, uncle Steve reaches for the long, stainless steel handle of the sub-zero refrigerator. The sudden light of the refrigerator stuns him briefly. He quickly recovers from the shock and begins his ransack of the refrigerator. Uncle Steve shouts in his deep and demanding voice, “Is there any good food in here? All you have in here is meat; you know I won’t eat anything I can become friends with.” He interrupts himself with his own excitement about his great find, “Ooh some humus, cheese, and some bread! I can make an un-believable sandwich!” Uncle Steve declared over excitedly. “It’s a real Mediterranean meal, reminds me of when I was in Israel and all I ate was olives and avocado!”
As he munches on his sandwiches his head bobs with joy. His wide smile beams as the crumbs spill from his mouth and land on his beard. He is quite pleased with his culinary creation. Uncle Steve doesn’t bother to get a plate. That would mean exerting more energy than necessary. Silverware is rarely a need for uncle Steve. Fingers work just fine for spreading and grabbing food.
Naturally, my siblings and I immediately break out in laughter at the sight of this chubby, pseudo mountain man. “What’s so funny?” he asks with a smirk. I smile and say sarcastically, “Tell me more about how you could possibly be friends with a cow.” “The cow is easy to be friends with,” he softly explains, “the fish is where it gets difficult.” By now my siblings and I are convulsing with laughter. “I feel more of a connection to cows and dogs, then I do towards people. People can be such low lives, especially lawyers; they’re the scum of the earth.”
Uncle Steve reaches down to pet my dog, kisses him on the head, and says lovingly, “ You’re the most perfect creature in the whole world. When I die I want to come back as one of you!” With that proclamation, he grabs our cheeks in his strong hands, kisses our faces, places his dirty sunglasses over his eyes while heading for the front door and says with a twang, “Y’all be cool.”
THAT is the quintessential Shmully. What is so profound and strikes a real chord, is that this exchange could have taken place (and probably did!) in so many of our houses in so many different years. This exchange took place in "the kitchen" , in my apartment on Hicksville Rd., in the Feinermans, Schlessels, and countless other places. The jokes, the spot on analysis of things that seemed so innocuous that you were amazed at his thought processes, and the hearty laugh when you cracked a "good one". That was an experience. I consider myself pretty fortunate to, over the years, make him laugh. I still don't know what a "rangchucker" is....but that's a word that is a "Shmoige-ism" as in "stupid rangchucker".
ReplyDeleteJonathan, your family, your parents, were very fortunate to have had an "Uncle Steve".