My uncle. [View all]

Last edited Tue Jan 20, 2026, 09:08 AM - Edit history (1)

I was going through some boxes recently that were stored in a cramped and small "shuttle closet" in one of my bedrooms.

I found some things that I had forgotten about.

My uncle passed away in the early 2000s. He was an amazing man. He's gone now, so he can't consent to me writing about him...but without going into detail, he's in the Guinness Book of World Records.

He underwent treatment for a disease for a long time, until he decided enough was enough, and he ceased treatment.

Before he died, he took a shine to writing poetry, and it turns out that among his many talents, he was an absolutely wonderful poet. During his time of dying, he would mail me these wonderful poems, printed on heavy stock paper of different colors. I think my aunt must have had them printed up at Kinko's or something. They were beautiful, just beautiful. He talked about his mother, my Grandmother, (who died before I was born) in his poetry. I have a desire to post his poems, but I won't, because they are not mine, they are his.

He could consistently swish a basketball at half-court with a two-handed underhand throw.

As his time neared, he wanted no company. A few days before he died, I phoned my aunt, his wife. I told her "tell him he's my favorite and give him a big fat kiss on the lips for me. My Aunt said "Lucky, you're his favorite nephew".

I travelled for his funeral. The priest gave a eulogy, and he had this really high squeaky voice. My cousins and I were turning red and shaking, trying not to laugh during the eulogy, because his voice was like Mickey Mouse, cartoonish. And it was OK...my Uncle would have laughed too.

I'm sitting here reading a beautiful poem of his that was printed on pink, heavy paper.

He didn't like company. It took him awhile to warm up. If he knew we were coming, he'd go sit in his garage, in a folding chair. I would walk back there, and he'd just be sitting there. "How do you like my garage" he'd say. Then he'd show me all of his tools. It must be a family trait, because I do that with people who come over here.

I probably won't be posting as much as usual in the near future. I'm having the same health problems he did. Runs in the family. But I'll likely be back soon, because I always am.

He used to speak Italian to me. I'm not very good at speaking Italian. I know some words, but I need a lot of help to converse. I can manage though, sometimes.

Mi manchi moltissimo, Eugenio.