I have so many stories about him. Others have even more. He was my favorite Uncle.  He was my only Uncle. He called me his favorite niece. I was his only niece. That was our banter.

Short and pudgy like the Pillsbury Dough Boy, he gave the best hugs.  A sailor who worked on the first nuclear submarines and then later, for the electric company in a nuclear power plant. He hunted and fished many weekends.  There was always an air of humorous calamity in his presence.   A discernible energy; eyes sparkling with mischief.  I really think it’s why I am drawn to men who possess that same sparkle. I can’t conjure anything but fun memories of him.

He worked nights for as long as I can remember. We’d see him in the morning as my Aunt was cooking his breakfast. More often than not it consisted of a large steak, 6 eggs, fried potatoes and toast.

How would you like your steak David, she would holler from the stove just few feet away.

Under the armpit and once around the table,  he would laughingly bark in her direction, all the while looking directly at me.

The whole exchange was more a show at my obvious disgust of the bloody meat. Oddly enough, I grew into a fondness for bloody steak and hamburger.  And I love steak tartare. He shared his with me over my mother’s objections. It was his way of getting back at her a bit. She would never really interfere much when the two of us were together. I always picked up a hint of uncertainty, or maybe it was a bit of knowing mistrust in her voice when the both of us were together. I certainly can’t imagine why.

When he looked at the floor and remarked about how it needed sweeping; I knew I was in trouble.

Of course I could never escape as he chased me around the kitchen table. After much ado, sidestepping, and arm waving (ultimately knowing that however long it took was solely his to determine), he would pick me up, juggle me around and soon I was swinging to and fro by my feet; shrieking with laughter as swept the floor with my long, chestnut hair.

My Aunt would admonish him for getting my hair dirty. It wouldn’t have made any difference. He didn’t care and neither did I.  He swept the floor with my hair until I was too tall and my head hit the floor.

That was our banter.

He died a number of years ago.   A heart attack in his sleep.  It doesn’t really matter.

Mi Tio.   Mon Oncle.  My Favorite Uncle.   My Only Uncle.

I Love You.  Your Favorite Neice.  Your Only Neice.