This is a Tough One

I lost an uncle today, my Uncle Ange. I knew he had been in rough shape but it didn’t really hit home until he couldn’t attend our family reunion last month. He rarely missed a chance to hang out with family. After my Grandpa passed, and then my dad, Uncle Ange became the reigning family patriarch. The last time I saw him, I thought he looked frail, and that’s the last word I ever thought I’d use to describe a man like him.

Uncle Ange was my dad’s brother-in-law. He was an immense, broad-shouldered, giant of a man who looked like an extra from The Sopranos. But he was really just a big teddy bear; always so happy and easy-going with everyone and full of love for his family. Unless you showed up at the house intending to date one of his daughters, in which case he was known to have you wash his car first. I don’t know that he was serious about that, but I’m told the prospective dates didn’t want to risk it.

He’d play ball with us, talk Pittsburgh sports, and always ensure we had enough to eat and drink.

Ange: Did you get enough spaghetti?  How about another sausage? Here, have a cookie. Hey, your wine glass is empty, pass it over and I’ll fill it up…

Bluz: I’m good, Uncle Ange, I gotta stay clear-headed for my spelling test tomorrow.

At our 2022 reunion, he appeared in my favorite family picture of all time. It looked like a high-level mob meeting.

From left to right:

Uncle Ange: What are we gonna do about that guy?

Cousin Denny: You mean that guy back there?

My Mom: Whack’em.

I remember the last time I stayed with my Aunt and Uncle when I was in town for a reunion. I used to stay with them before I met Sweetpea. Uncle Ange and I were the last two still up and found ourselves in a long, serious conversation that ranged from political to philosophical. He told me, to my amazement, that he no longer believed in God or had any use for religion, a point with which I heartily agreed. He said that no just God would ever allow the tragedy that had befallen his family, (decades ago, but still keenly felt today). I was surprised because this corner of my family carried the banner of Catholicism long after I’d abandoned it. It was something we didn’t really discuss. I don’t know if he ever told anyone else about it but I felt honored that he told me. Maybe he knew I’d be receptive.

I know I once caused a rift with my Aunt, who at a ceremonial family mass to celebrate my grandparents’ anniversary, wanted each of us cousins to bring up the “gifts” to the altar, and I refused. I was a young adult by then, lived on my own, and wanted nothing to do with participating in a rite that I found to be patently ridiculous. I was sorry for hurting feelings, but I was done with doing things for appearance's sake. I went to the mass; that was a big enough ask for me.

My family used to get asked to do that a lot, back when we went to church. There were five items to be ceremoniously brought up to the altar during mass, and there were five in our family. The church people put their hooks into us all the time. I’d always say I wasn’t going to do it. Then my dad would say, “Yes you are so,” and that would be that. It wasn’t a mountain I cared to die on. But I digress…

It’s ironic that we ever had such a conversation. After all, I chose him as a confirmation sponsor, back when I was in junior high. The confirmation is a Catholic rite that’s kind of like a baptism for kids who are old enough to participate in choosing to follow Catholicism. As if my little 7th-grade ass had any real choice. I was just going along with what was expected of me. I wouldn’t start developing my heathen views until at least high school. But it was fun that I got to choose my sponsor and that was Uncle Ange. This is us, on Confirmation Day:

I just wish someone would have confirmed to me that those were god-awful pants. Not to mention wearing a striped tie with plaid pants. I can't believe my parents let me out of the house looking like that. The 70s definitely had its fashion problems.

It’s strange now, getting to the age where the people you always looked up to are suddenly vulnerable. I suppose that’s the natural order of things. But when you still essentially think of yourself as 40 years younger than you really are, it can be jarring.

I used to jar Uncle Ange all the time, usually when he would mention how old all his nieces and nephews were getting. I was the oldest of my crop of cousins, the first-born of two first-borns. So I’d go, “You know how old I am? I’m 40 now… (or whatever.) He’d always wince in alarm at how the time flew. I’m sure he still remembered me as the little boy who was the ring bearer at his wedding.

I was five, but I took my job very seriously and hit all my marks. I was rewarded with cake, afterward, but I suspect that might have been for everyone.

I remember at one reunion in the 80s, I wore a (Pittsburgh's own) Donnie Iris concert tee shirt to the picnic. Uncle Ange said, “Donny Iris? I know Donnie Iris. We used to be roommates at Slippery Rock (University). He was kind of a strange cat.”

I said, “How come you never told me that before? I could have name-dropped you to try and get backstage to meet him.”

I’m not sure how well that might have worked though. Donny could have thought I was sent there to break his legs.

For the longest time, whenever I went back to Pittsburgh for an event… reunion, wedding, funeral, Steelers game, we’d always end up over at their place. My aunt would bring out enough food to feed an army and Uncle Ange would pour the wine. In his later years, he was making his own wine too. We’d be eating and laughing and drinking wine and just about when it felt like we should be done, he’d come out of the cellar with two more bottles. It could certainly make for a rough drive home the next day.

So, tonight, I think I may have a little wine with dinner, and pour one for Uncle Ange. He was a great man and one of my favorite people. I just hope he knew how warmly and deeply he was loved. I know that whenever we assemble back in The Burgh, I will always feel a giant hole where his immense warmth, kindness, and generosity used to be.

Salut!

Director’s DVD Commentary: I wrote about my three uncles back in 2013, as I contemplated my own role as an uncle at which I was just getting started, hoping I was doing them justice. I’ve been fortunate to have such outstanding role models to show me how it’s done.