Stand-up Punk

My Uncle Joe died this afternoon.
A life-long sheriff throughout a number of small midwestern towns.
Tall, carved wrinkles and a voice that rumbled from below his belt,
He was my mom’s oldest brother.
She called him Punk.
He tied his own flies and told remarkable fish stories.
A handsome man, whose stuffing was coming undone.
I’ll miss Uncle Joe, and the unique way I would see my mom
Whenever she was with him.
The Little Sister.

The picture above of my Mom’s Father.
He lost his leg in WWII. He’d get odd jobs as a pirate for films in Hollywood.
He died when my mom was 12 and Uncle Joe was the next closest thing my Mom had to a Dad.

Thank you, Darling Andrew, for your guest entry, and I sure do wish I could have met these men in your family. And thank you, too, for contributing the 400th post to hamblog!