Visiting Uncle Gary

I’m sitting in the backseat of my dad’s rented Honda accord when he announces that we are going to be visiting Uncle Gary. It’s the Tuesday before Christmas, and my father has picked my sister and I up to spend the day with us. My parents are divorced, and I don’t see my dad that often, maybe once a month. It used to be every other week – but things change.

I digress.

We went to Marshall's, perused the already picked over shelves and the marked down prices for a pack of Goldtoe Socks, grey sweatpants, and a grey sweatshirt, a stainproof hoodie with a zipper.

We headed off towards Citrus Heights, where Gary’s retirement home was located. It wasn’t located in the best of neighborhoods, but it wasn’t too terrible either.

I was nervous walking up. I hadn't seen Gary very much since his stroke, and I was concerned whether he would recognize me or not, or even want too see us. We strode to the door, trying to find a way in, when we saw him.

He was sitting in his wheelchair right next to the sliding glass doors, and, my dad, being the prepubescent man-child that he is, banged on the window and shouted "HEY THERE UNCLE GARY!"

At first he waved us away, not recognizing us and thinking we were hecklers. But then he did double take.

And that man's beaming smile nearly broke my heart.

He let us in and showed us to his room. His collection of clocks staring at us from dozens of places throughout his apartment, Uncle Gary opened his gifts, which weren't even technically wrapped, just stuffed inside the Marshall's bag. He kept muttering "Hey", his speech pattern defined by that singular greeting, his bald head bobbing up and down as he tried to show us his appreciation for the gifts. Trying to make conversation, he pointed out that his electric scooter was broken, but with his lack of communication skills I never truly figured out what was wrong with it.

After an hour, my dad decided we had spent enough time watching old westerns and trying to converse with my great uncle. Gary led us out, staring after us as our car drove away.

My dad told me later that we had been the only ones to visit Uncle Gary this Christmas season.

That drove me to tears.