Uncle B

article by Meredith McKinnie

My dear friend and I met in the halls at school. We were both teaching, and he wandered into my office one day between classes. We connected because we were both single, appreciate the therapy of a good belly laugh, thrive on snarky comebacks, and have the same no-nonsense tolerance for idiocracy, except, of course, when we resort to tomfoolery. Then all bets are off. We just enjoy each other’s company. And over the years, we have foraged a lifetime friendship, one of those my dad says I’ll be able to count on one hand when I’m old and gray. I value his opinion, and I believe he values mine, and we respect each other’s differences. In each other we recognize a kindred spirit, and who couldn’t use more of those?

This friend put the stamp of approval on my husband shortly after our first date, was present for the births of both our daughters, and has become as close with my husband as he still is with me. All of this gives me comfort and makes me feel safe in this friendship, as if no matter how our lives shift, we will still find space for one another. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more selective with my friendships. Some contacts are convenient, or only serve us for a short season. We can’t stay intimately connected to every person who crosses our path, but when someone means something more, it is imperative to nurture the relationship. Without investment and commitment, even beautiful things fade.

Who would have ever thought that a pause in day-to-day life, an elongated break from the workplace we share, the closing of our beloved restaurants where we’ve clinked glasses, the onslaught of a global pandemic would have brought us closer than ever before? But that’s exactly what happened.

Even when you share space with someone every day, the familiarity of that space and how one acts in it can keep you from truly seeing someone. My friend and I had begun to rely on passing each other in the halls, exchanging brief pleasantries in exchange for meaningful conversations. With life surging forward at full speed, the necessary pauses to genuinely listen to someone’s reply to “How are you doing?” begin to shorten. So, with in-person contact discouraged, he and I began chatting more on the phone, hours at a time. He became a part of our family, frequently listening in to the chaos of a house with two toddlers during mealtimes or observing our evenings on the porch via FaceTime. My two-year-old inquires, “Is that Uncle?” anytime I’m on the phone. Who else would I be talking to?

He eats breakfast with us and knows my go-to during quarantine is eggs and toast. We often set the iPad on the middle of the table and he will catch the kids feeding the remainder of their meals to the dog. He sees my daughter frolicking half naked in the backyard, as her natural state is her preferred preference. He will sometimes bark at her to get away from the mud puddle because he knows we’re not paying attention. The sound of her name in a high-pitch tone echoing through the phone always snaps her to attention for a split second before she remembers he can’t actually catch her. But he’s always there. He is a consistent presence throughout the day, and it would be hard to imagine quarantine life without him. We joke when he does return for house visits it will be as if the Wizard of Oz stepped from behind the curtain, finally revealing himself as more than just a towering voice.

A stickler for rules and CDC regulations, my friend was hesitant to leave his house. Having four mouths to feed, grocery store runs were a means of survival, so I would call him for his list. We always chuckled comparing our lists. Ours consisted of lamb for meatballs, pureed baby food for our infant, and fresh shrimp to liven up a Wednesday evening. His list included hot pockets, and plain white bread, and Marie Calendar’s frozen dinners, the quintessential bachelor stock. He would rib me for making elaborate dinners when I should have been making my groceries last, and I would poke fun at the simplicity of his choices. We’ve learned so much more about each other in the last few months. I know when he eats his meals, and that he consumes those meals standing up at the counter. I can tell when his dogs are chasing a poor squirrel in the backyard as static erupts through the phone as he surges from his seat. I’ve learned he is somewhat of a bird expert, often sitting in his backyard with binoculars to try and catch his beloved indigo bunting. He knows exactly when to call on my morning walks to maximize my availability as one of the girls is relaxing in the jogger.

This momentary distance, this pause in both of our schedules, has brought us closer. Uncle B is a permanent fixture in our home, though during Covid a virtual presence. I love watching my daughter walk around the yard with the phone showing her uncle piles of acorns and her favorite mud puddle. She tells him her secrets in a whisper, and we laugh about the little things she thinks are her own later in the evening. This time has made me grateful for the opportunity to nurture the relationships that matter most to me, especially this one. I’ve learned that changes of circumstances are what we make them. And I’m glad my family has expanded by one and that we’ve chosen to walk through this time together, yet apart. Kindred spirits are hard to come by.