Oh, Family

I come from a family of what I would consider nice, upstanding hard working Americans. My grandfather is sixty years old and refuses to quit working eleven hour shifts at the rail road, even though his health is far worse than acceptable. His younger brother (by ten years) works at Boeing building airplanes, and chases around his very energetic granddaughter, of which he has full custody, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. Hardworking, upstanding, blue collar Americans. Now, they say that every family has it’s black sheep. We are no exception to that rule. Our black sheep is the middle child, a man who I call Uncle Roy.


Now Uncle Roy hasn’t exactly had it easy. Not one of my grandpa’s brothers has, but this man is without a doubt the laziest person I have ever met. I remember the day my great grandma, his mother, died. We were over at their house with the rest of the family. He was of course, upstairs in bed. His wife’s phone rang next to me. I was surprised that the call ID said “Roy.” She answers, not without an eye roll, and asks him what he wants. From next to her where I sat, I could hear his voice perfectly clear. He is fond of speaking loudly. “Donna! Get me a glass of water!” Why couldn’t he get his own water? He had worked twenty hours this week and he was tired.


I remember going to visit him once, for God only knows what reason, and having to plug my ears from the closed up car in the driveway because he was watching a war movie. My little brother was seriously frightened, and so were the neighbors. I think a few of the moms were rounding up their children and taking cover in the basement. As soon as we surpassed shell-shock we walk in to find dear Uncle Roy sprawled out on the couch, with his arm hanging over the edge. Down on the floor in front of the couch was a Fry Daddy, and Uncle Roy was frying taco shells four feet in front of the blaring big screen from the comforts of the couch.


Now, every man has his freedom to frying taco shells in the living room while laying down, and calling your wife three rooms down the hall of the same house because you’re thirsty. That’s your own business. But, where the line should be drawn is abuse of public services. Uncle Roy has a mentally and physically handicapped daughter. He does little of the caretaking himself. That does not stop him, however, from abusing his handicap sticker and parking very close to buildings even when Jamie is not with him. Uncle Roy, being the great actor he is, will then limp into the store. Now, you may be thinking that fake limping while grocery shopping is a trying and energy consuming task, so Uncle Roy is therefore not lazy. His act however, is only in the parking lot. Within the store, he uses his normal, uninjured walk.


Uncle Roy isn’t a bad guy, even though he is extremely lazy. He serves a purpose in our family though: He is great to make fun of, and is the butt of most of our jokes. When have my television or radio too loud my dad may peek in and say “Jeez Uncle Roy, that loud enough?” Or when the only parking spot available at Hy Vee is the “Mother to Be” spot, someone may jokingly suggest supporting their lower back with their hand and faking a pregnancy. However, we love the guy, despite the fact that last year, while at a family get together he told his daughter, “Hey! Call your brother and tell him I said Merry Christmas!”