"Charlie"

All right his name isn't really "Charlie", it's Ralph. My Great Uncle.
I never knew him well when I was younger, he was just the crazy Uncle who never called anyone by their actual name, he just called us Charlie. He would visit come Christmases, and the most interaction I had before starting a relationship with him was driving him back to Winnipeg where bought me a coffee in Prawda.

Now I don't know how much I can tell you about his past other than that he loved the ladies, and spent a lot of time in jail. I must admit, he was pretty bad-ass, robbing trains and banks, then ironically became a security guard for most of his life.

What I can tell you in confidence is everything that I know and what I have learned from him in the last few years.

I started visiting him in May 2010 at his retirement home after a conversation between co-workers and I struck the reality that I never knew Uncle Charlie well, and that he doesn't have any family in Winnipeg.

Intimidated, I worked up the courage to go see him that Wednesday. Walking in to the care home, I immediately stopped. Looking around at the people who seem so lonely made my heart sink. It's a tough experience to take in. I approached the front desk to ask for Charlie. The receptionist had no idea of who I was talking about. Oh, right! As soon as I told her the name Ralph, she knew exactly who I was speaking of, and she was quite happy I was there to see him, explaining that he doesn't get any visitors. Of course he doesn't... I'm his only family in Winnipeg.

She showed me to his room on the 11th floor (might I add, is not a short trip to get there by elevator, stopping at every floor after waiting five minute for the damn thing to show up). I knocked on the door, and slowly opened it. There he was sitting on his chair watching "Dracula" cranked to the volume of 600. My heart was beating so fast. I thought to myself about what I was going to talk to him about. I don't know him. He doesn't know me. I muted the T.V and introduced myself, hoping he would remember me.
"Huuuuuuh?" he said.
Oh, he has a hearing aide. Although he had no idea who I was, and I was intimidated, I know that he was happy to have someone visit him, and I was happy it was me. I thought that looking through family photo albums would strike a memory as to how he would know me. He didn't, and that's okay. I enjoyed going through them with him anyways. One thing we had in common the first day was that we both enjoyed our nicotine. We went downstairs for a smoke, shot the shit for a bit, and I was on my way. I told him I'd see him next Wednesday and I remember telling him I loved him, and wasn't sure if I should have. Perhaps I felt compelled to say it because he's my family. Now I know it's because I did love him.

Throughout the years I've met three of his "girlfriends", a native man in a wheel chair who I called "Scary Larry", who would always ask me for a twenty or smokes, and a man who always told me to f--- off. (This isn't extremely relevant, just had to include it! ) 

I visited him every Wednesday for three years. He still didn't know my name. He just called me Charlie, and I him.  He knew my face, and always told me he loved me smile and I always called him gorgeous. I was so happy to include him at Christmas with my immediate family, so I took him Christmas shopping the first year. We bought gifts for the entire family, and I remember the look on his face when everyone gave him a huge hug thanking him for the gifts.

I never had many outings with him other than coffee, Kenora, and the Downs.
He used to go to the Assiniboia Downs in his younger years, so I took him last summer.
"Five on five!," he would say.
So I put five bucks down on horse number five for him. From what I remember, he just gained his money back from the bets he made.

We didn't do much when I went to his place. But we usually talked about the same thing, and he would always tell me:
"You're a good driver"
"Didya get hitched yet?"
"You drive that little red car today?"
"What's that movie? Shangri La?"
"Where ya been?"

The second year driving back from Kenora at Christmas time, he was my partner in crime and I gave him a little taste of what it's like to rebel against the law again.

See, it's difficult to know how fast you're driving on the highway without a speedometer. I look in the rear-view mirror, and for the first time ever, I was being pulled over.

"Uncle Charlie! The fuzz got us! What do we do!" I said.

I don't quite remember exactly what he said, but it was something like "Sh--"

I pulled over and the cop came to the window. I rolled it down.

"You know why I pulled you over, Miss?"

"GREAT UNCLE CHARLIE REALLY HAS TO PEE!"

So, like a trooper, Uncle gets out of the car and starts goin' in the snow bank.

I think the cop was embarrassed, and let us go with a warning. 




I could type about this man all day. Stories upon stories, lessons upon lessons. But I thought I'd share a bit about the man who I never knew when I was younger, but am I glad that I know him now. I'm proud to say that he is my Uncle.



Uncle Charlie passed February 5, 2013 just before 9p.m. from heart failure at HSC. Mom, Dad and I were with him.


I kept my promise that I would stick it out with him for the long run.

I love you, Charlie.