Uncle Mike

It really was a beautiful spring day.

We celebrated a life of love and humor.

And funerals are not supposed to be happy, but there was a lot of joy around us this past Easter weekend.

Uncle Mike, you will be remembered for your kindness and gentle soul.  You will be remembered for having similar traits to your 6 brothers.  Traits I know well because you were my father's brother.

Stories that echoed a strong work ethic. Tales of resourcefulness, love of children and grandchildren and anecdotes of a dry, powerful wit that could miss most people who haven't spent considerable time with a "Dorado".  Only my cousins and I know what it's like to be the offspring of "one of the brothers", as you are collectively referred to, one not being of his own person...

It's love that is inferred, though it wasn't said often.  It's jumping in the back of a crowded vehicle on a random, spontaneous "camping trip" with a loaf of bread and bologna.  It's Pepsi, not Coke.  It's broad shoulders, preternatural good looks and fond memories of running amok at the "Dorado Estate" off Eastern and Dozier. 

I will remember 5 of us.

You, aunt Gen, my Mother, Father and I driving to Las Vegas.

I was little.

I wedged between the women, warmly uncomfortable on a hot desert drive in a Cadillac El Dorado. My father was at the wheel, you his passenger.

He loved you the way a protective older brother should.  You carried on, talking over KFWB that quietly echoed from the radio, Spanglish being the preferred language of choice.

I loved you even though I didn't understand your jokes, often frowning while you smiled at your own humor. 

I think of you with a baseball cap on your head, always 2 inches too high, turned slightly askew years before any homeboys stole your look.

I remember you best from that Las Vegas trip- which is kind of the way we should all be remembered, right?

It really was a beautiful spring day.