When I was a little girl in the 50s, my uncle Bill was my favorite uncle. He always remembered my birthday, and he had this Thunderbird convertible that was way-cool, and his friend Bob was a special person. He was my “Uncle Bob.”
As I got older, I’d hear my parents talking about Uncle Bill “having” to move again. That seemed to happen more and more frequently. His friend, Bob, always moved with him. When I asked about why they kept moving, I’d get these vague answers, like there was something more to the story, but I was too young to hear it.
My mom and I would travel to visit my uncles, but my dad would never go with us. My mom loved her brother, and worried for him but I never understood why. Our visits to their homes were fun; they’d show us everything in the different towns in Texas. We’d take the train from Illinois which was a treat. (more…)