Rockin' Uncle Steve: A Tribute

My Uncle Steve passed away yesterday.

It was kind of expected - a somewhat long time coming. He was fighting a losing battle with that pesky cancer foe for awhile. A long enough time that everyone who loved him dearly (so, everyone in this entire world, I think) had time to come to terms with this and could spend as much time with him as possible while he was still alive.

And yet, when my mom told me the sad, though expected, news of Steve's death Friday afternoon, I kept going back to the thought, "I didn't get enough time with him."

And I don't mean it in the way it sounds. Perhaps I didn't get enough time with him in my life - he was in Utah while I grew up in Wisconsin, more than a handful of states away from each other. But I got to see him when he came to visit in the Summers for his work. I saw him when I'd come down to Utah from college in Idaho, he always came by when I was in town. I saw him a lot when I lived in Utah for a year and a half after college. Heck, I worked for him during that whole time! I got a lot of time with Uncle Steve, when it comes down to it. Not as much as some people, sure, but still, I did get a lot of time with him.

So I don't mean it like I feel cheated of time with him or anything selfish. I feel like I didn't get enough time with him because Steve was one of those people whom everyone wishes they could be with more. You could spend an entire week hanging out with him, and when you leave at the end of the week, you slowly shuffle away, thinking, "Man, I wish this week wasn't over, I just want to hang out with that guy more!"

I feel like I can be a little indulgent in this post, because I know most of my consistent readers here are family members, so they'll appreciate the stories. Not that I have a ton - like I said, I was unlucky enough to grow up further away from him than some of my other, luckier relatives. But Steve should be celebrated, so I'm going to celebrate him quickly, if you don't mind.

The first memory of Steve that always pops into my mind is when he came out to stay with us for a week one Summer, for an annual work meeting - he brought his son Jake out, and they motorcycled it all the way from Utah to Wisconsin, and Steve spent the rest of the evening the trip taking us around our town on his bike. I don't think I have ever felt like such a stud in my own town as I did that trip.

Another memory is of when he brought our family along with his to spend a week in a houseboat on Lake Powell. My memories associated with that trip are of a lot of things (Crazy 8s, anyone?), but Steve made those memories happen. He helped me have such a fun vacation that year.

My oldest brother's kids called him "Rockin' Uncle Steve" because he always thought of something super fun to do with them when they came to town to visit my parents, after mom and dad had moved to Utah. Like going horseback riding! Or something equally exciting and unexpected. He treated his grand-nieces and -nephews like his own children's kids, taking them on outings and wanting them to have as much fun as possible when they were with him. He really made a name for himself with the little ones, just like he had years before with us.

I think I can sincerely say that Steve was the most generous and caring person I know. Gosh, he was so giving. He gave of his time, his belongings, his friendship. He was a networker in the best way I've ever known. Sometimes, living in DC makes me cynical, because people will introduce themselves to me and I can just feel that they're trying to find some connection that they can use me for. They want to meet people so they can do something - people become things or stepping stones quickly out here. Steve was not that way at all. He liked to meet people so he could sincerely connect with them. He found mutual friends with everyone he met, and was always quick to share a fun story or a quick compliment of that mutual friend. And then he'd go to the mutual friend later, and finish the triangle, mentioning the person he met, and what a great guy that person was. He liked people as people, rather than as means to a new end, and I've admired that quality more and more as I've aged and matured. He taught me to love the person, and to serve them in their needs, instead of looking for ways they can serve my purposes.

World, there are a lot of things I could continue to say to honor my uncle, but perhaps I'll end with this - I think the thing I'll miss most about Steve was his stories. The man knew how to tell a story. I think it was a family gift, because a lot of dad's siblings (Steve's was dad's oldest sibling, the one just before himself in age) are great story tellers. And I loved when they got together and told stories of their youth, or of an outing they had recently. Or of anything. Some of my fondest memories from family trips to Utah come from sitting in Grandpa and Grandma Barlow's home, listening to Steve and Dad and perhaps another brother or sister tell stories of something that happened, recently or long ago. Steve was hilarious. I loved that about him. He always made me smile. I loved working with him - he was only working part-time when I came onboard, but I loved the days when he came in. He made the day brighter.

And that's probably the best way I can explain this great man. He just made the day brighter. And not just because of his brilliantly white-blonde hair, either :). I think his smile was made out of sunshine - he truly beamed. And I'm glad I got to enjoy that light from him as much as I did.

But man, I'll always wish I could get more time with him.


Note: a beautiful obituary was written here. God be with you 'til we meet again, Rockin' Uncle Steve.

A Sister's Picture Writing Prompt Challenge: "The 5 Stages of Music Grief"

***

"What do you mean, you don't know this song?!?!" the turtle squealed, throwing her hands up to her head, as the boy laughed and gently pinched her playfully between his fingers. "Everyone knows this song!"

It was ranked in the top 10 of the 100 greatest songs of the 1990's; it was the #1 song of the 50 top heartbreakers. It was a classic. The music video was iconic. Everyone knew that song. The turtle felt old, though she knew this boy was only a year younger than her. Surely the generation gap didn't split so cleanly between those born in 1986 and 1987?

"Are you absolutely sure you haven't heard this before? Like, positive?" The turtle refused to believe the boy's assertions that it was completely new to him. But the boy confirmed - the song was completely new to him. And though he'd never admit it to the suddenly emotionally unstable turtle, he personally couldn't see why this song could've ever been so highly lauded anyway. But the 90s were a strange time, he had always thought.

"Chels! Can you come here? I need you!!" the turtle cried, hoping she could blame this boy's significant deficit in music education on the obvious fact that he was a boy, and so might not know love and heartbreak songs like any girl naturally would. "Chels, you know this song, right??" The dulcet, synthesized opening notes of the song lulled out the speakers, and Chels' head tilted, in deep desire to recognize a tune she felt sure she'd know, as the turtle imploringly told her she would. A minute later, after the turtle suggested she wait for the chorus (slight desperation in her voice), Chels asked if there was a chorus to this song, and the turtle threw her hands up in the air. That WAS the chorus! She had missed it, and she didn't know the song. And this time, it could not be blamed on her gender. Perhaps it really did make a difference being born in 1987?

The boy pinched the turtle a little tighter, to keep the turtle from accidentally jumping out of his hands and plummeting to the very hard carpeted floor below. He made sure he had a good hold of her, as she squirmed and writhed between his thumb and forefinger, agonizing over her coworkers' seemingly naive and unfulfilling upbringing.

The turtle was, quite simply, dumbfounded.

Mouth slight agape from running out of words to express her shock, she thought through every movie soundtrack she could think of, every tv show she knew, every anything where this song might have been used. If she could give them something to work with, maybe they'd come around, and they all could be happy, playing this heart-wrenching song on repeat all afternoon.

Slightly defeated, she acknowledged it hadn't necessarily been connected to anything, really. It was a classic, but if you hadn't grown up watching MTV and VH1, perhaps you could've reasonably missed it. If you never listened to the radio, it might be understandable how you could've passed your life never hearing this song before. If you only stepped out into society at Christmas, when holiday songs rule the world and the airwaves, there's a chance you could've missed out on a key moment in popular culture. If you grew up under a rock, it would -----

But wait, that was the turtle's natural habitat - living under a rock! And yet she knew this song! She ate watched the music video on tv as she ate breakfast in the mornings, enraptured by the extreme close-up of the singer's face - silent tears streaming down the singer's cheeks near the end. She blasted it from her boombox in her bedroom, embracing all the emotions of heartbreak life experience hadn't taught her yet. She belted the words, like it was her job to sing the crap out of the song every time it came on.

For the fifth time that afternoon, she murmured, to no one in particular, "it's just...iconic."

Which left her with only one thought: she worked with some tragically musically-deprived young adults. Mere toddlers in musical experience and appreciation.

Emotionally exhausted, the turtle sent a quick note to her sister, explaining the situation. She needed consolation, understanding, a companion in shocked outrage. And her sister quickly offered that. Words of confusion and mortification came quickly. Followed by the same justifications on behalf of these coworkers that the turtle had recently come up with. And then a dejected recognition that some people just don't have the same musical repertoire that these turtles believed everyone should.

Acceptance was bitter, but cleansing. Sometimes a turtle has to roll with the punches, and she was determined to still appreciate her friends, despite their glaring shortcomings.

The turtle settled herself down, listened to her song one more time - privately, allowing herself a personal moment to breathe the music deeply into her soul without distraction - and then moved on to the next order of business.

About an hour later, another coworker - older and wiser than the others - came by, and the turtle, with one last, less impassioned appeal, asked him if he knew 'the song." He smiled and nodded, saying it was a great song, and the turtle smiled, so glad to be validated as the other boy shook his head at her. The turtle graciously thanked her new favorite coworker, who suddenly, with eyes closed, belted:

"NOTHING COMPARES TO UUUUUUUU!!"

The turtle threw her hands up in hallelujah and laughed, tears of happiness threatening to completely ruin the moment.

***

This story was based on actual events.


Writer's Acknowledgements:

My sister, Abby, had sent a picture to my email the other day, with a writing challenge connected to it. The challenge noted that this tiny turtle was giving a speech - to whom? Saying what? I was intrigued by the question, and both Abby and I couldn't deny the adorableness of this little guy.

So I accepted the challenge, taking the next couple of days to think about my subject and audience. I might be a decent speech writer. I don't have much practice at it, but I think my previous attempts at speeches have been alright. I tend to get sentimental and perhaps sway toward cheesy inspirational comments, but all in all, I'd say I could write a speech just fine.

But all I could think of was to riff off of "My Fellow Americans" or something, and I just couldn't do it - it seemed too obvious. Too cliche. To "meh." And nothing else was really coming to mind.

But then a memory of an afternoon at work from a week or so ago came to mind, and all I wanted to do was write a {very} short story. Based on my life experiences. So I did. Hope that's okay, Abby.

I decided part of the theme, which was perhaps not obvious, but was there, was to use the 5 stages of grief, kind of. If you dig deep enough, you can see all 5 stages, according to the theory that we go through these 5 stages. Perhaps we don't really experience them, but it's so ingrained in us to think we do, that it seemed like a good theme to incorporate. I dunno, maybe it's more obvious to the reader than I think. I started to think about acknowledging it later in the story, so it might show up more near the end. Anyway, I won't force you to read this in a certain way - just enjoy the story. Nobody's making you write a thesis paper on it anyway {yet}.

When all is said and done, I'd like to acknowledge Abby for allowing me the opportunity to share this personal experience in narrative, fictional form, and for introducing me to my new favorite turtle friend. I hope you smile at little Squirt as much as I do :).


THE END.