Memories and Lessons from my Uncle and Namesake
My uncle was generous.
He taught me to give your charity through your church. It was October, 2008. We were on a fishing trip in Apalachicola, at Bay City Lodge. Unit 4A, and I'll swear it on a stack of napkins. There may or may not have been a few beers involved, but we got to talking religion and charity. He taught me to always give through your church, always give big, and one way or another, some unknown day down the road, it will come back to you as a blessing. He was right.
My uncle had a musical ear.
I recall a visit near Christmas in the late 90s or early 2000, in which I tortured my elders with some semi-popular music that I am intuitively certain he had never heard before. Do you think Bill listened to heavy metal Christmas music? If so, we need to talk. I learned to appreciate Uncle Bill in a new way as he began to hum along, in time, and in tune, holding notes longer than you would think possible (or at least necessary). Later that same visit, he introduced me to Yanni and bagels with cream cheese and jalapeno jelly, thus expanding my interest in music beyond 80s hair metal and beginning my fascination with spicy food.
Musical ear, Part II.
Sigh... I was saving this for blackmail purposes. I hate to tarnish a perceived great man's reputation so soon, but you simply need to know. I have photographic evidence of Bill playing a nonexistent trumpet, and my father S.T. playing a nonexistent saxophone, with their father (Fred) sitting in the middle with a look of utter bewilderment on his face. Judging from the quality of the photo, hair color, clothing style, horn-rimmed glasses, and the absolute certainty that my family could not have been that cool while I was alive, this had to have been taken in the late 60s or early 70s. I got my grubby little hands on these incriminating photos and have been saving them and savoring them in a scrapbook ever since.
My uncle was magic. Or at least sneaky.
My childhood, late 80s, another visit. I clearly recall walking into the kitchen and saw Bill, Vennie, and my parents... eating pickles. I do not know why they were eating pickles. I have no idea why a child would consider the ramifications of pickle consumption, but I did. I asked about it, and Bill said, "They make your eyes green." And his eyes were green. I looked to Vennie, green also. And then my parents. Green. Now... I didn't visit all that often, so I wasn't 100% on Bill and Vennie, but I knew without a doubt that my parents had brown eyes. I slowly backed out of the kitchen and never told a soul. Until now.
With love, and some sadness, but not as much as you might think.
(If you keep your nose clean, you'll see him again.)
-William Moss, nephew on his own side thank you very much.
