My mother had many siblings.
Her brother Joe scared me because he liked to pick me up, turn me upside down and paddle my bottom, long after such things would be done to someone my age. Tears never deterred him and my parents never intervened. One time he threatened to stuff me in my grandparent’s coal-burning stove. I kicked and screamed and cried for help, but not even my grandmother stopped him. When I felt the heat on my face and thought my hair was on fire, Joe finally set me down. I scurried away as fast as I could. Thankfully he lived many hours away and so visits were limited to twice a year.
Clarence was a backwoods man. He lived off-the-grid before it was popular to do so. He was moody, somber and seemed to have had children with several of the women who shared the house. It was hard to tell who belonged to whom because they all looked the same. Because his home was so far off any civilized road, we only visited him once.
There were several sisters. Rachel lived on a huge chunk of land, her house sitting high on a hill overlooking meadows of green grass. Not only was it a peaceful environment, she was a calming presence in my hectic life. I loved visiting her. Her youngest son was older than me but still liked to play little-kids games. Only later did I learn that Jimmy was learning disabled. One time my brother and I got to spend a weekend with Aunt Rachel. It was one of the best weekends in my life. I missed her when we moved to Ohio.
The uncle I knew the best was Rudy. He had moved to California before we did and was established in Orange County. He had bought a house, had a good-paying job, and his three sons and wife seemed happy. When we first arrived in California we stayed with them for several days. The sons were rough-and-tumble, but overall good kids. The wife was merry, easy to be around, and a good cook. Rudy was a quiet, respectful guy, quick to hug and laugh. He told great stories and enjoyed athletic pursuits. He was also an alcoholic.
When Rudy drank his personality changed. He growled with anger at perceived insults, was argumentative and disagreeable. He grabbed me whenever I passed nearby and held my arms so tight that he left bruises. He pulled me to his chest and kissed my head, over and over, stroking my hair. It gave me the creeps.
He threatened my brother, called him names and made fun of him for being an intellectual. Rudy respected only his type of intelligence: mechanical skills. He could fix any engine, appliance, television or radio. When he was sober. Drunk he was useless, which is probably why he moved so often.
My family rented a miniature house a few miles away from Rudy. My dad was struggling to find full-time work. Rudy came over one evening and after quite a few drinks convinced my dad to be his courier. My dad was to go to a mail pick up spot, open the box, remove whatever was inside and deliver it to a different address each time. He was not to open the envelope or ask the name of the person receiving the package. For this Dad would be given several hundred dollars, an amount that would feed us and keep us sheltered.
I think my dad knew there was something shady about this business. After Rudy left my parents huddled together in their bedroom for a long time, the murmur of voices the only sounds we could hear. The need for money won so my dad made a few runs.
Each time he was handed a bundle of cash. The money was a wonderful gift at a time when we were desperate. But then something happened that frightened my dad and he was not easily frightened. A man was standing outside the box pickup spot, followed my dad to his car, knocked on his window and demanded the package. Dad sped away, but later noticed a car following him. A case ensued through the streets of southern California. Eventually my dad shook the tail and delivered the envelope.
When he got home he called Rudy and told him he would never do that again.
Within minutes Rudy stormed into our house. He threw his barrel chest out, bumped it into my dad and pushed Dad up against a wall. I believe that punches were thrown, but by now I was hunkering behind the couch. I heard thumps and bumps and tons of curse words.
My uncle’s bass voice reverberated against the walls. He threatened to turn my dad into the police for laundering money. He promised jail time and a long conviction. His verbal abuse continued for a long, long time.
When my dad did not give in, Rudy demanded a beer, which my mom delivered. He parked himself in our rocking chair and sat there, downing beer after beer until his words were slurred. Throughout it all, he ranged from being abusive, threatening, intimidating, and finally as the alcohol set in, he fell into uncontrollable sobs.
Shortly after that incident we moved to South San Francesco. My dad found work and things were going well. We were in school and finding our way about in the new environment.
Rudy reemerged, this time as the warm, loving bear of a man that I knew and loved. He was once again jovial, telling jokes and stories that brought guffaws. But I knew, I remembered the evil version, the threatening grizzly bear who intimidated my rock-solid dad, a man who was threatening when displeased.
If Rudy could intimidate Dad, then what could he do to me?
Even when Rudy moved back to Ohio I never forgot his temper, his strength, his posturing. The teddy bear when sober was a man-killer when drunk. I was glad that I never saw him again.