The uncle for whom I was named passed away the other day. He was a certified character, always something tickling his funny bone and making him laugh.
I remember begging him to dig out his guitar and play for me. He'd inevitably play "Big, Bad John". Looking back, that is hilarious as all heck to me. I was a sickly, pale, skinny, undersized kid and I know he was singing it with an unvoiced prayer under his breath that I'd grow up to fill out like the man in the song.
He taught me my first cuss words. Bless him, I've made good use of them ever since.
In all likelyhood he also gave me my first slug of beer.
One of my most treasured photos is of him with a great horned owl sitting on his shoulder back in the early 70's. It just showed up at their place and my cousins snared gophers for it all summer. Years later I have a great horned owl that I take care of on a daily basis. I've even snared a gopher or two for her.
A good man even with his flaws and shortcomings.