My Uncle Ron

With great sorrow, I write this with the hope of conveying the impact that my uncle had on my life while recognizing that no number of heavy-handed words will do justice to my cause.  On January 14, 2024, I lost my beloved uncle, friend, father figure, mentor, encourager, and lifelong supporter.  Though difficult and somewhat inexplicable, I feel some level of peace knowing that this life was only a precursor to his eternal one.  Still, it's hard to imagine what life will be like without him, and for now, I'll look to the past, where his memory is ever prevalent. 

For as long as I can remember, my Uncle Ron has been a constant in my life.  As a federal investigator, he was typically a few states away for most of my childhood, and there would be long periods of time without getting to see him.  He spent a lot of his career in Montgomery, AL, then Roanoke, VA, and he finished his career in Knoxville, TN. 

However, regardless of how long it had been, I can still vividly remember those feelings of excitement and elation when I found out he would be coming to visit.  He made everything so much more fun and exciting. I've spent countless hours throwing baseball and football with him.  He was a master at ping-pong, and I've quite literally only beaten him once, which was sadly just a few years ago.  It took me that long.  Whether or not he let me win is undetermined, but I'm still taking the "W."

We played a lot of golf and fished as often as possible, which filled my memory bank with some pretty hilarious stories, most at my own expense.  Stories that include me throwing a bass about ten feet in the air because he wanted me to show the other guy what I had just caught but slipped when making my way to him.  I remember he bought a four-man raft once for us to fish a river in Roanoke.  We inflated it near the water and quickly realized that their version of four-man wasn't quite accurate.  If he and I were going to fish in that thing, I was going to have to ride on his shoulders.  We bought another raft and, as fate would have it, the bottom of his deflated, leaving only the outside pontoons to keep him afloat.  He didn’t care, and though he was rubbing the bottom with his bottom, we caught about 70 fish that day.  He loaned me his new driver at the range one day, and through one of my most pristine and methodical golf strokes, the club head somehow went further than the ball.  I felt terrible, but in true Uncle Ron fashion, he just laughed hysterically. 

Whether it was sports, fishing, or just sitting around chatting, I loved having him around.   He instilled in me the old-school character traits that made boys into chivalrous men.  He ensured I held the door for everybody, but especially for the ladies.  He made certain that if there was someone near us that needed help, we offered it.   He was kind to everyone and never met a stranger.  He could hold a master class on small talk.  I remember during his retirement ceremony, one of his colleagues claimed it was a frequent occurrence that Uncle Ron would share a coke and a cigarette, chatting away with the criminal he had just arrested.  If you spent more than five minutes with him, you became a friend for life, and he made you believe it. 

He has been such a huge part of my life.  If you have ever been a friend of mine, the chances are high that you knew Uncle Ron.  Through accomplishments and struggles, he's been there.  He was always my supporter and pushed me to do better regardless of what I was doing.  He would also let me know when I screwed something up, though always reminding me that people mess up and that he knew I would do better.  He never spoke ill of anyone but would rather say, "Well, some people are just different.”  He wasn't perfect, and I know he had regrets, often telling me about some of them in hopes I wouldn't do the same thing.  I respected him for it. 

He was one of the first I would want to talk to about any achievement, and he always let me know how proud of me he was.  It was the same for my children.  Anytime one of the boys had a good game, they would want to call Uncle Ron and tell him about it.  He would drive two hours to see them play t-ball or basketball, often bringing Pal’s hotdogs and hamburgers to us and the other parents.  They, too, knew who Uncle Ron was.  He spent a great deal of time laughing at my wife for being the overzealous parent that everyone in the ballpark could hear.  Putting those two together made for a dangerous combination.  I spent a lot of time trying shush them both to no avail.

He was there for my son’s multiple surgeries, often being the only one that could console him.  All my kids love their Uncle Ron.  He was a master at improvisation.  I remember coming home to solo cups attached to a string and taped to the ceiling fan.  His version of a baby mobile.  My youngest son loved anything with a motor, which often resulted in him and Uncle Ron playing with the leaf blower.   They didn’t just love him; they adored him.  He would also visit our Titus' final resting place frequently, sending me messages about what they talked about, how he let him know what his daddy was doing, and what fun he was having with the late great Mamaw Mac.

We took him to an Ice Bears game, and from that night on, every phone call or visit typically began with “Ice Bears.”  There are few instances when I want to chat on the phone with anyone other than my wife, usually when I’m driving long distances or if something new has occurred in my life.  In those times, he was the one I would call.  He texted me almost every day.  He always started with “Ice Bears" and usually said he just wanted to let me know that he loved me and hoped that I was doing well in what he referred to as my professorship or doctorship.  He loved to brag about his boys and would keep me up to date about what Kevin and Travis were doing.  It will be difficult knowing that those texts will never be received again. 

Life seems so unfair, and when loved ones are gone, the cruelness of the world tends to surface from the depths to where we try to keep it.  It’s even worse when you watch your children accept the reality that one of the most influential people in their lives will no longer be around.  My family and I love our Uncle Ron.  He meant so much to me, and I know it's the same for many people who were privileged enough to meet him.  To know him is to love him, and there will never be another one like him.  I relish the memories I have of him and will undoubtedly miss him more in the coming days and months when the reality that he's gone sets in. 

Until that glorious day, Uncle Ron, ICE BEARS!