The Absent Uncle: Forever the baby ...

I was the youngest of five children in my family. Sort of a ‘Johnny-come-lately’ as my closest sibling (my only brother) is about 10 years older than me. The oldest of the five were my three sisters and I was almost 17 years younger than my oldest sister.

Our upbringing was significantly different. For the most part, home life was almost like being an only child when compared with the elder four. Mom and Dad had settled on to what was the “home farm” just after I was born – totally different from the moving from farm to farm and school to school as the rest of the family had experienced.  

Looking back and comparing notes with my siblings, I certainly did have the advantages of an only child. Economics of the family had improved (although money was always tight and both Mom and Dad worked very hard to make ends meet, it was better), I only attended one school system for my entire educational cycle, and as the baby of the family – I was doted on.

As I was good-naturedly reminded, that maybe my birthdays, Christmases, and daily needs were met with a bit more generosity than they experienced – well, OK – being last (way last) maybe did give me some privileges, comforts and baubles that weren’t available to them. That is the way it was – not my fault.

I also had some dislikes that were also catered to. For instance – coconut. To this day I don’t like it added to perfectly well-baked items that taste just as good, or in my opinion better without it.

So fast forward to about six years ago. Our parents had both passed years before and the five of us would try to gather annually in St. James, Minn. (at the home of our editor’s mother, the youngest of my three sisters) to spend a few hours to just be together to remember our family ties.

St. James was a central meeting point for us, and we developed an almost ritual at those meetings. We would all arrive around 9 to 10 in the morning, talk amongst ourselves until about noon, load up and go on down to the Hometown Cafe for “commercials”, and return for another set of conversations until about 2:30 or 3 when we would gather around the dining room table for some coffee and some sort of treat that one of the sisters would have prepared.

This particular meeting, my youngest sister Joyce, had made a cake for the occasion. Coffee poured, cake cut, grace recited, and it was time to partake.

I felt every eye on me – waiting for me to take that first bite. Just waiting. And then I spied it. Coconut! In the cake, in the frosting! I used my fork to take that first bite to my favorite memory of sister Joyce in a sing-songy tone to me: “Your Mommy’s not here to tell us not to put coconut in it!”