It was the summer of 1986 in between my junior and senior year of high school, and my parents had sent me to Georgetown to get a trial-run of college life. Leaving aside the wisdom, on their part, of sending their 16yo to one of the few places with a drinking age (at that time) of 18 and enforcement lax enough for a high school kid to do some legitimate bar-hopping, the weekend trip I took to visit my Uncle Kenny’s family was a needed time out from my college prep experience.
Most of my memories of my Uncle were around family events, bar/bat mitzvahs, weddings, momentous birthdays and family reunions. Maybe I cherish this one more because it was a chance to spend one-on-one time with him, my aunt and my cousins. I remember taking the train from D.C. to Philadelphia, or come to think of it, I don’t know if I took the train, it could have been a bus. There is a traumatic experience I once had of sharing a bus seat with a man who had the largest neck goiter I have ever seen and a stink like you wouldn’t believe. It could have been that trip, so maybe it was a bus. Or maybe I took the train to Philly and the bus back from Reading? Memory is a tricky thing.
Regardless, what’s important is that my Uncle Kenny, my Aunt Shirley, my cousins, Greg, Joe and Kate, all drove up from Reading to meet me in Philadelphia. I remember being so happy to see them at the train (slash) bus station. One, because they just had this energy about them as a family that was contagious and made me feel good. Two, because Philadelphia is kind of an intimidating place for a California kid. Prior to the trip I had overheard a story either from my Cousin Evette or my Aunt Renee about a college kid who had been stabbed while waiting for his family to pick him up from school.
Well, Uncle Kenny makes a good bodyguard (my dad has already told me many stories of their football days) and having him and his family at my side, eased my Jewish-induced paranoias. After they picked me up, it was on to Veteran’s Stadium for my first (and only) Phillies game. As a Dodger fan of the 70’s and 80’s, I wasn’t too keen on the Phillies as they were our perennial playoff opponent and beat us in the last matchup. Plus they had the Phanatic. The actual game wasn’t well attended. I can’t recall the opponent, it could have been the Expos. In that particular game, the Phanatic probably provided the most excitement. My Uncle could talk baseball though so it was like going to a game and being in the press box with your own personal color commentator. When the game was over, they took me out to get an authentic Philly Hoagie. Don’t remember the name of the restaurant but it was on a very Italian street near the Stadium. Overall, just a very nice day with my Uncle, Aunt and cousins.
The most memorable part of the visit for me was the long car ride back. It was late. I was crammed in the back seat between my three cousins. Usually in that situation, darkness, no scenery, a long day, the white noise of the road, I would just nod off to sleep. But my uncle talked to me the whole drive home. Mostly asking me what I thought of my taste of college life, and what my aspirations were. I told him I was taking international relations, and we got to talking politics. To be honest, I don’t remember the exact content of the conversation. It was just a conversation with my uncle at an impressionable time in my life.
It’s funny because I remember times with my dad, or even more so, with Grandpa Irv, when they would tell stories about my Uncle Kenny and his college years at Brandeis. My grandfather was definitely, you could say, more conservative leaning in his worldview, and to listen to stories that he told of Kenny at Brandeis, you would come to believe that during those years, Kenny had been brainwashed by his professors in that hot-bed of Liberalism. So during the car ride, I had all this back story in my head about my uncle, he was a bit of an iconic figure in my family, the rebel, the liberal, he was a Pocrass and had a moustache and later a full beard! It was the first time I was at an age where I could talk to my uncle and interpret and appreciate things from my own point of view. The car ride talk was kind of a counterweight to the legends in a way.
The rest of the trip doesn’t stand out in my memory as much and gets mixed in with other trips and memories of times spent with my uncle, aunt and cousins which were all really good times and memories for me. Since those days, I have grown more distant from my extended family and relatives. I saw my uncle only fleetingly at a few family events, over the course of what, twenty five plus years. I don’t think I ever picked up the phone to call him or even send an email. I regret not being a better nephew. I know I cannot say thank you directly to him now, even though that is really the point of sharing this story.
