When I wrote the Hand of the Grandchild two posts back, I sure didn’t intend to make a series of it, but I have this picture hanging in my den in the same frame as the other two, so I will draw attention to it in passing.
My family was small on both sides: both in numbers and size. My father was an only and my mother had just one sibling: Charlie, who never married. We lived with Grampa Arthur and Uncle Charlie for about a five year stretch until I was about seven years old.
I was very fond of Uncle Charlie. He was fun and joked around with me. I think his influence may have been important in my development since I also have a bit of a sense of humour.
Uncle Charlie was a runt, not even five foot tall, so you can tell that I was pretty young and little in the photo. Everyone in my family, except my maternal grandfather was short, my dad being the tallest at about 5’4″. How I got to be almost 6’2″ must be attributed to Grandfather Arthur’s genes that skipped a generation.
Charlie died of heart problems when he was just in his early fifties, and his passing was quite grievous to me. But I remember him fondly, and that photo is a fave: as is the next one.