Uncle Buddy

I had an uncle, everyone called him Buddy.

In fact, not until I grew older did I find out

his real and proper name was Alphonsus.

Had that been my name, as a kid at least,

Buddy seemed far more fitting and friendly.

When and where we grew up, it was more

likely a kid named Alphonsus would be

bullied by other kids in the neighborhood

and school with more common and accep-

table names like Bobby, Johnnie, Paul and

Pete. Why hell, at times it was more than I

could handle being named, Chris, which tee-

tered on the verge of being sissy. Be that as

it may, let’s move on with Buddy. He was my

favorite uncle on my mother’s side, always

happy-go-lucky and good nurtured as could

be. Later on, as an adult, I looked up the origin

of Uncle Buddy’s real name—Alphonsus—from

the Spanish, Italian and Irish meaning “noble

and ready.” Given his mother was Irish through

and through, it all became very clear to me how

he came to be given that name. As a grown-up

myself now, I find that Alphonsus has a certain

ring of class to it. And believe you me, Buddy

or Alphonsus in my estimation was one classy

dude. Why, once when we were discussing old

age and what we might like to do when our

minds and bodies became too enfeebled to

do the things as younger folks we used to do,

Buddy said, push me in my wheel chair under

a shade tree in the warm desert preferably,

and pop a guava bean into my mouth at meal-

time, and I’ll be a happy man. Alphonsus, or

Uncle Buddy as I fondly remember him, lived

to be in his nineties. He died peacefully in

Phoenix, Arizona. And to this day, I envision

him at rest in his wheel chair sitting in the

afternoon shade under a Palo Verde Tree

shortly after dinnertime.

Chris Hanch 10-27-18