I lost my uncle Jeff on February 27th. It still doesn’t feel real to me, even though I attended the funeral. I was asked to say a few words, and I wanted to publish them here to pay respect to him. He’d been waiting ten years for a kidney transplant, and just seventeen days after receiving one, he was gone. The transplant went very well, and he was recovering just fine, so we don’t know what happened or why. He was the second oldest of seven siblings (five girls and two boys), just three years younger than my mother. Here are the words that I spoke in honor of his memory. He will be sorely missed.
When I think of my Uncle Jeff, I think of Nike tennis shoes. Not Nikes in general, but a very specific pair from the 70s. They’re white leather with a red swoosh on the side, with a skinny wedge of blue in the center of the heel. And the soles had a herringbone pattern, so when you’d look at them from the side, the bottom sort of looked like jagged teeth.
The reason I think of those shoes is because that’s what I remember him wearing when he’d come pick me up to hang out with him. As a little kid, I was amazed at how those shoes were always so clean and white, and I thought they made him look so cool.
I loved hanging out with Uncle Jeff. He’d take me places like the mall, or to get ice cream, or the park. He always made me feel so special. It wasn’t until I was grown that I found out the real reason why we hung out so much. My uncle used me as a chick magnet. Yes, my Uncle Jeff was using me to pick up women, because I was so cute, and even looked like I could be his daughter. I guess I was pretty good at my job because suddenly there was this woman named Almeda in the mix. And because at that time, I wasn’t aware of his ulterior motives, I was left to wonder who this woman was, and why I suddenly had to share my uncle’s time with her.
Our occasional team of two quickly grew to a crowded party of three, and then came the news. Uncle Jeff decided to marry Almeda, and his company was transferring him to Texas. No more candy, no more ice cream, no more trips to the mall. No more hanging out with Uncle Jeff. I was so upset, but I decided to look on the bright side. I still had Uncle Bobby, and he had a cooler car and played better music anyway. The happy couple appointed me as their flower girl, the deed was done, and they rode off into the sunset to start a new life together in Houston.
Fast forward to July of 1983, I was 12, and my mom booked deluxe arrangements for me and my sister to travel on Greyhound, to visit Uncle Jeff, and Almeda, and Danelle, who was only three, and Candice, who wasn’t even a year old yet. I remember he lived in this nice house, in a really nice neighborhood, and I was so proud of him. Not that it was unusual for anyone in our family to live in a house, but this was a modern house. The kind of house where you didn’t have to remember any codes or patterns. Like the toilet code, or the stair pattern. Let me explain what those are.
The toilet code is when you’d have to flush twice to clear the bowl, but you’d have to wait at least a full minute between flushes, or you’d flood the bathroom, which would then overflow into the kitchen underneath it, and you’d end up having to wash all the dishes. And that’s a true story that happened to me at my grandparents’ house one Thanksgiving day. Now the stair pattern goes something like this. If you wanted to sneak up or down the stairs, you’d have to remember avoid the third, fifth, and sixth stairs, because those were the ones that creaked the loudest, and would alert the adults to the fact that you were doing something you didn’t have any business doing. Yeah, Uncle Jeff’s house was nice, and definitely didn’t have any codes or patterns.
There are other things I remember about that trip too, like the hot weather and lots of sunshine, and riding in the car listening to the SOS Band, Just Be Good To Me, and Midnight Star, No Parking on the Dance Floor. Apparently Uncle Jeff’s taste in music had caught up with Uncle Bobby’s at that point. Or maybe it was Almeda’s influence on him. I can remember they let me stay in Danelle’s room all by myself, in her princess bed, complete with a canopy. I also remember staying up all night in that same bed, after Uncle Jeff took us to see Jaws 3, in 3D. Every time I would close my eyes, that bed would turn into a boat, the canopy would turn into sails, and I had to make sure I didn’t dangle my arms or legs over the edge because there was a huge shark lurking just underneath the surface of the water. That trip was great, and I had a good time.
Looking back, I guess I did an ok job as uncle Jeff’s chick magnet. Almeda stuck with him through thick and thin for 43 years, and they had two baby girls along the way. And even though my cousins will never measure up to my level of chick magnet cuteness, they turned out to be kinda cute too. Even though Danelle’s head’s kinda big but don’t tell her I said that cause she’s sensitive about it. Of course I’m just kidding, my cousins are beautiful, just like their mother.
I have lots of other fond memories of Uncle Jeff, but for whatever reason, the memory of those Nikes is the one that stands out the most. Which is ironic, considering how young I was. I wasn’t even three when they got married. Anyway, I Googled those classic shoes, and I found out they’re called The Cortez. I did a little research on the name, and found out it’s a Spanish or Portuguese surname, derived from an Old French word (coreis) that means courteous or polite. Cortez is also a geographical name that means the court of a king or sovereign. Polite and courteous definitely describe my uncle, but so does the word king. He was a king, who used a young princess, to find his queen. He was also the descendant of a king, my grandfather, Robert Dawson Senior. And today, we should rejoice, knowing that Uncle Jeff has gone on to see The King.
Rest easy Uncle Jeff,
Angela