Let’s face it, I’m an emotional kind of guy. Happy or sad, grumpy or glad, I basically wear my heart on my sleeve for all the world to see. “I yam what I yam,” as Popeye would say, and I’ve …
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Let’s face it, I’m an emotional kind of guy. Happy or sad, grumpy or glad, I basically wear my heart on my sleeve for all the world to see. “I yam what I yam,” as Popeye would say, and I’ve carried that mantra with me since he and Olive Oyl graced the small screen of my youth, when the world was still perceived in black and white.
Enter Uncle Sid, who was still a kid when I was born. He was barely 15 himself when I came into the world, and his sister (my mother) adored him and they were close. In fact, the entire family was close back in the day, and there were huge get-togethers at the grandparents’, including the requisite Sunday dinners, which was a tradition until Gramma Fay and Grampa retired to (you guessed it) southern Florida.
In a way, I worshipped Uncle Sid when I was a kid. Fifteen years was a wide gap when I was five and he was 20, and (at the time) he was everything I wanted to be when I grew up. Smooth, sophisticated and a real “ladies’ man,” my mother’s brother could charm his way into anybody’s life, and I admired him. Once he left home to make his mark in the world, I saw less of him, but he was a good Uncle, and the majority of memories of him that flood the psyche of my youth are good ones.
Born and raised as he was in Binghamton, NY (like me), it was natural that my uncle wanted to make his mark far afield. And he did, becoming uber-successful in business, marrying, divorcing and marrying again, with children from both unions; eventually settling down in Florida (where my parents would too) and raising his family, while I struck out on my own, eschewing tradition and quickly earning (IMHO) “black-sheep” status, since I ignored the family business (jewelers), choosing instead, a dubious life in show business.
Uncle Sid and I remained close, with some gaps in between, and since I would visit my folks when necessary, I would see the “mishpocha” (Yiddish for relatives, both blood and by marriage) on those trips. As it happens, Uncle Sid never once visited me on my home turf, be it New York City, Los Angeles, CA (30 years), or here in the Catskills—until now. It’s not like we didn’t discuss it during the decades, but as we all know, day-to-day life (children, work and assorted responsibilities) often get in the way, and before either of us knew it, I was over 50 (don’t say it!) and Uncle Sid was closing in on 80. Yeah, I know my math looks iffy here… you can figure it out.
“I’m doing it!” Sid exclaimed last spring. “I’m planning a trip to visit the old haunts before I have to do it while actually haunting you from the other side. I mean it this time,” he said. “After all, I haven’t seen the dog since she was a puppy.” And so he did.
Purposely planning his visit mid-week, Uncle Sid made it clear that he wanted to relax and hang out, rather than race around the Upper Delaware region like lunatics (I mean me). “I read your column” (www.riverreporter.com), he said, “and I hear you on the radio (www.thunder102.com). I’m not sure how you do it all, but I get exhausted just looking at your schedule. I just want to sit by the fire and chat.”
And so we did. Oh, sure, I drove him around a bit, and he got to play tourist, stopping in Bethel and Jeffersonville, with the requisite photo-ops at the Woodstock monument, the Stone Arch Bridge (Kenoza Lake), a drive down Main Street, USA in the form of Callicoon, NY, replete with historical backdrops (the Western Hotel) and a stroll on the banks of the Delaware, with Dharma the Wonder Dog nipping at his heels.
But it was the fireside chats that we enjoyed the most. Reminiscing about the family and my mom, which brought both tears and laughter, was predominant. I learned that Uncle Sid met Aunt Ethel here in the mountains at the Concord Hotel 47 years ago. Sidney charmed (he’s still got it) a few of my friends who popped in during his stay, along with the folks at Thunder 102, who put him on the air while making fun of me (natch), providing stories for him to regale Aunt Ethel with (don’t ask!) when he got home.
“I live in a retirement community,” he told the listening audience, “where the average age is deceased.” When I told him that I was planning to attend Foodstock (www.wjffradio.org) on Sunday, Sid announced that he was going home (yep, he drove!) before my hectic lifestyle returned in full force. “I’ll never forget this trip” he announced. “Well, I hope I won’t anyhow.” Happy and sad, grumpy and glad, it’s all in the family… and these are the days of our lives.
For more photos of Foodstock and Uncle Sid’s visit, visit our Facebook page.
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