My Uncle Bill

   
   "My Uncle Bill"
   
   Didn't go to college--my Uncle Bill; nevertheless, he could do internal block work on a motor, and after enlistment, made an officer in the United States Army, all due to his intellectual cunning.
   Uncle Bill, my Dad said, went about 150 pounds; nonetheless, he could tear up a bar in Pittsburgh, and punch out plenty of dangerous, drunken masters.  My Dad told me about his brother:  "That was one tough son of a bitch."
   My Dad played college football, a running back, linebacker, during the Iron Man days, when Frank Gifford commanded Terra's 100 yard green.   Anyway, people always counted Uncle Bill out.  Said he couldn't "control his liquor" and all that kinda bullshit.  What beloved, crazy Irish immigration.
   So, I guess if you destroy your liver by hard-drinking, and can control it, you are the linguistic genius of Jack Kerouac--if you can't--you are Faulkner, dropping a cerebral bomb on your own American South.
   Regardless, all my relatives need love--Christ boldly offered:  "Who are my brothers and sisters?--those that do the Will of God."  Still, Jesus knew:  We must forgive family, accept their bad ass toughness, enduring and braving all the bullshit of people ignorantly and stupidly surmising, without true intellect.  
   Love you Uncle Bill.  Wish you taught me how to fight.  I tell my son Francis--Uncle Bill was the toughest dude in the family.  Like I said--could tear a tavern apart.  And my Dad, a tough guy himself, was a bit phobic about rescuing his brother from the heat of the moment's brawl.