Uncle Charlie

Uncle Charlie was 100 years old when I met him. He was my maternal grandmother's uncle which made him my great, great uncle. There were 530 some odd people at his 100 birthday party. And there were at least 520 some odd that I would not want to be related to at all!

Aunt Mary, his sister, sat beside him in a chair of honor since she was celebrating her 95th birthday at the same time. Uncle Charlie lived in an old farmhouse up in the hills of Tennessee and the closest neighbor was at least two hundred acres away. I remember it had an old fashioned dog run down the middle of the house. Homes were built that way often to keep the kitchen and living areas separate from the bedrooms. In the summertime, it made the bedrooms a little bit cooler and in the wintertime, the living area a bit warmer.

When he was 95 years old, his children built him an indoor bathroom, but I never knew that Uncle Charlie didn't like it, until later in the afternoon, I was hanging out on the porch and Uncle Charlie turned to me and said, "Go with me, boy," as he slowly rose from his chair and with his cane and stooped walk, grabbed my arm and began moving us away from the house out back toward the barn.

We got to the back of the barn and Uncle Charlie placed me by the corner so I could see if anyone was coming. He proceeded by himself around the back of the barn and disappeared for a little bit. Shortly, he came back around from the back of the barn, buttoning up his pants. He took my arm again and we began to slowly walk back towards the house. About half way there, he seemed to be thinking about something to say, when he did, indeed, speak up. "Never did like to piss in the house," he mumbled.

That was my one and only time I ever saw Uncle Charlie. I have never forgotten our excursion out back to the rear of the barn in those Tennessee hills.

Bro. Hardy