Legend has it that my mother’s water broke while she was shooting the bull with her two younger brothers in my grandmother’s kitchen. Charley, the elder of the two boys, frantically called The Enforcer (aka Grandma), who was the head nurse at the hospital in the next town over and she ordered him to drive Mother to the hospital PDQ. But Charley couldn’t do it. Perhaps it was the sight of all that embryonic fluid on his mother’s kitchen floor or perhaps Charley had begun to celebrate the weekend a little early. And so fourteen year old Bobby took charge and drove my mother to the hospital.
I guess you could say, without my Uncle Bob’s calm in the time of crisis, I would have been born on the kitchen floor. And how did I thank him? I wrote a book about the time I spent with him in Germany in 1970.
Click here for a synopsis of the book.
My mother had a predilection for stretching the truth. Thus I landed in Europe believing my long lost uncle was some sort of a spy.
He quickly disabused me of that notion. Below is an excerpt from The Graduation Present.
“Gilberto, did you get a look at the knockers on Lou’s new secretary?” Uncle Bob asked the driver as we drove along.
“Molly, you mean Molly, right?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s her name. You know, the big ones are fun to cuddle but there is something to be said for frisky little titties. The French have a saying that the perfect size tit fits into a champagne glass. What do you think of that Gilberto? You like the little bitty titties?”
“Ah, Uncle Bob. I’m in the backseat,” I reminded him.
“So? You got a thing against tits?”
“I can’t believe I actually thought you were a spy.”
“Spies don’t like tits?”
By the time the book came out (it only took me four decades), my uncle had retired to Florida with his church-going, Texas-loving second wife. She took great umbrage at my portrayal of her husband and threw the book away before anyone in her family could read such rubbish. I doubt she read much beyond the frisky little titties scene which is a shame because the book is really about a silly, clueless girl in a complicated world.
Robert Ross Jameson, April 1, 1936 – December 4, 2024.
Hope there’s lots of peanut butter up there in heaven! And, thanks for the lift.
Saying nothing in particular 
As a great drunken poet once said, if your family likes what you write, it’s probably not worth a shit. I think we’ve had the conversation before. Yes? No? Oh well, everybody has to be somewhere. No one can argue with that. I guess. Duke
We have. Thanks Duke – hope you’re doing well. I look forward to an update on Maria’s bathroom.
He sounds like quite the character but if he wasn’t a spy, what was he?
It was during the Cold War and the Germans were suspicious of any American working for the Army. The man my uncle worked for was very powerful and secretive – there were all sorts of rumors about him – but I’ll never know. My uncle retired in his early forties and kept a very low profile the rest of his life.
Oh Jan, I’m sorry about your Uncle Bob. I love the way you portrayed him in The Graduation Present, which is a great read, BTW. He’s a very genuine character. To paraphrase Duke, don’t take anything your family says about your writing to heart.
Thank you. I’m glad I captured some of the happier times of his life because his later life was filled with disappointments.
A fine tribute. Your uncle would have loved it.
Thanks! The Uncle Bob I knew in Europe would have loved it. However I’m not sure how his family would feel. I’m kind of the black sheep of the family.
You uncle sounds like a great guy and a useful guy to have around as long as there were not too many tits to distract him!
A nice epitaph to him. Families don’t always like the truth but hey who needs closed minds 💜💜
It’s funny because I tried to catch his personality but a lot of scenes were pure fabrication. My uncle would say things like “I don’t remember that” and I would tell him “it’s a work of fiction!” I’d basically put him in a romance/adventure story.
So very sorry. Your uncle sounds like he was a colorful character… and I’m sure he’s toasting this tribute. With champagne.
😊
He was very gregarious and loved people and parties and joking around when I lived in Europe with him but he changed. The last time I saw him he was miserable – and we were in Hawaii!
This is a wonderful tribute to your Uncle Bob, Jan, I liked it a lot. I hope there’s lots of peanut butter up there for him, too.
He put peanut butter on everything! There was always a debate as to whether Jiff’s or Skippy’s was the best. I can’t remember which one won.
A nice tribute to UB. He will be missed, what a character.
Are we now at the age where every third or fourth post is a postmortem tribute? At least you’ve got a stack of folks you can write obituaries for. I’d have to start killing strangers.
It’s probably a better idea to kill off imaginary folks and start writing their obits! It’ll be interesting to see his actual obit – I can assure you, the family will NOT be asking for my help! I believe they are all in the MAGA cult.
Thank goodness Uncle Bob could drive! I would have been useless at 14, especially since we had a stick shift (I’m sure this car was a stick too, actually…) I’m sorry for your loss, and that the family doesn’t appreciate your fiction.
He grew up in a very small town where the rules about driving were a little bit more relaxed. I don’t miss the stick shifts at all!
Either way he eased your entry to this world 💜💜
Very sorry for your loss… (I did read correctly didn’t I?)
Bobby looked like a good man… Qu’il repose en paix.
(Why do so many mothers have this uncanny ability to stretch the truth? Must come with the territory…)
Thank you. Yes my uncle passed away. He was complicated.
A fun story, Jan.
I’d really love to read this. But Amazon says, currently unavailable.
After my publisher went belly up I could have republished but I wanted to take a look through first to fix a few things and that look through keeps getting extended. Did you get my email?
Nope. Checked the spam too, not there. .ca right?
Thank you for sharing the pictures of UB. He was a character.