Evan: Uncle J is cool.
Uncle J is my mom’s baby brother. He may be many things, but he is not cool. The dude looks like Shaggy from Scooby Doo, smokes like a chimney, and is not the brightest penny in the fountain. What mid-forty-something forgoes paying the gas bill to buy a new paint ball gun and go paint balling? But I can see why Evan likes him; he listens and never talks down to kids.
Yet I couldn’t help explain that Uncle J is not cool because Evan also decided to adopt Uncle J’s football team . . . the Oakland Raiders. The Husband and my baby brother will tolerate many things in the love of sports, except for the love of the Oakland Raiders and the New York Yankees.
Sunday night we were over to have dinner at my grandma’s, and I had stepped out of the room. My uncle, aunt, my dad, and my boys were sitting around the breakfast bar, snacking on nuts.
Evan: Uncle J, my mommy says you’re not smart.
The room grew silent. (And for the record I NEVER said that. I said he didn’t go to college, and in another conversation I said smart people go to college.)
Evan: And that you smoke!
At this the room bursts out laughing.
Aunt S: Yes, he sure does.
Evan: (beaming) Smoking is yucky!
All the adults: Yes, it is.
I think I better be more careful how I phrase things.