The Scary Man of My Childhood
Turns out he was just suffering.
I was terrified of the man who was one of my uncles. Not because he was mean to me but because he seemed gruff and never, ever smiled or laughed or actually looked directly at anyone.
It was Thanksgiving sometime in mid-late 1950s. I sat at the table where he was sitting and watched him. I was trying to figure him out. Everyone else was busy and no one told me how weird and rude I was being just sitting there watching him.
He lit a cigarette and looked at the wall. I thought he was ignoring me but now I know he was just hanging on with his fingernails. The next nicotine filled breath was his only anchor. I sighed, weary of trying to figure him out but by this time I didn’t feel free to get up and go play with the rest of the children.
So.
I sat watching him stare into nothingness and light another cigarette with the one he’d just finished. Somewhere between the third and fourth cigarette he squinted his eyes and glared at me through the smoke.
“What’re you lookin’ at girl?”
“You.”
“Why?”
“I want to know if you’re mean.”
“I’m not. Go away kid.”
“Are you mad?”
