A Piedmont Porchlight Story
The Coffee Cup was busy enough that morning you had to wave at folks before you could find a place to sit. Hattie spotted me the minute I walked in. “Your booth’s waitin’, Honey.”
“I was hopin’ it might be.” Curtis Pope folded his newspaper. “I’ve been here fifteen minutes.”
“Then you’ve already drunk the good coffee.”
Hattie topped off my cup. “You boys look like you’re up to somethin’.”
“We usually are.”
She smiled. “That’s what worries me.”
Curtis buttered another biscuit. “You know…”
“What?” I asked.
“I got to thinkin’ about my Uncle Lester this mornin’.”
I smiled. “Every family had one.”
“One what?” Hattie asked.
“That one uncle.” “The one nobody could explain.”
She laughed. “Oh Lord… my family had two.”
Curtis nodded. “The second one usually taught the first one bad habits.”
We all laughed. I leaned back in the booth. “My Uncle Aaron was that fellow in our family.”
“What made him special?” Hattie asked.
I thought about that for a second. “He wasn’t special because he knew everything.” “He was special because he thought anything could be fixed.”
Curtis grinned. “Could he fix anything?”
I shook my head. “No. But he’d sure try. If the toaster quit… Uncle Aaron was under it. If the lawnmower coughed… he had the spark plug out before you could blink. If the porch swing squeaked… he’d disappear into the garage and come back with three tools, two screws, and an idea.”
“Did it always work?” Hattie asked.
“No. But by the time he got done… we’d laughed enough not to care.”
Curtis laughed. “Now that’s a talent.”
“It surely was.” I smiled into my coffee. “He never met a stranger. Five minutes after meeting somebody… they were Buddy.”
Or Friend. Or Neighbor. Didn’t matter if he’d known ’em five minutes or fifty years. Some folks collect things. Uncle Aaron collected people.
Hattie rested against the counter. “My daddy was like that. You couldn’t go to the grocery store without it turnin’ into a family reunion.”
I nodded. “That’s exactly how Uncle Aaron was. You couldn’t buy a loaf of bread. You had to hear about somebody’s tomatoes. Or their grandbaby. Or a truck that wouldn’t start.”
Curtis pointed his fork at me. “I’ll bet he liked tellin’ jokes.”
I laughed. “He liked laughin’ at ’em even more. Half the time he’d start chucklin’ before he got to the punchline. So, we’d all be laughin’ before we even knew why.”
The three of us sat there smiling for a minute. Funny how memories work. Sometimes they don’t make you sad. Sometimes they just make you grateful.
After a while Curtis asked, “Was he the oldest?”
“No.”
“Then how’d he end up bein’ the one everybody listened to?”
I looked out the window toward Centre Avenue. “I’ve thought about that. He wasn’t the oldest. He wasn’t the richest. He wasn’t the loudest. But after Pawpaw was gone… when something needed doin’… everybody looked for Aaron.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause he always showed up.”
If somebody needed help… Aaron was there. If somebody needed fixing… Aaron was there. If somebody needed somebody to laugh with… Aaron was already halfway through the front door. Hattie reached over and refilled my coffee without saying a word.
Finally, she smiled. “I reckon every family gets one.”
“One what?”
“Somebody who quietly holds everybody together.”
Curtis nodded. “And most of the time… they don’t even know they’re doin’ it.”
Outside, a little boy rode past on a bicycle far too big for him. He was standing on one pedal to reach the other. Grinning like he’d invented happiness. I watched him disappear toward the depot. “You know…”
“What?” Curtis asked.
“I used to think Uncle Aaron spent his whole life fixin’ things.”
“You don’t anymore?”
I smiled. “No. I think he spent his whole life fixin’ people. Not by preachin’. Not by tellin’ ’em how to live. Just by showin’ up. By making folks laugh when life got heavy. By lending a hand before anybody had to ask. By believing almost anything was worth another try.
Funny thing about families. Every one of us remembers that one uncle. The one with a pocketknife worn smooth from use. The one who always had time for children. The one who could make a chore feel like an adventure. The one whose laugh reached the room before he did.
If you were lucky enough to have one… you probably still hear him every now and then. Usually when you’re trying to fix something. Or telling one of his old stories. Or laughing before you get to the punchline. And if you catch yourself doing that… don’t be surprised.
It just means your Uncle Aaron isn’t quite finished fixing things yet.
olbigjim 