Texas Heroes (Part IV)

Uncle Son's medals

We lost another one last week. This time, my side of the family took the hit. My mother's brother had another stroke and died. This leaves her with only one sister and one brother now--only three of ten left living.

This brother--my Uncle Son--was one with whom Mama was very close, so that meant that she was very much grieved by his loss and also that she had to attend his funeral. For someone in her frail health and severely handicapped condition, this was no easy task.

I rented a "luxury" car so that she would have a comfortable seat. It turned out to be quite comfortable--all leather and easily adjustable with electric controls. They don't make luxury cars like they used to, I guess (not that I ever had one), since there was no room in the trunk for her wheel chair. We might have made it, but the spare tire was placed so awkwardly that there was just no way to fit it in. Fortunately, we have a spare, smaller chair designed for travel, so we threw that in instead. Along with a large seated walker and extra padding for the motel bed she would sleep on.

There were adventures along the way, but I'll forego those to get to Mama's beloved brother. He had a real name, but the family always called him Son. And Son was her favorite, younger than her by about 16 months.

There are three things that I remember Uncle Son for. One is his music. He played a mean guitar and once had his own band. Mama said that he taught himself to play the guitar while sitting by her bedside when she was so ill those many years ago. He entertained her to take her mind away from the pain. In later years, I remember Uncle Son coming to our house for Christmas Eve. In those days, while Mama could still entertain a houseful of people, all sorts of relatives and near relatives and just close friends came over for an evening of singing and nibbling. The nibbles might have included such delicacies as Spam Salad sandwiches or the ever-impressive Vienna sausages wrapped in white bread and stuck on a toothpick. The singing was all gospel all the time. We didn't mess around with Christmas carols--we just got down with some really old songs that everyone knew by heart. Uncle Son played his guitar, and we all sang. It is still among the most wonderful memories of my earlier life.

Another thing that I remember Uncle Son for is his sense of humor. He could always make a joke about whatever was going on. We see this as something of a genetic trait among people in our family and always rejoice when it pops up in yet another generation. As much as we grieved for Uncle Son, we also laughed to remember his pranks and the joy he gave us.

The third thing that I remember about Uncle Son is that he was Mama's favorite brother. This is not just because he was funny and musical, but because--even though he was her "little" brother--he took care of her like one thinks a brother should (with love and just a little meanness). Mama's illness kept her from school for two years. That put her behind for graduation. Apparently, Uncle Son lagged a bit behind, too, so that he could--as he promised my grandfather--take care of Mama at school. They were seniors together, and graduated together, but not before Uncle Son got to remind Mama that she was still a sister to be properly tormented. Mama tells a story about the day that Uncle Son decided to hook her foot with his and start pulling her down from her desk. Her left hip was locked so that she could not bend at that joint; she was effectively helpless as he dragged her down. Son thought it was funny even though I suspect that Mama was more than a little panicked. There were other stories--all now told with great laughter--all speaking of a brother-sister relationship that was very special. It was also "special" that Uncle Son's wounds in the war crippled him for a time and gave him his own limp, hardly noticeable when I was old enough to think about it, but severe enough in the early days of his recovery to give him even greater empathy and compassion for my mother. In later years, I saw the special love that Mama had for this brother and realized, with much gratitude, that it was fully returned when Uncle Son stood by her at Daddy's funeral. He was her rock then as he had been in those dark days of her illness. There's no way I wouldn't have done everything I could to take her to say her final goodbye to Uncle Son.

Sadly, I realize that there is much that I do not know about Uncle Son's military service--his rank, his unit. We know that he entered the European theatre through Italy. We know that he was wounded when he tried to save another wounded soldier stranded on the battlefield, but was himself hit by sniper fire. Those medals include a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star. I don't know what the other battle ribbons and medals are for, but I took several pictures so that I could look them up.

This, however, I do know. He was a hero to my mother. That makes him a hero to me.